Dead silence fell over the room.
"What the devil do you mean?" Claire demanded.
"I've willed the Hertfordshire estate to Julia, but since I have an extremely generous nature, I have decided to leave you this house in Berkeley Square."
"You cannot be serious!" Claire protested.
"Perfectly serious, my dear. My instincts are usually infallible."
Fauconburg cleared his throat. "I shall take my leave and allow you to talk in private. We all need our rest."
The moment they were alone, Claire rounded on her mother. "You vicious old harridan! The country estate in Hertfordshire, as well as this Mayfair house, is little enough reward for putting up with you all these years. I shall inherit them from you, and in turn Julia will inherit them from me. We must make an appointment with your attorney, Benjamin Solomon, and get your will changed!"
"You are becoming hysterical, Claire. Do sit down while I explain a few things to you. Fauconburg's property in the far reaches of Northern Durham is mortgaged to the hilt and provides little income. Once married, a wife's property becomes her husband's. Do you believe for one moment that he would be generous enough to bequeath Ashridge Place to Julia?"
"All you think about is Julia. I am your daughter. How can you spite me like this?"
"Someone has to think of Julia. You never have. Claire, you are selfish to the core. Not only are you an abysmal daughter, you are a wretched mother. I'm being more than generous to you, but if you don't want Berkeley Square, I won't force it upon you."
Claire pressed her lips together and swallowed the curses that threatened to spew from her throat. She knew that if she gave further vent to her feelings she would be in danger of losing everything.
"You look haggard. I'll go upstairs and allow you to get your beauty sleep."
The following day, Claire received a letter from Henry. She pushed away a feeling of foreboding, as she opened the envelope and read:
Lady Shelborne:
It is with deep regret that I must withdraw from our engagement. It saddens me that you have misrepresented yourself as a widow of considerable means in order to procure a noble title.
Since no formal announcement of our intended union has been proclaimed, we will both be spared a great deal of embarrassment from friends, family, and Society at large. It will be assumed that we are no longer a couple because of the age difference.
Fauconburg
Claire stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle a shriek. His last sentence added insult to injury. She was enraged at Fauconberg. His accusation was not to be borne. But she laid the greater blame for this devastating dismissal at her mother's feet, where it squarely belonged.
She ran upstairs to Dottie's parlor, and found Dora serving her mother afternoon tea. "Leave us," she ordered curtly. Claire brandished the letter, crumpled in her fist. Through clenched teeth she said, "You will be happy to hear that the Earl of Fauconburg has withdrawn from our engagement!"
"I am indeed. But you're the one who should be happy. You've had a miraculous escape."
"Your evil plan succeeded. You said those things deliberately to destroy any chance I had of marriage."
"If you will but think for a moment, Claire, the only evil plan was Fauconburg's. He would never be faithful to a wife who was fifteen years older, and the moment you inherited this house in Mayfair, he would mortgage it to the hilt, as he has his own estate. Mark my words, within a month he will have found another woman of property to pursue."
"I will never forgive you for depriving me of my rightful inheritance, you hateful old crone."
Dottie sighed. "I shall try to soldier on without your forgiveness, Claire."
For the rest of the day, Lady Shelborne paced the floors of Berkeley Square, needing to vent her spleen. Finally, she made her way to Julia's spacious bedchamber and as she looked about, venom for her daughter almost choked her. She fully believed that Julia and Dottie continually conspired against her.
She threw open the doors of her daughter's wardrobe with the intent of confiscating the new, unsuitable clothes that Dottie had provided. Her frustration mounted when she realized that Julia must have taken her new outfits with her to Hertfordshire. All that hung in the wardrobe were the dresses that Claire herself had chosen for her. She slammed the doors shut, and gazed about the chamber. When her eyes fell on the bookcases that lined an entire wall, she knew she had found her weapon.
Lady Shelborne rang for Dora.
"In preparation for Julia's return, I want this room cleaned from top to bottom. See that the carpet is brushed and the furniture polished. And while you're at it, I want you to get rid of all these dusty old books."
Chapter Thirteen
At Ashridge Place, Julia took advantage of her solitary state by writing without interruption. On warm, sunny days she wrote outside, then after dinner she wrote in the library. She took a break each evening with a walk in the garden, accompanied by Luna, and these were the times when her thoughts were filled with Nicholas Royston. Deprived of his daily presence, she missed him fiercely. She knew she was more than halfway in love with him, and had been ready to consider marrying him, when Fate had stepped in and he had learned her secret identity.
Her feelings about her situation were complex. Julia was not ashamed of being Ann Onymous and writing Scandal by the Ton. But at the same time, she certainly felt guilty about inadvertently using Nick Royston's name in the gossip column, and keeping her identity hidden from him after they became romantically involved. If she had confessed and begged him to forgive her, there would have been a chance that he would be generous enough to do so. But the fact that he had immediately returned to London without saying goodbye, clearly showed that it was over between them.
The moonlight and the night-scented flowers were a constant reminder of the intimate hours they had spent together. "If only I'd given up writing the column before I met Nicholas, we'd still be together," she told Luna. "Why does wisdom only come when it's too late?"
By the end of that week, Julia had completed part one of her book, which dealt with Elizabeth Hardwick's first marriage. It had been arranged by the groom's family in Debyshire with the threat of blackmail. Robert Barlow was a sickly boy, and Bess became everything to him: mother, nurse, friend, and companion, everything except wife. Bess cared for him faithfully in the year they had together before Robert died of consumption.
Julia had no difficulty writing the poignant story of Elizabeth's first marriage. Their brief union had never been consummated, and her heroine had become a virgin widow.
It was part two of her book that Julia worried about. Bess would return to London and become lady-in-waiting to Frances, Duchess of Suffolk, and the niece of King Henry the Eighth. After a relentless pursuit by William Rogue Cavendish, they indulged in a passionate sexual affair that eventually led to marriage.
Julia knew that to make her writing convincing, she must experience passion. If only Nicholas had made love to me, I would no longer be totally ignorant about sexual matters. My virginity is an absolute hindrance to me!
She wondered where on earth she could learn about the things she needed to know, and mentally went over her short list of female friends. Julia's mother had encouraged her to become friends with Lavinia's daughter, Sarah, who was a sweet girl, but since she was only fourteen years old, they had few interests in common. Her other friend was Charlotte Fane, who lived nearby in Berkeley Square. They both loved to read and spent many happy hours together in book stores and at the public lending library. But to say that Charlotte was plain of face was being generous, and Julia was absolutely sure that her friend had had no sexual encounters.
Julia sighed. When she returned home tomorrow, she would have no option but to ask Dottie to teach her all she knew about sex.
"Welcome home, darling. I truly missed you. The only thing that kept boredom at bay was my skirmishes with Claire. Well, that and writing the column. It gave me a new lease on life."
Julia kissed her grandmother. "I missed you too. I've been thinking about giving up writing Scandal by the Ton. I don't suppose you'd consider taking it on permanently?"
"Why my dear, if you are serious, I'd like nothing better. It will give my days a purpose, and the thing I shall enjoy the most is doing the research!"
"Then it's settled, and I can devote my writing time to Bess of Hardwick."
"How did you enjoy your stay in Hertfordshire? You weren't lonely, I hope."
"No, I wasn't lonely at all." She hesitated. "Nicholas Royston was there."
"Such an amazing coincidence."
"Not really. I suspect you had a hand in it." Julia suddenly sank down into a chair. "Oh, Dottie, everything was perfect until he found out I was Ann Onymous."
"Ah, so that's the reason you decided to give up the column. Well, perhaps it's best. Dabbling in scandal isn't a suitable occupation for a diplomat's wife."
"There's little chance of that. When he found out I wrote Scandal by the Ton, it ruined everything. He left abruptly without saying goodbye. I'm afraid it's over between us."
"Not quite. Lord Royston entrusted me with a letter for you." She retrieved it from her writing desk and handed her granddaughter the envelope.
Julia's pulse quickened. He wrote after all! She looked at the letter in her hand and hesitated. She felt extremely vulnerable. If his words were cold and condemning, she would feel bereft. She weighed the apprehension she felt against the faint hope that Nicholas Royston's words would be kind rather than cruel. She forced herself to push away the anxiety that almost overwhelmed her, tore open the envelope and read:
Dearest Lady Julia:
Forgive my abrupt departure. I was unexpectedly recalled to London early this morning.
Upon my return from the Continent, I intend to claim the forfeit you owe me.
Rest assured that all your secrets are safe with me, at least for the present.
Nicholas
Julia realized she had been holding her breath, and let it out with a sigh of relief. "He was unexpectedly recalled to London," she told Dottie. "He didn't leave because he was angry with me."
"Of course not," Dottie assured her. "I gathered he was on a mission for the war office."
"Yes, he mentions the Continent." Julia felt her cheeks warm, as she again read that he intended to claim the forfeit she owed him. Her blush deepened as she recalled his exact words: I want more than kisses. I want permission to court you, with a view to marriage.
Julia's mouth curved as she re-read the last line, with its implicit threat. If she allowed him to have his way, he would keep her secrets safe. She laughed out loud at the audacious idea that jumped into her head. There is no need to ask Dottie to teach me all she knows about sex. Nicholas Royston is the man for that job.
"The house seems quiet. Is Mother not here?" Julia asked.
"No, and we have the Prince of Wales to thank for it. Prinny felt a need to visit the Chalybeate Springs at Tunbridge Wells and the Duchess of Devonshire decided she too could benefit from taking the waters."
Julia laughed. "I can guess the rest. Lavinia couldn't bear the idea of her sister-in-law Georgiana enjoying herself in Tunbridge, so decided to join the party. Then Mother manipulated Lavinia into issuing her an invitation."
"Precisely. Why anyone would travel thirty miles to sit around drinking glasses of brown water that taste of iron filings, I shall never understand. She could have saved herself the journey by sucking on the iron railings in Berkeley Square for all the good it will do."
Julia laughed. "Well, we will certainly derive health benefits from her journey. I shall go and unpack." She opened the door to her bedchamber and saw that her trunks had been brought upstairs. When she raised her eyes and saw the empty book shelves, she let out a scream.
Dora came running, and Dottie left her sitting room when she heard Julia's cry of distress.
"Where are my books?" Julia asked the maid.
"They are gone, Lady Julia.
"Gone? Gone where, pray tell?"
"Lady Shelborne gave instructions that your chamber must be cleaned from top to bottom before you returned from Hertfordshire. She told me to get rid of all the dusty books. I didn't dare to anger her by disobeying her orders."
Dottie arrived and heard Dora's explanation. "Spleen! Vitriolic spleen! Your mother knows your books are precious to you and that's precisely why she ordered Dora to get rid of them."
"Dora, what did you do with the books?" Julia demanded.
"Thomas helped me to carry them downstairs. We stacked them in the back hall of the servants' entrance. He offered to get rid of them, and that's the last I saw of them."
Dottie rang for the young footman-in-training and when he arrived, she questioned him.
"Thomas, we have a mystery on our hands. There may be a reward in it for any who can solve it. You helped Dora carry all my granddaughter's books down to the servant's entrance. What happened to them after that?"
The young footman looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I loaded them on a hand cart. I decided to try and sell them at the bookshop in Shepherd's Market. I asked the butler for permission before I did it, ma'am."
"Oh, thank goodness you took them to the bookshop," Julia said with relief. "I shall go to Shepherd's Market immediately and buy them back."
Thomas looked shame-faced. "I never got that far, my lady."
Dottie poked him with her walking stick. "What the devil do you mean, boy? Speak up!"
"I was trundling the cart down the back street, when a man stopped me and asked where I was going with the books. When I told him I was taking them to the bookshop, he offered to buy them from me on the spot."
"Dare I ask how much he coughed up?" Dottie asked faintly.
Thomas eyed Dottie's stick and confessed, "Five bob."
"Five shillings?" Julia said with a gasp. She looked at her grandmother with despair. "I must have paid forty or fifty pounds for those books over the last year."
Thomas was astounded. "Blimey, the bloke gulled me!"
"What did this man look like?" Julia begged.
Thomas said, "Average bloke, on the portly side. He spoke like a gentleman, if that helps."
"Oh, immeasurably," Dottie said tartly. "A man in Mayfair who speaks like a gentleman."
Julia said hopefully, "Perhaps this fellow sold them to the bookshop."
"There's a slim chance, I suppose. Thomas, have Toby ready the carriage. We'll start at Shepherd's Market and pay a call on all the bookshops in the district."
Four hours later, Julia and her grandmother returned home both tired and disappointed. "Well, we didn't find any of my books, but at least I was able to buy a few history books that will help me with the story I'm writing."
"Tomorrow, you can work on your book and I'll write my column about Lady Melbourne."
"I understand she has led a colorful life to say the least."
"My dear, you don't know the half of it. Her first lover after she wed Peniston Lamb was Lord Coleraine, and rumor has it that the Earl of Egremont bought her from Coleraine for thirteen thousand pounds. Her fourth son George was fathered by the Prince of Wales. I often saw them together at her country residence, Brocket Hall in Hertfordshire."
"Didn't Lord Melbourne object to all these lovers?" Julia asked.
"On the contrary, he encouraged them. Each one furthered his political career."
Nicholas Royston reported to Lord Grenville at the Foreign Office the moment he arrived back in London. "I'm afraid Austria has agreed to sign a treaty with France. After Napoleon's army defeated the Austrian troops at Marengo, he allowed them to evacuate from Italy on condition that Austria sign a peace treaty."
Grenville frowned. "Bonaparte is becoming all-powerful."
"The victory has increased his popularity. Not only does he wield sole power over the military, his appointment as first consul gives him political power. Our diplomats in Paris have had secret negotiations with him. Bonaparte has no inten
tion of restoring the King of France to power. He will reform France according to his own vision."
Royston handed over sealed communiques from John Hookham Frere and when Grenville broke the wax and opened them, they contained secret letters from Napoleon for Prime Minister Pitt.
"Do you know the contents of Bonaparte's missives?"
"I haven't read them. They are for the Prime Minister's eyes only. But a shrewd guess would be truce proposals between Britain and France. Britain has the greatest navy in the world and we control the seas. Napoleon would lose any naval battle against us. Since Bonaparte cannot beat us, he likely proposes to join us."
Grenville nodded. "Your thoughts mirror mine exactly. The problem is that I don't trust Napoleon Bonaparte. He would betray any signed peace treaty to further his own ends."
"Amen to that. But I have every reason to believe that Prime Minister Pitt trusts Bonaparte even less than you do, my lord."
"We can only hope." Grenville shook Royston's hand. "I am aware of the constant dangers you encounter in your missions, especially in the City of Paris. Thank you for your service, my lord."
When Nicholas arrived home, he was greeted by his brother.
"I've done it!" Michael was bursting with excitement.
Something in his brother's eager exclamation kept Nick from making a cynical reply.
"While you were away, I stopped dithering about and made up my mind to do something for my country. I purchased a lieutenancy in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment."
Nicholas felt dismay. "The infantry?"
"Yes. The Redcoats!"
Nick stared at his young brother and valiantly masked his apprehension. "Do you have your uniform?" When his brother nodded, he said, "Go on... let's see what it looks like." When Michael hurried from the room, Nicholas closed his eyes and tried to come to terms with what the reckless young devil had done. Christ Almighty, the infantry is cannon fodder. He unclenched his fists. Mick is a man full grown. The decision is his, not mine. By the time his brother returned dressed in the bright lieutenant's uniform, Nicholas had composed himself.