Julia London 4 Book Bundle (65 page)

Claudia squeezed past him, carefully putting as much distance between them as possible, then fairly sprinting to the far side of the room where she took refuge near a globe. As they waited for a footman to light several candelabras about the room, Julian beheld his bride-to-be, thinking that with her hands clasped tightly together and her chin held high, she looked very much like the defiant little girl who had stood so often in his study at Kettering.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Relax, Claudia.”

She did not relax, but shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Julian glanced at the footman hovering near the door and dismissed him with a nod.

“I … I don’t want to do this,” she said when the door shut.

The troubled sound of her voice pierced his soul; he sobered instantly. “Why don’t you sit down? You’ll be more comfortable.”

“Isn’t there some other way? I mean, there must be
something
you can do!” she blurted anxiously.

God, if he could fix this for her, he would. “Unfortunately, the only thing I can do is marry you.”

A bit of color crept into her cheeks, and Claudia folded her arms tightly about her waist, and looked at the ground. “There
must
be another way!”

“There is not,” he said curtly. He had no desire to belabor that painful point, and strode aimlessly across the room. There was nothing more he could say. He was sorry she was so against it … 
against him
, but what could he do? He could hardly—

Julian heard a sound and jerked around; Claudia’s fist was pressed against her mouth in her struggle not to cry. She whirled away from him, but Julian was quickly at her side, trying to hold her, although she shoved away from him. “Don’t cry, Claudia,” he uttered helplessly. “It will be all right.”

“I feel so
helpless!
”

“I know you do.”

“I have no voice, no say! I am
nothing!
Cheevers
won’t receive me, they say horrid things about me, and my father barely speaks to me!”

He winced, truly sorry for the indignities she was undoubtedly suffering. She suddenly lifted her head and swiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks. “But there is no going back, is there?”

“No,” he said.

“All right, well then, I … I will not cry. I only … I’ve some questions.”

“About?”

“I am rather curious how it will be after we, ah … after Saturday.”

“How what will be?”

“You
know … us
. I mean, this,” she quickly corrected, gesturing wildly about the room. “Will I be placed under any restrictions?”

“Restrictions?” he echoed dumbly, uncertain as to what she might be thinking.

Claudia glanced heavenward with a sigh and wiped the wetness from beneath her eyes. “You are not making this very easy, Julian.”

“I beg your pardon for that, but what sort of restrictions were you expecting?”

“Will you restrict my freedom in any way?” she asked, gesturing irritably. “Tell me where I can go and where I cannot? Whom I may see or not see?”

Now wasn’t this just bloody grand? She not only thought him a murderer of sorts, but also a man who would imprison his wife. “That’s ridiculous, Claudia. Why would I restrict you in any way? You may come and go as you like.”

“Will I be allowed to remain in London, then?” she asked skeptically.

“I rather assume you will remain with
me
, wherever that might be. Do I presume too much?”

She blinked, her gray eyes clouded with confusion. “So … so you don’t intend to send me to Kettering?”

Where in God’s name did she get these absurd notions
? “Claudia,” he said impatiently, “I intend to live
as any man and wife would, wherever it suits us, whenever it suits us, in London or at Kettering. I am certainly not going to imprison you, and I am not going to banish you.”

She glanced down. The soft light of a candelabrum framed her profile as she scuffed the toe of her slipper into the carpet. The slipper had a tiny little bow on it, so light and fragile. Something in Julian reacted violently to that bow. As absurd as it was, it reminded him of Valerie, of another time he had felt the need to make everything all right and had failed. He had failed with Phillip, too. Claudia despised him for that failure, and Julian suddenly did not want to be responsible for another person’s well being. No. He could not
bear
the responsibility.

God Almighty, he did not want to
feel
anything for an alluring little wench who could seduce him with nothing more than a smile and in the next breath cut him to the bone. And she had a dozen smiles at least, smiles that captured him, tugged at his heart, held him hostage … 
When she looked at him, did she think of Phillip
?

“Well then, there is one other thing,” she said softly.

“Yes?” he asked curtly.

“Will I … will you grant me an allowance?”

He snorted. “No. I intend for you to be penniless, too.” That sarcastic response seemed to confuse her again, and Julian motioned impatiently toward the door. “Of course you will have an allowance, Claudia. I will provide for whatever your heart desires and deny you
nothing
. Good God, do you recall nothing from the summers you spent at Kettering? You may name your own allowance—”

“Thirty pounds?” she quickly interjected.

“Per annum?” he asked sharply.

“Per month?” she asked meekly.

Extravagant, but what did he care? He could certainly afford it. If it kept her occupied, separate from him … “Done. And let us further agree to peacefully coexist, all right? You shall go about your business, and I shall go about mine. There is no reason for either of us to suffer unduly for our folly,” he said, halting abruptly in
front of her. “I don’t intend to punish myself forever for this colossal mistake.” Claudia blinked, lifted an uncertain gaze to him, searching his face, silently questioning the sudden change in him, and Julian cursed her for the unwelcome pull of his heart. “You can do that, can’t you, Claudia?” he demanded snidely. “Ignore the presence of another? I know I certainly can.”

The harsh words seemed to fill the room until she quietly responded, “Better than you, my lord, I assure you.”

“Marvelous,” Julian drawled, and pivoted on his heel, moving quickly for the door before he did something very foolish, like begging her to love him. “Shall we return to our guests? No doubt they are wondering if I’ve got you on a bench again,” he said, and refused to acknowledge the burn in his gut when he heard her pained gasp of astonishment. Why should he? Her dismay was no different from his own. Ah yes, a crushing dismay that the wheels were turning, wheels he could not possibly stop, wheels that would run them over if he allowed it. There was no way out of this catastrophe for either of them.

A hard, steady rain was falling in London on her wedding day. In the barouche, Claudia sat across from her father, avoiding his gaze. Her stomach lurched with every swerve of the coach; she had been sick with regret for days now.

She glanced up at the patch of dull gray sky above the rooftops that slowly slipped past, wondering for the thousandth time why she had ever allowed herself to be coerced into this.
Unfortunately, the only thing I can do is marry you. But I don’t intend to punish myself forever for this colossal mistake
. She would never endure it! Abruptly squeezing her eyes shut, Claudia fought off the tears she had managed to keep at bay for the last forty-eight hours.

The coach slowed, rounded a corner. “Buck up now. We’ve arrived,” her father said sharply.

Claudia winced at the sight of the cathedral. Several
men milled on the top step of entry, just beneath an overhang. The earl had, naturally, insisted on two dozen or more prominent guests to witness what had been billed as a small, family wedding. He thought that would make it seem almost planned, but it was absurd—the whole of London knew she was being forced into this, her public and everlasting penitence for her indiscretion.

“Come on, then, you look rather weepy. Enough of that now.”

She slid her gaze to her father’s impassive face. What did he expect her to do, titter gaily like a blushing maid? Honestly, she had never thought him a particularly sentimental man, but his indifference this past week had bordered on heartless. Could he not understand, not even a little bit, how very difficult this was for her? How very
humiliating
it was to be dragged into a union with a man of Kettering’s character?

“Did you love Mama?” Claudia suddenly asked.

She might as well have asked him if he was a traitor to the crown. “I beg your pardon?” he gasped.

“Did you love Mama?” she asked again, marveling that she had never before asked him that simple, fundamental question.

Oblivious to the door swinging open, the earl gaped at her as if she had lost her mind. “
Love
?” he repeated, as if the word pained him. “What are you doing, Claudia? This is hardly the time—”

“Papa, please! Just tell me—did you love her?”

He frowned darkly, ran his thumb and finger down the sides of his mouth, then mindlessly smoothed his neckcloth. He glanced at the footman standing at attention next to the open door. “A moment, Stringfellow,” he said, and gestured for the door to be shut.

It was a long moment before he spoke. “As with most marriages within our rank, ours was arranged through our families. We hardly knew one another,” he said circumspectly. “However, I quite respected your mother. I suppose I even grew rather adoring of her after the first year of marriage when she was with child. But it would
be untruthful of me to say I loved her—and neither should you trouble yourself with such sentiment, Claudia. It is hardly necessary to a successful marriage, and I rather think such a notion can be disruptive after a time. Love is like a fine wine—it eventually turns to vinegar. You would do best to strive for a healthy respect for your husband. If you give him your obedience, an amicable companionship will see you through.”

Claudia gaped at her father, both fascinated and appalled. Was it possible that he could have shared the greatest of intimacies with a woman—the conception of a child—and thought it nothing more than amicable companionship?

“Now. We’ve only a minute or two before you are due at the altar.” With that, he flicked the door open and exited quickly.

Claudia did not move—
could
not move. Through the open door, she stared at the church and the men gathered on the stoop staring curiously at the barouche. Her stomach moved again and she wondered madly what the scandalmongers would make of it if she was actually sick at the altar. There was no time to contemplate it, however, because her father’s gray head appeared in the opening, and his expression clearly relayed that he was quite beyond exasperation. “Enough of this, Claudia!” he whispered hoarsely. “You have made your bed and now you shall lie in it—come along now!”

If that wasn’t the greatest understatement of the decade—oh yes, she had made her bed, all right. Numb with fright, she slowly, deliberately, pulled the hood of her cloak over her bonnet, adjusted the cloak about her shoulders, and extended her hand to her father.

The small crowd gathered on the top step of the church parted to let her pass, all of them staring as if she was some sort of oddity as they murmured faint congratulations, to which her father naturally responded. In the narthex, Eugenie, Ann, and Sophie were anxiously waiting. Claudia had not taken much interest in the planning of this wedding, listlessly deferring to Eugenie’s relentless
enthusiasm and Ann’s eye for details. She glanced at Sophie as she removed her cloak and handed it to an attendant—her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, and her mouth was set in a frown. Eugenie fairly danced at her side, whispering excitedly about who had come. Ann flitted around like a bumblebee, tending to her gown.

Self-conscious, Claudia looked down. Her gown was a silver velvet with an overskirt of a very fine, transparent chiffon intermittently decorated with tiny little crystals that reflected the soft candlelight in the church. It was a little tight through the fitted bodice and the waist; she supposed she had gained a bit of weight since she last wore it. It was really a rather old gown, one she had worn a few years ago when she attended a very important ball with her father—the very same ball at which Phillip had waltzed her into a heady state of adoration. She had not worn the gown since, but now the silver velvet seemed a good, somber color for the occasion.

“It’s time,” her father muttered, and grasped her elbow tightly as if he was afraid she might bolt. Ann was suddenly bustling around them, arranging everyone in a line, whispering last minute, frantic instructions into Sophie’s ear before fairly shoving her from behind the screen that separated the narthex from the nave.

Eugenie followed, grabbing Claudia in something of a bear hug before stepping into the aisle. The earl silently grasped her hand and clamped it down upon his forearm, then pulled her forward. The panic in Claudia’s chest rose to her throat; she stumbled beside her father, righting herself just as he stepped into the aisle leading up to the altar.

A sea of people swelled to their feet; heads swiveled until all eyes were on her. Claudia’s vision suddenly blurred—with tears or fright, she wasn’t certain—and she frantically searched for something to focus on, something that would keep her from seeing their faces. Her lashes fluttered wildly, she looked toward the vicar—

Julian
.

Oh, God.
Oh, God!

Her stomach listed violently. Standing next to Arthur Christian, he wore a dark gray frock coat and trousers, a navy waistcoat intricately embroidered with silver thread. Taller than everyone else, his black hair—still too long, she thought madly—gleamed in the light of the dozens of candles at the altar, contrasting vividly with the white of his collar. Although his round spectacles made him appear less predatory than normal, they did not hide the glint in his raven eyes, or the fact that they were riveted on her.

Heaven above, he was
magnificent
.