The Accidental Countess (7 page)

Lucy made her way back over to the settee, sat next to her friend, and hugged her, pulling her close with her arm around her shoulders. “Why, we’re going to give Julian the opportunity to know you, Cass. See you, speak with you, be alone with you. He can’t possibly wish to marry Penelope, after spending time with you.”

“But they’re betrothed—”

“No they are not. Not explicitly. Not officially. I intend to see that it remains that way. Besides, you seem to forget, your cousin doesn’t appear to be particularly interested in Captain Swift.”

Cass rubbed a hand over her forehead. How was it that Lucy always seemed to make sense when she rebutted Cass’s concerns? “Yes, but—”

“No. Stop it. Think positively. That is the only way this will work. You must promise me you’ll stop worrying.”

Cass groaned and squeezed the pillow. “Oh, it’s all so … so … uncertain.”

Lucy pulled her close again and gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Ah, the very essence of romance is uncertainty, dear. Never forget it.”

CHAPTER SIX

“Well, I for one have never heard of Miss Patience Bunbury,” Julian’s younger sister, Daphne, said as she sat across the drawing room from him writing a letter, while he and his mother looked on.

“I can’t say I’ve made her acquaintance, either,” his mother, the countess, added.

A blond curl flew over Daphne’s shoulder as she tossed her head and gave Julian a sly look. “Quite curious if you ask me.”

Julian settled into his chair. “What do you mean, curious?” He’d greatly enjoyed spending these last few days with his mother and Daphne. The two women had been beside themselves with happiness when he came striding through the door. His mother had silently held back tears, her eyes brimming with them, and hugged her second-born, while Daphne had clapped her hands and nearly shrieked with excitement.

It was damn good to see them again. His sister, just a girl when he had gone to war, was now a beautiful, accomplished young woman who he quickly learned was always buzzing about the house doing several things at once. His mother had deeper worry lines in her forehead and a few more wrinkles but she still had the same laughing gray eyes he remembered.

They’d caught up on everything from the less gruesome aspects of Julian’s time at war, to the frivolities of the last London Season, but neither of the women seemed to know what had possessed Donald to go off to the Continent.

“He said he was going to Italy on holiday,” his mother told him. “I don’t know why he would leave in the middle of a war. But you know Donald, always so evasive. Never wanting to worry us. Though now I’m concerned because he’s been gone for months and we’ve yet to receive a letter indicating that he’s arrived safely.”

“I’m certain news will come soon, Mama,” Daphne said. “And besides, Captain Cavendish is with him. He’ll keep Donald safe.”

“Yes, you’re right, dear. Captain Cavendish has been an excellent friend to our family through the years and he’s an excellent soldier.”

Daphne had nodded, but the look she gave Julian made him think she knew more than she was letting on. Especially since she knew Donald was with Rafe. Julian had inclined his head toward his sister, the siblings tacitly agreeing to allow their mother to continue to think Donald was on holiday. But Julian made a mental note to ask Daphne about it later.

Now that he and his mother and sister had had a chance to become reacquainted after all these years, Julian had informed them he was leaving for the countryside and that’s how the subject of Patience Bunbury had come up.

“I just mean that it’s a bit curious that Miss Monroe is off at a house party hosted by a young lady we’ve never heard of,” Daphne said with a shrug, returning her attention to her letter.

“Perhaps you merely never met Miss Bunbury,” Julian suggested.

“Of course I never met her, silly,” Daphne replied, shaking her head. “I just thought I knew nearly everyone and I don’t know her.”

“There’s a first time for everything, dear,” their mother replied. “I’m certain Miss Bunbury is a fine young lady if Miss Monroe has chosen to befriend her.”

Daphne tossed her quill on the desk and turned fully around in her chair to face Julian, her hands braced on her knees. There was a decided twinkle in her eye. “Ooh, speaking of fine young ladies, tell me, have you seen Lady Cassandra Monroe since you’ve returned?”

Julian cleared his throat. “No. I … haven’t. I paid a call to her parents’ town house yesterday only to discover that the family has already retired to the country for the autumn.” At first, Julian had been more than a bit disappointed; however, when he’d learned the address of Lady Worthing’s house party, he’d discovered that it was near Cassandra’s parents’ estate. More good fortune. Once in Surrey, Julian would find Penelope, say what he needed to say, and then he would go to the Monroes’ estate to visit Cassandra.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Daphne answered, a crestfallen look on her face. “Tell me, does she still write to you?”

“Yes, quite often,” Julian said, a lump unexpectedly forming in his throat. What could he say about Cassandra? She was his best friend. She’d written him for years. She’d begun soon after he left with the army after her sixteenth birthday. He’d thought it would be nothing more than a simple, friendly correspondence. But it had turned into much more. Cassie didn’t know it, but she had saved his life.

“Nearly every day?” His mother’s eyebrows shot up. “I daresay that’s more often than Daphne and I wrote. Did Penelope write you as much?”

Julian shook his head. “No.”
Not even remotely close
. He leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers over his chest. Penelope. Over the years, he’d considered resigning himself to their marriage. Penelope had been eighteen when he’d gone off to war. They’d decided to wait until after he returned—if he returned—to make it all official. It hadn’t been fair to Penelope to make her wait all these years. Especially when Julian had had no intention of ever coming back. He was under no illusion that Penelope loved him or even wanted to marry him for that matter. The few letters she’d written to him in all these years had been short and full of inane banter. Nothing true. Nothing real. Nothing like the letters he received from Cassandra. Cassandra’s letters had been heartfelt and honest, full of witticisms and intelligence. She made him smile. She made him laugh out loud, and most of all, she made him feel as if someone in this great big world, someone other than his mother and his sister, really, truly cared if he lived or died. God knew his father never had. He was a useless second son after all. He’d been told that often enough. His father had purchased his commission and handed it over with words he’d never forget.

*   *   *

Julian knocked on the door to his father’s study. “May I come in?”

His father grunted his assent.

Julian pushed open the door and strode forward. He stopped in front of his father’s massive wooden desk, standing at attention. He stared out the window above his father’s head, his hands clasped behind his back, his new uniform still rough against his skin. He’d get used to the rubbing eventually.

“Julian.” His father’s voice was deep yet cold, as always. “Or should I say, Lieutenant Swift now?”

“Thank you for the commission, my lord. I intend to make you proud.”

“You’re leaving soon?”

“Yes. I’ve said good-bye to Mother, Donald, and Daphne. I’ve leaving for Surrey in a few minutes, to say good-bye to Miss Monroe.”

His father snorted. “You might as well tell her good-bye forever. No reason to keep her on the hook, waiting for you.”

Julian’s brow furrowed. “My lord?”

“Since you won’t be coming back.”

Julian kept his jaw locked, his eyes still focused out the window. “You’ve that little faith in me, Father?”

“On the contrary, this is about the faith I do have in you. You said you intend to make me proud.”

“Father?”

The earl slammed his fist against the desk, making the papers and ink pot bounce. “Damn it, Julian. Must I spell it out for you? You’re meant to die in battle. Honorably, of course. The more honorably, the better. That’s why I purchased the commission for you. I expect you to make both me and your country extremely proud.”

An icy claw grabbed at Julian’s chest. He concentrated on keeping his gaze straight, his jaw firm. A harsh breath escaped him. “Sir.” He bowed once to his father, turned on his heel, and left the room.

It was the last time he ever saw his father.

Julian had wrestled with those words during the entire ride to Surrey seven years ago. Would he say good-bye to Miss Monroe for good and let her go, or would he ask her to write to him? He understood what he had to do. Understood what it would finally take to gain his father’s love, his approval. And he would do his duty. But it might be weeks, months even, before he died, and he couldn’t bear the thought of not having something to look forward to in that time. When Cassie had offered to write to him, he’d had some small glimmer of hope, some small shred of happiness to hang on to.

Julian had left for the Continent with his division as soon as he returned from Surrey. Within the month, word came that his father had died.

The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, the months to years. And Cassie’s letters arrived like clockwork, comforting, uplifting, friendly, and funny. Daphne and Mother wrote to him of course, but their letters were less frequent and meant to distract him with humorous bits of news. Cassie’s letters were different. They were heartfelt, meaningful. They were the only evidence he had left that he was still alive. And he’d never been able to write to her—this girl who kept him from a dark abyss—and tell her that he never intended to return. He couldn’t do that to her and he didn’t want to believe it himself. Cassie’s letters were real but they were also the only place he allowed himself to pretend.

*   *   *

Julian glanced around the room, his brother’s room, his brother’s house. Julian had been back in town for less than a fortnight but already he was seeing to the correspondence and acting in his brother’s stead. The servants came to him with issues and his mother seemed perfectly content to allow him to run things. Daphne seemed quite pleased with it all, too, probably because he allowed her to get away with more than Donald did.

Donald
.

Julian took a deep breath. He and his brother had not been close. Donald was several years older than he and had been raised to be an earl. When Donald wasn’t away at school, he was spending time with their father. It had always made Julian envious. How he craved his father’s attention and approval for one day, one hour, one minute, even. Daphne had always been close to Mother and that had left Julian alone, alone and unnecessary, a spare to an earldom that didn’t require a spare. Father had made that clear enough.

Julian shook his head. None of that mattered now. Not at the moment. He’d done as he was told, gone off to the army, off to war. And in all those long, lonely days and nights, he’d looked forward to Cassandra’s letters. Waited for them each time the mail arrived, and while other soldiers were often disappointed to find that the call came and went with nothing for them, Julian could always rely on Cassandra. She never failed him.

“I heard that Lady Cassandra’s parents are ever so unhappy with the fact that she rebuffed the Duke of Claringdon’s advances,” Daphne offered from her perch at the writing desk.

“Yes, but anyone could see that the duke and Lady Lucy make a much more matched pair,” his mother said. “Still, I can understand their disappointment.”

Julian laughed. “Derek told me himself that he did his best to win Lady Cassandra.”

“It’s true,” Daphne added. “Though he never truly had a chance at winning her heart.”

Julian frowned. What did his sister know about it? “Why do you say that?”

Daphne’s lips turned up at the corners in a whisper of a smile. “Oh, there’s only one gentleman Lady Cassandra is interested in and he’s been, ahem, quite unavailable.”

Julian sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. There it was again. Just as Hunt had said, Cassandra Monroe was in love with another man. That’s why she’d refused Hunt. But who was this man? And when had it happened? None of Cassandra’s recent letters had mentioned a man. Well, any man other than Derek and Garrett … Upton. Upton? Could it be Upton?

Why did the thought of Cass with another man make Julian’s chest hurt? It made no sense. He shook his head. No matter. Whoever the chap was, he had better be good enough for her. That was all. Cassandra was loving and kind. She deserved to be happy. He wanted only the best for his closest friend. She meant a great deal to him. So much that when he believed he was dying, his first thought hadn’t been for himself or even Penelope. No. It had been for Cassandra. Hunt had been there, his face a stone mask, trying his damnedest not to look as if he knew his friend was already dead. He’d pressed his kerchief against the flow of blood from the bullet that had torn through Julian’s chest. Hunt had clenched his fist and his jaw and Julian had known right then that his friend would do anything he asked. His dying wish. What had it been? Hunt had already promised to tell his mother and Daphne in person, let them both know how much Julian loved them. That would be taken care of, no question. That day on the blood-soaked battlefield, he’d made Hunt promise to return to London and marry Cassandra. Julian had known from her letters that she was still unmarried. She needed someone, someone good, someone strong, someone who would take care of her and treat her well. Hunt was the perfect candidate. Or so Julian had thought.

“Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man,” Julian said, absently rubbing a hand through his hair.

“And you haven’t even seen her yet,” Daphne said under her breath.

Julian glanced up and narrowed his eyes on his sister. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing,” Daphne replied, turning back to her letter.