The Perfect Mistress (30 page)

“If I leave now.” He started toward the door then paused. “Thank you, Father.”

“I really did nothing, but you are most welcome.” He grinned. “Now off with you. Like a knight of old, ride to the rescue of the woman you love.”

Harrison returned his father’s grin and took his leave. Within a half hour, he was on his way to King’s Cross Station, marveling at the joys of an efficient staff who had a bag packed for him as well as providing the appropriate train timetable. A few hours later he approached Charles’s country house. He stopped for a moment and stared at the façade.

He hadn’t been here in years, since long before Charles had died. He could see his brother’s grin now and could almost hear his voice urging
Harry
on. This would have pleased Charles even if Harrison still had no idea what he was going to say or do. That would have amused Charles as well.

He drew a deep breath and walked up the steps to knock. He wouldn’t make the mistakes his father had even if he had no idea what those mistakes were. No, he was fairly certain, he would make his own.

But he was confident coming after Julia wasn’t one of them.

… and I could see it in his eyes. How he felt and what he wanted. Words are quite lovely and there is nothing more seductive than a man who knows how to use words well. Why, I have been known to fall in love over a well-written declaration of passion or a sincerely delivered assertion of affection.

But often, the dearest of men are not all skilled with words, written or spoken. It is not in their nature. It is very frequently what they don’t say that is much more important than what they do.

And the look in Michael’s eyes on that night when he …

      from
The Perfect Mistress,

the Memoirs of Lady Hermione Middlebury

“I beg your pardon, Lady Winterset.” Veronica’s butler stood in the doorway.

Julia looked up from the book of poetry she had found on the library shelves. It had been a lovely, peaceful day and while she hadn’t come to a decision about anything, she was more at ease than she’d been in weeks. “Yes?”

“Another guest has arrived.”

“Another guest? How odd.” She put the book down and rose to her feet. “Lady Smithson didn’t say anything about another guest.” Although perhaps Portia had decided to come after all.

“Shall I show him in?”

Not Portia then. “Please do.”

“Very well, my lady.” The butler nodded, left, and a moment later Harrison strode into the library.

“Julia.” He crossed the room and took her hands in his.

Her heart thudded in her chest and she stared up at him. “This is a surprise.”

He smiled down at her. “To me as well. I hadn’t planned … and yet, here I am.”

She raised a brow. “I always thought you were the sort of man who planned everything.”

“I was.” He chuckled, his gaze meeting hers. “I don’t know what has come over me.”

“What has come over you?” she said without thinking. “I mean, why are you here? Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” she added quickly.

“Are you pleased to see me?”

Her immediate impulse was to deny it. She summoned her newfound resolve to be more like Hermione and raised her chin slightly. “Yes, Harrison, I am.”

His smile widened. “Excellent.”

She knew she should pull her hands from his but couldn’t seem to do so. Nor did she want to. Instead she returned his smile and said the first thing that came into her head. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat? You must be famished.”

A gleam that did indeed look like hunger sparked in his blue eyes. “No, but thank you. A brandy perhaps.”

“I shall ring for the butler.”

“Not necessary.” He glanced around the room. “Unless Veronica has changed things, I know where it is.” He reluctantly released her hands, moved to a cabinet on the far side of the room, opened it then glanced at her. “Would you care for a brandy as well?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

She had a dozen things she wanted to say to him and any number of things beyond that she wished to ask but now that he was here, she couldn’t seem to find the words. Just blurting out a declaration of love didn’t strike her at all right nor did bluntly asking him about his feelings for her.

What would Hermione do?

She squared her shoulders, drew a deep breath then hesitated. There was an air of distraction about him, as if he were very far away. Perhaps this was not the right moment after all. “Harrison?”

He started, his gaze jerked to hers. “My apologies. For a moment …”

“Yes?”

“I thought I heard …” He shook his head. “I spent a lot of time through the years with my brother in this very room. There are a great many memories here. It’s disquieting to be back without him.”

“I am sorry. I didn’t realize.” She hadn’t any siblings but the look on his face, of days gone past and loss and affection, clutched at her heart. “This was your brother’s house then?”

“Half brother really. We had the same mother. But Charles never treated me as though I was anything less than his brother.” He glanced at her. “I miss him.”

“I can imagine.”

“Of course. You have known loss as well.” He crossed to her and handed her a glass of brandy. “Veronica hasn’t changed a thing in this room. It’s exactly as if Charles might walk in at any minute. I suppose I should thank her for that. There is an element of comfort in the familiarity here although I’m not sure …” He glanced around. “This was Charles’s room more than any other. He liked the feel of being surrounded by books. By the wisdom and the humor of man he would say.” He chuckled. “I don’t know why really. I don’t think I ever saw him with a book in his hands. He would much rather ride or conquer beautiful women or gamble until well into the morning than sit quietly with a book, no matter how interesting. Until he married Veronica, that is,” he added quickly.

“From what she has said, I gather he was ripe for reform.”

Harrison grinned. “Indeed he was. We were as dissimilar as two men could be and yet as close as any brothers by blood. I have no need of reform.”

“Surely even you could use a little reformation.”

“Charles thought I could. Even in my youth, he always considered me too stiff and stodgy and proper.” He grinned. “I disagreed.”

“Perhaps he thought your reformation should be in the form of, oh, I don’t know, tempering your arrogance with a bit of humility?”

He stared at her then laughed. “Perhaps.” He took a sip of his brandy. “I can almost feel him here, nearly hear his voice.” He shrugged. “That sounds a bit fanciful, doesn’t it? Especially coming from me.”

“Not at all.” She smiled. “Well, perhaps a bit. From you.”

“I am never fanciful,” he said thoughtfully.

“I didn’t think you were.”

He glanced at her. “Nor am I ever indecisive.”

“I would imagine not.”

“I decide on a plan and I follow it through.” It struck her that he was talking more to himself than to her.

“That is my impression.”

“I like order and efficiency and life to be as expected. I am not fond of change.”

She bit back a smile. “Of course not.”

“I do not shirk my responsibilities. And I am never wrong.”

She raised a brow. “Never?”

“Rarely. Recently, however …” He stared at her as if he wanted to say something more, something important, but thought better of it. Blast it all. In spite of her feelings for him he was still the most annoying man she’d ever met.

“Yes? Recently?” She tried and failed to keep a note of expectation from her voice. After all, why else was he here if not to make a declaration of affection?

He hesitated. “She should make changes.”

“What?” She drew her brows together. “Who? What are you talking about?”

“Veronica.” He swirled the brandy in his glass. “This room. This house. It’s hers now. Charles is gone and she should make it her own.”

“Perhaps she likes it just as it is,” she said, surprised at the touch of impatience in her voice. “Perhaps she is no more interested in change than you.”

“Life changes, Julia. I’ve always known that. What we want, even who we are. But I don’t think I really accepted it until recently.”

“Recently?” She held her breath. “Please, go on.”

His brows drew together and again she didn’t think he was talking to her. She sighed to herself. “There are ghosts here, you know. In this house, in this room.”

“Ghosts?” An edge of panic raised her voice. “Don’t be silly. There are no such things as ghosts. How ridiculous.” Dear Lord, she was babbling. “No indeed.” She had no doubt Hermione was about somewhere but surely he didn’t know that. What on earth would he think if he knew the ancestor he so thoroughly disapproved of still, well, lingered? “Ghosts. Hah. Utter nonsense.”

“Ghosts of the past. The specters of what’s gone by.” He cast her an odd look as if he were questioning her sanity. She couldn’t blame him. “I’m not speaking of apparitions. That is indeed absurd.”

“Completely.” She uttered a strained sort of noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Julia could have sworn she heard the faint sound of Hermione’s laughter in the distance. With any luck she was mistaken, but her luck hadn’t been all that good of late.

Harrison nodded, as if he had come to a decision. “Veronica should go on with her life.”

“You think she hasn’t?”

“Has she?”

“Veronica is the most confident, capable woman I have ever met. Still, I suppose no one really knows how someone else feels, deep in their heart.” She thought for a moment. “It’s difficult to lose someone you had planned to spend the rest of your days with.”

He studied her but didn’t say a word.

“However …” She chose her words with care. “It seems to me you can choose to grieve for the rest of your days—”

He nodded. “As the queen has done.”

“Or you can accept that, well, life has indeed changed.” She cast him a rueful smile. “I am not the queen.”

“Have you?”

“Have I accepted that life has changed?”

“Yes. Or rather no.” His gaze met hers. “Have you gone on with your life?”

She stared at him for an endless moment. “Yes.” She gathered her courage. “Harrison.”

“Julia,” he said at the same time then smiled. “Please, go on.”

“Very well then.” She drew a deep breath. “Why are you here?”

He hesitated. “I thought … There is something you should know.”

“Is there?” Surely he was going to tell her of his feelings. Why would he have followed her here otherwise? A brilliant smile came from somewhere deep inside her. “There is something you should know as well.”

“I’m not sure how to say this.”

“Neither am I.” She shook her head. “I am not my great-grandmother. I daresay she would never be at a loss for words over something like this.”

“No, you’re not. It would be awkward if people believed you were.” His brow furrowed. “Something like what?”

“Awkward?” She frowned. “What do you mean ‘awkward’?”

“That might not be the right word.” Unease crossed his face. “And what do you mean by something like that?”

“Harrison,” she said slowly, “I suspect what you are trying to say is not what I am trying to say.”

“What I am trying to say is difficult.”

“Apparently.” Good Lord. How could she have been so wrong? He was going to tell her he was marrying Miss Waverly. Her heart sank. “Go on then, say it,” she snapped.

His brows pulled together. “Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry,” she said sharply. “I never get angry and I never lose my temper. Now, get on with it.”

He studied her closely. “It seems to me you lose your temper frequently.”

“Only with you!” She drew a calming breath and tried to ignore the sharp sense of loss and pain curling within her. “I am not angry but I am impatient. You came all the way from London to tell me something. Something
awkward
. So tell me.”

“Very well.” He took a sip of his brandy. “First of all, word of the existence of the memoirs has spread,” he said in an overly casual manner. It was most annoying. “It’s becoming quite a topic of gossip.”

She stared in disbelief. “That’s what you came to tell me? We knew that there would be gossip and even a certain amount of scandal connected with Hermione’s memoirs. I had hoped that wouldn’t happen until the book was published but now that it has, admittedly, it is
awkward.
” She shrugged. “But there’s nothing I can do about it save decide on the disposition of the memoirs at once.”

“Burning was a good idea,” he said under his breath.

“Under no circumstances will I allow them to be destroyed.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “This is all that is left of my great-grandmother. It’s not merely a chronicle of her adventures but the story of her life. Her thoughts and comments and observations of that life. Regardless of how much you offer, I will never turn them over to you to be destroyed.”

He eyed her coolly. “You’ve said that before.”

“It cannot be said often enough.”

“And I agree. At this point destroying them would be a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Your only salvation lies in the veracity of the memoirs.”

“My salvation?” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean
my salvation
? What haven’t you told me?”

“The gossip isn’t merely about the existence of the memoirs but exactly who is the author.”

“The author?” She stared in confusion. “My great-grandmother is the author.”

“And anyone who reads them will realize that but, as no one has read them yet, at least not completely …”

Dread settled heavily in the pit of her stomach.

“The gossip is that you wrote them.” His gaze met hers. “That they are based not on Lady Middlebury’s life but on your own experiences and fertile imagination.”

“Good Lord!” She collapsed onto the sofa and stared at him. “My imagination is not that fertile. I could never …” She shook her head. “How on earth … Who …”

“Who knows how something like this gets started.” He shook his head. “It’s bad, Julia.”

“I expected some scandal, a bit of notoriety perhaps, but this …”