An Improper Suitor (12 page)

Julia had hugged her tightly. ‘Of course I’m happy with you. You know I am. But to think that my father is somewhere out there …’

She had shaken her head. ‘You must not think of that. You are far better off with your father far away. From what I know of him, he is too selfish to care for anyone but himself.’

‘Mama must have thought him charming.’

‘So did many other women. He could charm a cat’s whiskers from its face. However, his charm brought your mother nothing but misery.’ She had closed her eyes in pain, remembering the daughter she had lost. ‘I’m convinced her unhappiness weakened her
constitution
. That was why such a mild cold was able to kill her. No-one would have thought it.’ She had taken Julia’s head and pulled the child towards her. ‘You must push aside any thoughts of your father.’

Over the years, Julia resolved not to make her mother’s mistake. She had promised herself she would never fall victim to a charming rogue.

It was ironic, indeed, that she was about to marry one. One who acknowledged, quite openly to her, his future wife, that he consorted regularly with actresses.

At least I’m not in love with him.

In the shuffle of the crowds leaving the theatre, Julia was separated briefly from her group.  

Almost immediately, someone grasped her arm from behind. She knew without turning who it was. Her heart sped up, and her throat grew so dry she could not swallow. His grip was not painful, but it was like iron, cold and inescapable. She could not tear it away
without
provoking an incident.  

She chastized herself for her irrational fear. He could not do anything to her here, in the midst of the theatre crowds.  

She decided to play his game. He did not know that she had
discovered
his intentions. So she allowed her eyes to flutter, and turned to face him, a flirtatious smile on her face. At least, she hoped that it was flirtatious. ‘Why, Lord Neave. What an unexpected pleasure,’ she said. ‘I did not know you enjoyed Shakespeare.’  

‘Everyone enjoys Kean,’ he said, lightly. ‘And one does not go to the theatre merely to watch a play. In my case, I came to see if I could discover your direction.’  

She kept smiling, even though her teeth ached. ‘Whatever do you need my direction for?’ she said, playfully.  

‘I’ve looked for you everywhere,’ said Neave, gazing at her intensely. ‘I called on you this morning, but you were not in.’  

‘Yes, I left early today.’  

‘I saw some trunks being loaded into a carriage,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘I was afraid you might be going on a journey.’  

She fumbled for an easy lie. Why had they not discussed the
possibility
of running into Neave in the theatre? She could have come up with some convincing story about her sudden absence from the
townhouse
. ‘An old schoolfriend of mine has taken sick,’ she said. ‘I have offered to keep her company during her illness. She’s a widow, you
see, and she’s alone in the house.’

His eyes gleamed like a wolf’s, no doubt at the knowledge that her friend lived alone. ‘You must give me the address of your friend, then, so I may call on you.’

‘It would hardly be appropriate, Lord Neave, to call on me when my grandmother is not present as chaperon.’

His eyes hardened briefly at her words. Then his expression shifted back its former intensity.

‘The fact is,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘I am unable to put you out of my mind.’ He sent her an ardent glance, then looked away, as if embarrassed. ‘I would very much like to ask your grandmother’s permission for your hand.’

She opened her mouth to reply, but he hushed her. ‘Don’t answer me now. I would like to call on you tomorrow morning to discuss this subject, if you will give me your friend’s directions.’

Julia shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I really must catch up with my party. When my friend is recovered, I will send a note around to let you know. Until then I’m afraid I can think of little else. I am afraid for her.’ She was surprised how convincing she sounded. Her voice even held a little tremor when she spoke of her fear. Of course, she really was afraid, but for other reasons.

‘Oh, I hope to see you before then.’ He said it lightly, but his eyes were predatory. ‘Meanwhile, I can only wish your friend a very speedy recovery.’ He bowed, stiffly, and melted into the crowd.

Julia sprang up in her bed. Pitch dark surrounded her, boxing her in.

She reached for a candle at her bedside. The nightmare rolled off her, following the perspiration that trickled down her face. She wiped it with her sleeve, struggling to banish the all too vivid scene.

She ran through the trees. It felt more as though she was riding because the trees were becoming a blur. Her bare feet tore, pierced by bramble and thorns and branches. Her lungs wheezed with effort. Blood dripped into her eyes from a cut in her head. It blocked her vision, but there was no time even to brush it away.

She knew the house she sought was straight ahead. If she could reach it, she would be safe. If she could keep running those few steps
….

An arm snaked round from behind a tree. Her feet kept moving. But her body was suspended, jerked back and upwards by the steel muscles of her assailant. A hand descended on her mouth, smothering her. She could not breathe
….

She struggled to control her breathing. It was only a nightmare. It was not real. She was safe, here, in Lady Thorwynn’s house. No one knew her location.

She wondered if Neave huddled in the shadows of the street outside her window, watching her.

She shuddered and pushed the thought away. He did not know her location.

Tomorrow was the last day of the wager. Tomorrow she would be free of him, and she would return to a life of sanity. Between waking and sleeping, she pictured herself searching for a husband in the lecture halls and the museums, someone who did not think her a
bluestocking
or an oddity.

When she woke up, the sun poured into the room like a halo around the edges of the drawn curtains. It was late – very late. She drew aside the scarlet damask curtains and pushed open the window. The sky was a vast canvas of contented blue, interrupted by solitary clouds that drifted lazily around. A warm breeze carrying the giddy aroma of blossoms rippled over her skin. Birds chattered and gossiped and flirted, screeching and tweeting to their life’s content.

On a day like this, her nightmare receded so far it seemed a figment of her imagination.

Then reality came crashing in around her. She was engaged to be married. To Lord Thorwynn. What had she been thinking of last night? She had forgotten entirely that there would be no other husband. Her bed had been made and she would have to lie in it. Or at least, grow accustomed to seeing it around.

The engagement would have to be announced sometime, perhaps today, if Lady Medlow had spread the rumours at the theatre. Perhaps she was holding on to her little titbit, waiting for the right moment, for full dramatic effect.

She rang for Bethany, her maid, to help her change. She picked out a peach walking dress with rows of Vandyke trimming at the bottom and a peach muslin sash. Not that she was planning to go walking.

A walking dress, however, was more appropriate than a plain morning dress for someone whose engagement may be announced any moment.

She could barely wait for Bethany to finish arranging her hair. She wanted desperately to read the gossip columns, to confront the abyss waiting for her.

She found Lady Thorwynn in the parlour, sipping a mustard-coloured tonic and grimacing at the taste.

‘I’m surprised to see you awake already, Lady Thorwynn. You were out until late yesterday. It is barely eleven o’clock.’

Lady Thorwynn sighed, and then, holding her nose, disposed of the rest of the yellow-green liquid with a gulp and a quick shudder of distaste. ‘Alas,’ she said, sighing tragically, ‘I wish I could sleep longer. But the slightest noise disturbs me. It’s impossible to sleep with the
commotion of the servants in the morning. The clatter of pots and dishes alone is more than enough to wake me. Nerves, you know.’

Julia doubted very much that Lady Thorwynn could hear the
clatter
of pots and dishes all the way from the basement kitchen to her room on the third floor, but there were times in her life when she had found sleeping difficult, and she could understand her discomfort.

‘Have you tried chamomile? I’ve heard that it does wonders for sleep.’

‘I have tried it. I’ve tried every herbal concoction under the sun. But nothing has helped,’ said Lady Thorwynn.

Julia, having no other advice to offer, raised the issue of the gossip columns. ‘I’d like to look at them,’ she said, trying to hide her
anxiety
.

Lady Thorwynn was not fooled, however. ‘I have already perused them,’ she said, ‘and there is absolutely nothing pertaining to you or my son.’

Julia frowned in perplexity. What was Lady Medlow waiting for? If she waited much longer, the news would become stale. For how could an event that took place in a ball three days ago stir the
imagination
of the
ton
?

She was still pondering the matter when Lady Thorwynn left the house for an appointment with her
modiste
. She was beginning to wonder if there had been some strange mistake. Had Lady Medlow and Lady Telway actually seen her and Thorwynn in the Kinleigh library? Perhaps the library was too dark. Perhaps they were looking for something and didn’t notice them. Unlikely as it seemed, she could see no other explanation for this protracted silence.

With no one to talk to, and her grandmother still asleep, she decided to retreat to her room, where she attempted to read, though with very little success.

An urgent scratch at the door surprised her out of her meditations.

‘Enter,’ she said. The door almost flew open. Mary, Lady Thorwynn’s maid, rushed into the room, her face pale, clutching her apron and muttering a prayer under her breath.

‘You’ve got to come, Miss Swifton. I don’t know what to do. Lady Bullfinch has taken very ill. She can’t breathe.’

Julia ran down the corridor. Her footsteps as they fell made a
rhythm.
Please don’t die, Grannie, please don’t die
. A terrible rhythm of fear and panic.
Please don’t die, Grannie, please don’t die
.

Even from outside the bedchamber, she could hear the laboured breathing.

‘Send Bethany for Dr Lincoln,’ she ordered, spitting the words out as she ran. ‘She’ll know where to find him. Tell her to run.’ The coachman was not there, so she could not send her by coach. ‘And send to the stables for a horse.’

Lady Bullfinch lay on the bed, clutching her chest, her eyes wide with effort as she wheezed in a desperate attempt to breathe. Julia rushed to her bedside to look for the medicine Dr Lincoln had given her. It was on the floor, the bottle broken, the dark liquid staining the carpet. Desperately, she tried to wipe up the liquid on to her hands, to bring some of it to her tongue, but there was too little of it.

She struggled to bring her upright, thinking it might ease her breathing. It seemed to help, just a little, but the terrible wheezing did not cease. She did not know what else to do.

Mary appeared in the doorway. ‘Bethany’s gone for Dr. Lincoln, my lady, but the groom’s not in the stable, and the coachman’s gone. There is a horse in the stable, I’m told, but it’s not saddled. One of the footmen can get it ready, but it will take a while.’

Julia shook her head. ‘There’s no time. Someone needs to take a message to Lord Thorwynn. Tell him he needs to come, urgently. And send up whoever prepares Lady Thorwynn’s concoctions.’

Meanwhile, Julia convinced herself, the only thing to do was to stay calm. And to try and help her grandmother breathe.

‘Grannie, you’re going to be all right,’ she said, trying not to show her dismay as she rolled up her shoulders, grasping for breath. She needed to reassure her, not frighten her. ‘Lean on me,’ she said. ‘Perhaps if you lean forward a bit it will help you.’

She took a slow, deep breath herself, hoping it would encourage her to breathe.
Breathe, Grannie, breathe
. A slow, deep breath.

Something she did seemed to help. Her ladyship took a shuddering breath, then coughed violently. Another painstaking breath, then some more coughing.

She was still grasping for breath, but the situation seemed less desperate.

The housekeeper appeared. ‘Do you have any stramonium?’ asked Julia, reluctant to stop that slow, deep breathing.

The housekeeper shook her head.

Julia groaned inwardly. They had a supply of stramonium at the townhouse. She had used inhaled infusions to help Lady Bullfinch during her illness. Julia turned back to help her grandmother breathe. Deep breath. Another deep breath.

She relaxed a little in her arms. Julia peered into her face, alarmed, wondering if she had grown too tired to breathe. But the wheezing had become less pronounced, and her shoulders had gone back to their normal position. She rubbed her back to help the muscles relax.
Deep breath, another deep breath. Keep going, Grannie. Keep going
.

By some miracle, the attack was subsiding.

By the time Dr Lincoln arrived, her grandmother’s chest rose and fell normally.

‘Do you have any stramonium?’ Julia asked, rather abruptly. He looked at her blankly.

‘There is no longer any need to be concerned,’ he said. ‘The attack is over. I’ll give her something to drink that will help her. It looks like she experienced a contraction of the lungs, but she is quite recovered, now.’

In fact, she looked almost her usual self. The colour had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes had regained their normal lustre, even if they were somewhat bloodshot.

‘Go get yourself something to eat,’ said her ladyship, with a half smile. ‘And stop fussing around me. I’m perfectly well now.’

The last thing Julia wanted to do was to eat. Now that the urgency was over, she realized how terrified she had been. Her knees felt weak, her thoughts jumbled.

How could there have been no stramonium in a household whose mistress was known for her herbal concoctions? Suppose she had stopped breathing?

She had to visit an apothecary immediately. What if there was another attack, this time more severe?

Dr Lincoln was certainly competent, but she did not put too much faith in doctors. Her own mother had died with her doctor beside her, claiming she would recover soon.

She slipped into her room, wrapped herself in a cashmere shawl, and took out her reticule.

As for Neave, he could not be any danger to her. He did not even know where she was staying. In the short trip to the apothecary’s it was hardly likely she would run into him.

He appeared out of the shadows, taking her elbow firmly in his hand.

‘I was a fool to trust you,’ hissed Neave. ‘To think I believed in that cock-and-bull story you concocted about your friend, when all the time you were staying in Lady Thorwynn’s house.’

Very briefly, almost too fast for her to follow, a knife glinted, then disappeared.

Panic froze her. He was a desperate man and she did not know what he was capable of. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Should she just surrender to him, let him win his wager? Supposing she gave in, and he stabbed her afterwards and threw her body into the Thames?

She tried to calm herself. She would never escape if she did not gather her wits about her. What could she say to convince him to let her go? Nothing came to mind. ‘I’ll call a hack,’ he said. ‘And you’ll come with me, nicely and quietly.’  

Nicely and quietly
. The words echoed in her head. She needed to try and get away from now until they reached the main road, where the hacks could be found. What would be the best thing to do? She could scream, of course, but that could well result in a scandal that she might never live down.  

She wondered if there was any way to make him trip, or to make him fall down one of the steep servants’ stairs. They would pass by several more townhouses on the way to the main road – surely the wrought iron gate would be open at one of them. If not, she could pretend to fall, open the gate, and push him so he fell down the stairs. She would make him lose his footing, using one of the iron boot scrapers. She strained with her eyes down the row of houses to see which entrance would best serve her purpose.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts, it took her a minute to
realize
he was making no move to walk down the street. He stood there, just a few steps away from Lady Thorwynn’s townhouse, waiting.

An acute desire to laugh rose up in her and she smothered it. The laughter cleared her brain and she grew absolutely lucid.

There were no hacks in this street. George Yard, where Lady Thorwynn’s townhouse was located, was not a through way. It
terminated
in a large mansion that blocked any other exit. It was difficult for carriages to turn round, so they came this way only to drop off passengers if they had to. In order to call a hack, one had to walk to Duke Street, or to Grosvenor Square through a connecting narrow lane. It was an inconvenience Lady Thorwynn often deplored, at the same time declaring how glad she was to be free of the constant rattle of carriages.

They would stand there forever, waiting.

She went over everything Thorwynn had told her about Neave, especially the scene at the battlefield with him running away. She considered the knife, hidden somewhere in the folds of his overcoat. Would he use it if she tried to run away?

‘Damnation!’ he said, giving the iron railing a sharp kick. ‘Have all the wretched hacks in London gone to the devil?’

She said nothing.

‘I should have brought my own carriage.’

She could not help taunting him, partly because she wanted to know how far he would go. ‘It would hardly have served, to have your carriage standing on the street with your crest visible for all to see, while you waited for me to come out.’

‘Silence!’ he said, flashing the knife again.

They stood awkwardly by the side of the road. An old-fashioned gentleman came in their direction. He wore a green and pink taffeta frock coat, long hair tied with a ribbon, and high red-heeled shoes with buckles. Julia recognized him as one of Lady Bullfinch’s
acquaintances
, Lord Yarfolk. He sauntered lazily towards them, waving his walking stick.