The Matchmaker (23 page)

"I'm going to marry her," Cyrus said quietly.

Though those words from his friend would have
utterly confounded Noel weeks before, he was curiously
unsurprised to hear them now. He didn't even wonder if
the motive was to protect Julia's reputation; he knew
Cyrus too well to believe such nonsense. "Well, it'll
eventually give the gossip a new direction," he said
wryly.

"I mean immediately.
Next week at the latest.
If I can
persuade Julia, that is."

That was a surprise. "For God's sake, Cy, her husband
isn't even in the ground yet!"

Cyrus hesitated, studying his friend, then said, "Noel, Drummond didn't just go insane—he's been insane for a
long time.
Years, at least.
He hid it well, except in
private. He didn't hide it from her. No one who knew what Julia's gone through could ever condemn her for not mourning him."

"You mean.
..
he abused her?"

Again Cyrus hesitated. He knew Julia would be
appalled if the hell of her marriage became a topic for speculation in the neighborhood. But he also knew too
well the social set to which they belonged. Some part of
the story would have to be known if Julia was to escape
censure for a second marriage hard on the heels of her
husband s funeral.

"Cy?"

Obeying one of the impulses that seemed to deter
mine so many of his actions these days, Cyrus said, "He
was brutal.
In ways I hope you can't even imagine. If she
weren't an incredibly strong woman, she'd have gone
mad herself. As it is, she's scarred both in body and
mind,
and terribly vulnerable right now."

Noel's expression was unusually still as he looked at
his friend, and his voice was very quiet. "I see.'

"I could take her away somewhere," Cyrus said brood
ingly. "Start fresh in another city, where no one has to
know she was married before. But her life's
already been
disrupted so much. She needs a sense of security, and I
believe I can give her that here.
In time.
But if the
people she knows in Richmond treat her badly—"

"You're right in thinking that if the truth were known,
there wouldn't be many who'd condemn her for marry
ing again right away. The question is, how
do you
let the
truth out without making Julia feel worse than she does about it."

Another impulse prompted Cyrus to say, "Noel,
would you ask Felice to call on Julia in a day or so?"

"Of course," Noel replied slowly, his eyes very intent
on Cyrus. "But what's on your mind?
And why Felice?"

"I'm not quite sure what's on my mind." He thought
about it for a moment. "I believe Julia needs to know all
marriages aren't like hers was, and she'll be sure of that only if another woman tells her. She needs to talk to another woman, someone she can feel comfortable con
fiding in. Felice would be perfect. She has a happy
marriage, she wouldn't condemn Julia, and her support would go a long way in influencing the other women in the neighborhood to accept Julia's remarriage without
censure."

Noel looked at him for a long moment,
then
said, "Cy,
you are uncanny."

"What are you talking about?"

Leaning back in his chair, Noel shook his head slightly. "You knew Felice was a widow when I married
her?"

"Yes. I remember when she moved to Richmond ten
years ago. What's your point?"

Softly, Noel said, "Her first husband... she'll carry the scars he gave her to her grave."

Cyrus felt a shock. "I had no idea," he murmured.

"I think you did. Somewhere inside, I think you knew Felice would be the ideal woman to talk to Julia, even
though I've never told you what she suffered."

Cyrus didn't say anything immediately, just looked at Noel steadily. "I don't know. Perhaps," he said finally. Then he shrugged. "My peculiar whims and notions
don't interest me at the moment. I'm worried about
Julia. Will it upset Felice too much to talk to her?"

Noel got to his feet. "No, I don't think so. And she'll
want to help, you know that." He studied his friend for
a moment,
then
obeyed an impulse of his own to say, "Something else is worrying you, though. What is it?"

He hadn't meant to say anything, but Cyrus had a
feeling he might need help in finding the answers he needed and there was no one he trusted more than Noel.
"Drummond returned home hours before he should
have. Lissa said he was already raving when he came in
the door, that he knew Julia was leaving him—and
coming to me. There was no way he could have known—
unless someone told him. And I have no idea who it
was."

Julia rested her head on the lip of the tub, feeling the
warm water ease her tension. Warm water, Mrs. Stork
had said in her motherly way, because she'd feel chilled
later if she didn't now; shock did that to people.

Cyrus's housekeeper had been wonderful, helping Julia get Lissa into bed and even persuading the shivering girl to drink enough hot soup to "warm her from the inside." Julia had intended to remain by Lissa's bed, but
once her sister had fallen asleep, Mrs. Stork had re
turned with a smiling young housemaid and had urged
Julia to take care of herself now, because Sarah would
stay by the bed in case Miss Lissa needed anything.

Julia had protested. It was
late,
there was no need for
Sarah to be kept from her own bed. But Sarah had
spoken up shyly to say she'd be pleased to stay, and Mrs. Stork had said there was a bath ready for Julia and a tray
would be sent up later. Not accustomed to being
watched over by anyone—Adrian's servants were efficient but remote—Julia had allowed herself to be per
suaded.

She hadn't had the time to feel a sense of strangeness in being in this house, and matter-of-fact acceptance of the servants turned what should have been an awkward
situation into a relatively normal one. From the moment
Cyrus had brought them there, she and Lissa had been
treated as if they belonged. Not by a single word or
glance had anyone betrayed surprise, curiosity, or cen
sure.

Julia didn't know what Cyrus had said to Mrs. Stork,
but he must have told her something, because the
waiting bath was in the master suite. After everything
that had happened that day, Julia had felt nothing more
than a twinge of embarrassment when she realized she'd been taken to his rooms. She had been provided with a nightgown—heaven knew where it had come from—and
Mrs. Stork had asked her to leave her things out in the
dressing room so they could be cleaned for the next day.

It had hit Julia only then. Everything in the world she could have called her own was nothing but a pile of ashes
now. She tried to feel something about that, but was
aware of nothing except weariness.

Now, lying in the warm, softly scented bathwater, she
tried again to feel something. Not grief, no, but some
emotion.
A sense of relief, of freedom.
Worry about the
future. She was a widow now. Today she had seen her
husband violently killed, had seen his mangled body
lying in the street. She had seen the house she had lived in for two years blazing. She had taken a lover.

A soft knock at the closed door of the bathroom made
her turn her head and regard the barrier a little blankly,
then
she heard Cyrus's voice.

"Julia? May I come in?"

She was vaguely surprised he'd asked. That he had knocked. Intimacy with a man meant a loss of privacy, didn't it? "Of course," she responded. What else could
she say? This was his house.

He came in and knelt on the mat by the tub, his black eyes searching her face intently. As if he had to touch
her, his hand rose to gently stroke her cheek. "How do you feel, my sweet?"

"I don't feel anything." She forced herself to think.
"The servants?
The house?"
She meant Adrian's, of
course, and Cyrus understood.

"The servants are fine, they got out in time. They've
been given rooms here until we can get everything
sorted out. I'm afraid the house was gutted." His voice was quiet.

"I wonder why he burned it," she murmured almost to
herself. "The house was his pride."

Cyrus was on the point of saying a madman could
hardly be rational about anything, but something
stopped him. Julia knew Drummond's sickness better
than anyone, and if she found the arson sur
prising... Cyrus had a feeling that was important,
but he didn't know why. And he didn't want to probe the matter now with Julia. She was too controlled, too
withdrawn; he didn't like her pallor or the darkened
stillness of her eyes.

"Did you talk to the police?" she asked idly in the
same soft, remote voice.

"Yes." He had dealt with all the official questions and
had talked to the firemen at the Drummond house, preferring to spare Julia as much as possible. He was afraid, however, that the worst was yet to come. The
mayor of Richmond had apparently gone berserk, setting
his house afire and then rushing into the streets with a
gun, shouting obscenities until an ice wagon had run him
down; the newspapers were going to have a field day.

Cyrus leaned over and kissed her briefly, wishing he
could protect her from the curious world outside this house. "Mrs. Stork sent up a tray for us," he said. "You need to eat something, love."

Julia wasn't hungry, but she didn't argue with him.
"All right."

He smiled. "Want me to wash your back for you?"

"No." She knew the answer was too quick, too sharp,
and her eyes slid away from him nervously. "Thank you,
but it isn't necessary."

He was silent for a moment,
then
said, "Today at the
house you were careful not to turn your back to me until
your blouse was on. You don't want me to see, do you?"

She had to meet his gaze again, drawn by the under
standing in his incredible voice. "It's ugly," she whis
pered.

Cyrus made a soft sound, as if he were in pain, and
said, "Sweetheart, nothing about you could ever be ugly
to me. I have to see, you know that."

"Not now." She knew her eyes were pleading. "I
can't—please, not now."

"All right."
He stroked her cheek for a moment,
then
rose to his feet. "I'll wait for you in the bedroom."

Julia nodded, and remained in the tub for a few
moments after he'd gone out and shut the door behind him. What she wanted more than anything was to close
her eyes and sleep, to forget for a few hours.

She got out of the tub finally, pulling the plug to let
the water drain, and dried her body with one of the
warmed towels provided for her. The nightgown she
pulled over her head was fashioned of cambric and
trimmed in pale satin ribbons, a lovely, expensive garment. It didn't belong to one of the maids, she knew. The nightgown provided for Lissa had also been a fine one, and Julia couldn't help wondering...

She pushed the speculation out of her mind, too tired to try to decide if the nightgown and the acceptance of
the servants
was
merely due to past experience of
women staying here. There was a hairbrush and comb near the basin; Mrs. Stork had said they were for her use. Julia took her hair down and brushed it, but didn't attempt to braid it for the night.

She went out into the bedroom, finding that a small,
linen-covered table had been set near the window with
a light meal. She still wasn't hungry, but when Cyrus
came to take her hand and lead her to the table she
didn't protest. He had taken off his coat, tie, and vest and
seemed relaxed, but she knew he was watching her
closely. She wondered vaguely if he expected hysterics,
and almost wished she could have them; she thought
anything would be better than the numb lack of feeling
that encased her.

He talked to her while they both ate, though after
ward Julia was never able to remember what he said. All she recalled was the inexpressibly soothing sound of his
voice, the peculiar magic of it seeming to surround her with a sense of peace and contentment. She ate to please him, tasting nothing.

When they were finished, he piled the dishes on the
tray and set it outside in the hall. When he returned to
her, he lifted her up from her chair, cradling her body easily in his powerful arms, and carried her to the big bed. He settled her there, drawing the covers up over
her because the room was cool, then sat beside her on the bed and looked down at her gravely.