The Redemption of Julian Price(18)

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“It means good day, Julian, and good luck to you in Portugal. There is a gate over there.” She pointed imperiously. “I trust you can see yourself out of it.”

Julian watched in agitation as Henrietta performed a rigid volte-face and marched through the terrace doors into the house without giving him a backward glance. What had gotten into her? She’d always been the one person he could trust not to judge him. But now it seemed he could do nothing right in her eyes. Damn it all. Henrietta simply didn’t understand how it was. Telling himself he didn’t care anymore, he spun on his own booted heel and exited the garden gate. If that’s how it was going to be, Henrietta Houghton could go to the devil with all the rest of them.

***

Henrietta had done all she could to contain her tears, but once she closed the terrace doors, she fell against them with a strangled sob. She was furious with Julian, but worse than that was the fact that she didn’t even fully understand why she was so upset with him. Was it that he had a mistress? Or was it that he didn’t even remember that he’d kissed her?

“Heavens, child! Why so distraught?”

Henrietta’s gaze jerked up to find her great-aunt perched on a chair by terrace door. “Aunt Iola! Were you spying on me?”

“I was merely enjoying the view, child. At my age, once must find entertainment where one may. Now tell me what that rapscallion has done to put your feathers in such a ruffle. Mussed hair and swollen lips, I expected,” Lady Cheswick chided, “but certainly not tears. I had much higher hopes given that young buck’s reputation.”

“Julian doesn’t want me.” Henrietta sniffed. “Not in that way.”

“Pshaw! If that is the case, it is easy enough to make him want you,” Lady Cheswick said. “Do you not think yourself capable of engaging his passion, Henrietta?”

“I don’t know,” Henrietta said tearfully. “I know nothing about inspiring a man’s passion. I haven’t even been able to entice him to kiss me since I bloodied his nose eight years ago.” She didn’t count a drunken kiss that Julian didn’t even remember.

“La! Child!” Lady Cheswick cackled. “’Tis no wonder you have not wed!” The dowager patted her hand. “Do not despair, Henrietta. It is never too late to learn.”

“It’s also true that Julian keeps a mistress.” Henrietta sniffed.

“Ah! That’s what’s troubling you?” Lady Cheswick waved a hand. “Most gentlemen do, my dear. At least those of my generation always did. Marriage and monogamy are quite distasteful concepts to most of the male gender.”

“But Julian is all but ruined. How can he do such a thing? It’s . . . it’s wasteful!” Henrietta declared with all the righteous indignation she could muster.

“Do not disparage what you do not understand, Henrietta,” Lady Cheswick wagged a be-ringed index finger. “There is often far more to these arrangements than meets the eye.”

“What do you mean?” Henrietta asked.

“My dear,” Lady Cheswick laid her bony hand on Henrietta’s arm, “there is something you must understand. Julian spent six years at war. You and I can have no idea what he has endured or what horrors he has witnessed. When a man suffers, bedding a woman is often his means of reclaiming a sense of his manhood, of regaining a sense of himself. It is entirely possible that his mistress supplies what he needs most.”

Henrietta suddenly recalled Julian’s expression of apathy and emptiness, of feeling less than human. Those words had haunted her. Did this woman, Muriel, ease his despair? Understanding bloomed into compassion. She felt her anger abating.

“Perhaps you are right,” Henrietta replied with a sigh. “But Julian’s means are limited. What will happen when he can no longer afford to keep this woman?”

“Then he will have to find another way to satisfy his needs. Perhaps then he will look to take a wealthy wife?”

“But Julian is not marriage-minded. He told you himself that he has no desire to wed.”

“Perhaps not at this moment, but lack of funds is a powerful incentive,” Lady Cheswick replied. “If Julian is experiencing such difficulties, he may be more persuadable than you think. Most men are when their purses get light.” Lady Cheswick smiled. “Perhaps it is time to discuss why I invited you here.”

“I understood you desired a companion, my lady, and thought I might suit you.”

“I am certain you would,” Lady Cheswick said. “You are wasted in the country surrounded by imbeciles, but I begin to doubt my arrangement would suit you nearly as well as it would suit me. I sent for you under the misapprehension that you had no desire for marriage, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“But I don’t desire to wed,” Henrietta insisted.

“What of your Julian?” Lady Cheswick asked, painted brows arched.

“Julian is not mine,” Henrietta insisted. “He is merely a childhood friend, my lady, not a suitor.”

“If it is only sisterly affection you feel for him,” Lady Cheswick argued, “why this distress over his mistress?” Her gaze was too sharp and her questions too pointed.

“Because . . . because . . .”

The old woman smiled. “I think you have deeper feelings for him than you care to admit. One should never pass up a grand amour, Henrietta, but we face a dilemma. As an unwed woman, a liaison is quite out of the question. Were you a widow, ’twould be quite a different matter. With an appropriate degree of circumspection, most of the polite world would turn a blind eye to an affaire de coeur. But sadly, you must first take a husband before you can lose one, which returns us back to you and Julian Price. If indeed you truly want him, you have no choice but to take him as your husband.”