The Redemption of Julian Price(26)

“Curse all womankind!” Harry exclaimed. “Her name is Muriel Mathieson. She lives on Bedford Street, Covent Garden. No good can come out of any of this, I tell you. You have thrown all good sense out the window.”

“Please don’t be this way, Harry,” she pleaded. “I have no desire to alienate my family, but Julian and I will be wed whether you give your blessing or not.”

“Very well.” Harry rose stiffly. “I have spoken my piece. If that is the way of it, I shall take my leave.” Harry turned to his great-aunt with a curt bow. “I bid you both good day.”

Henrietta looked after her brother with burning eyes. How could her twin be so compassionless? And why did no one besides her see any good in Julian? Was Harry right? Logic made her question her actions. Was she doing the best thing for both of them, or was she about to make the biggest mistake of her life?

“Do you think I am making a mistake?” Henrietta asked her aunt.

“It is never a mistake to follow your heart’s leading, Henrietta,” Lady Cheswick said. “Regrets over a love lost will never keep you warm at night.”

Her heart had led her to Julian, but now doubts cast a dismal shadow over her. Would he ever grow to love her? Would he ever be a husband to her in truth? Why, oh why, had she told him she didn’t wish to consummate? Was it only fear that she wouldn’t measure up to his mistress? She wondered again which would be worse? To have sexual relations and be found wanting, or never to experience it at all?

“But what am I to do if Julian intends to keep his mistress? I have no desire to share my husband.”

“Do you think Julian loves her?”

“He says he does not,” Henrietta replied. “But how can I know? It would be a foolish thing indeed to tie myself to a man who loves another.”

She trusted the old Julian, but many years had passed, and the episode in the tavern told her there was much she didn’t know about him. One way or another, she had to know Julian’s true feelings for the woman. There was only one way to find the answers she sought—and those answers lived in Covent Garden Square.

***

Julian left the bishop’s offices late that afternoon with a marriage license in his pocket, deliberating his next move. His thoughts were random as he navigated the congestion of London traffic from Fulham Palace to Covent Garden Square, where he parked his phaeton in the mews behind the row of nondescript town houses. He’d left Shropshire days ago with plans to call on Muriel as soon as he’d arrived in town, but strangely, had found himself avoiding her. He didn’t know why.

Although she’d proposed marriage, Hen had made clear her aversion to conjugal relations with him. Why had she rejected the idea out of hand? Was she also afraid of souring their friendship? She’d even gone so far as to imply she’d turn a blind eye to Muriel. The more he considered it, the more distasteful Julian found the notion of wedding one woman and bedding another. If he were to take Henrietta to wife, he wanted her to be a true wife—one who would share his life as well as his bed. What was he to do if she refused him? A man had needs, and he’d already denied his far too long. Although he’d come to Muriel tonight to take his pleasure, his sense of wrong grew stronger the nearer he approached Muriel’s door.

By the time he reached for the knocker, the desire to bed his mistress had waned almost completely. Had the time come to end this arrangement? Was that why he’d dragged his feet? Because he’d really come to say good-bye? He realized it was so.

Having come to a final resolution, he raised his fist and sounded three impatient raps on the door. “Is your mistress at home?” he inquired of the middle-aged woman who answered his knock.

“Aye. She be at home, sir. Is my lady expecting ye, Mr. Price?”

“No, Mrs. Tillman. Could you please inform her that I have come to call?”

“Aye, sir.” She stepped back and opened the door to him. “If ye’d be pleased to wait in the drawing room, my lady will attend ye directly.” The servant bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

He wondered what she thought of his arrangement with her employer. If she disapproved, she’d never let on. Feeling like a caged animal, Julian paced the length of the tiny drawing room until Mrs. Tillman returned.

“My lady is dressing for the evening but says she’ll receive ye in her boudoir, sir,” she replied with her gaze respectfully averted.

Julian ascended the stairs, his thoughts and emotions still jumbled. Would this be a fond farewell or an awkward and tearful good-bye? He rather hoped for the former but steeled himself for the latter. He entered to find Muriel in the midst of her toilette.

“Julian?” She rose from her dressing table to greet him. “I didn’t expect you back so soon from the country.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t send word,” he said. “But I honestly didn’t know when I’d return. Did you have a prior engagement?” he asked, eyeing the gown that lay ready for her, an emerald green silk, the first gift he had given her.

“None that I can’t easily break,” she replied with a smile and entwined her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

Muriel Mathieson was a well-born woman with the kind of voluptuous beauty that any red-blooded man would appreciate. Yet he’d always regarded her with the kind of appreciative detachment that one felt while viewing a work of art. Her gaze met his with a puzzled look when he withdrew to arm’s length rather than pulling her into an embrace.