The Redemption of Julian Price(27)

“You may feel differently after you hear me out,” he said.

“Oh?” Her dark brows arched over a pair of vivid green eyes.

“I came to tell you I’m to be wed.”

“You are?” She blinked. “But this is so . . . so abrupt. You’ve said nothing about it!”

“Because I didn’t know myself. Until yesterday, I was determined to return to Portugal.”

Her brows furrowed. “You were?”

“Yes.” He scrubbed his face with a sigh. “I had little choice, Muriel. My affairs are a mess.”

“So your bride has money?” Her lips pursed. “I did not think you were that type.”

“Why type is that?” he asked.

“A fortune hunter.”

He pulled his brows together in a frown. “I know that’s how it appears, but it’s not what you think. I’ve known Henrietta Houghton all my life. It was actually she who approached me.”

“She asked you to marry her? How . . . extraordinary.”

“Yes,” Julian responded with a low chuckle. “That word quite describes her.”

“It sounds like you are very fond of her.”

“I am. We were exceptionally close as children. She’s one of the few people in this world that I truly care about.”

“When will this take place?” she asked.

“Within the week,” Julian replied. “I procured the license today. We will be wed in our home parish in Shropshire.”

“I see,” she said, her expression impassive.

He studied her face, wondering if she cared more deeply than he’d thought or if it was only concern over the loss of income?

“I would not leave you high and dry, Muriel.” Julian reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a gold watch. “I wish you to take this. It was my father’s. It should bring enough to tide you over for several months . . . at least until . . .” He looked away, not knowing how to finish. He assumed their relationship was exclusive, but he’d never actually asked her.

“Until I find another protector?” she supplied tightly. “I think not. I never intended this, Julian. You and I just happened, but this isn’t the life I desire.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I need time to think. I thank you for the courtesy of telling me. Many men would simply have disappeared.”

He took her hand and caressed her knuckles. “I would never do that,” he said.

“Thank you. So this is our good-bye?” she asked, her voice soft and her gaze searching.

“Yes,” Julian said. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Good-bye, Muriel.”

Releasing her, he once more offered the watch. When she made no move to accept it, he laid it on her dressing table on his way to the door.

“I wish you happiness, Julian,” he heard her whisper to his back.

He paused with his hand on the latch. “Good-bye, Muriel,” he said with quiet finality, opened the door, and then closed the chapter of his bachelorhood.





CHAPTER SEVEN


––––––––

WITH HER GLOVED HAND POISED ON THE KNOCKER, Henrietta paused to take a breath, hoping to calm her racing pulse. Given its proximity to Covent Garden, the neighborhood appeared surprisingly respectable with it’s rows of neatly aligned brick town houses. She wondered anew about the woman who lived here. What was she like? Would she receive Henrietta or turn her away? She exhaled slowly and rapped softly at the door. Several few moments passed before a middle-aged woman in a white mobcap answered the door.

Henrietta raised her chin and cleared her throat. “I have come to call upon Mrs. Mathieson. Is she at home?”

The servant stepped back eyeing her curiously. “Whom shall I say calls?”

“I beg your pardon. My name is Henrietta Houghton from Bishop’s Castle, Shropshire. Although I have not met Mrs. Mathieson, she and I have a mutual acquaintance in Lieutenant Julian Price.” The servant’s eyes flickered at the mention of Julian’s name. “Perhaps you have met him?”

“Aye,” she confessed. “I be acquainted with the gentleman.”

Henrietta forced a smile. “Would you please tell your mistress that I would very much appreciate a moment of her time.”

The servant hesitated before taking a step back and opening the door. “Please to come with me, Miss.” Henrietta followed the servant’s bustling gray skirts into a small drawing room furnished tastefully in pale brocades. “If ye’ll wait here, I will inquire of the missus if she be receiving.”

Henrietta perched nervously on the edge of the buff-colored settle, her gaze focused sightlessly on the ormolu mantel clock as the minutes ticked by. Her attention riveted to the door at the sound of approaching slippered feet.

Henrietta rose with a tentative smile. “Mrs. Mathieson?” The modestly dressed and graceful woman who greeted her was a far cry from the tawdry tart that Henrietta had imaged.

“Please call me Muriel.” She approached and took Henrietta’s hand.

Even in her plain day gown, Muriel Mathieseon was quite a beautiful woman, far more attractive than Henrietta. To her dismay, Henrietta’s fears of an unfavorable comparison with Julian’s mistress were suddenly magnified.