The Accidental Countess (Accidental #2)(33)

She hurried over to the writing desk against the wall and pulled out a sheet of parchment, then she grabbed up her quill. She had a letter to write.

*

Thirty. Julian mentally counted off the press-ups as he did them in front of the windows of his guest chamber. Toes and palms braced against the floor, he pushed up his entire body using only the strength of his arms. Physical activity always seemed to clear his mind. He’d made a habit of doing press-ups on the nights before battles. Now that he was back in England, back in Society, he would have to do them in front of damask-covered walls on fine carpets instead of on wet, muddy, cold battlefields. Either was fine with him. As long as they still served to clear his mind.

Why had he confessed his secret to Patience Bunbury? Well, one of his secrets. He didn’t even know the young woman. There was something about her, though, something besides her beauty, something that made him feel safe and content and … at home. It sounded ludicrous in his head even as he had the thought, but he couldn’t help himself. It was true. There was something about her quiet, gentle nature, her unassuming personality, that far outshone her beauty. In her company, he felt as if he could tell her anything, everything, almost like … Cassandra.

Forty. He continued his exertion, his breathing coming fast and his arms burning with the strain. Normally, he welcomed the pain, tonight was no exception. It had taken him weeks to build his strength back up to be able to do this again. He gritted his teeth. Now he could only hope that Patience would keep her word and not tell Penelope what he’d said. Penelope was her friend, after all. It stood to reason that she might be tempted to tell. She’d promised him, however, and something told him she would keep that promise. But in the end, it wouldn’t matter. He intended to tell Penelope himself the moment she arrived, or at the first opportunity, at least.

Something else niggled at his conscience, however. It had been bad form to tell Miss Bunbury about his plans. The young woman had recently been jilted, after all. His confession might well have brought back those painful memories. She told him she was fine, but he had no doubt it would take a while for such a painful wound to heal. He knew all about healing wounds. Penelope had mentioned Miss Bunbury’s broken engagement to him and if Penelope bothered to write, it was serious. Yes, it had been wrong of him for more than one reason to admit to Miss Bunbury that he intended to end his engagement to Penelope.

Fifty. Groaning, he let go and fell to the carpet, spent. He rolled over and scrubbed both hands across his face. Who was he? He’d once been a man who would rather take his own life than be anything other than honorable. Now, he was poised to jilt his own would-be bride.

Life. That’s what it was. He’d learned the value of life lying on that bloody field outside of Waterloo. He’d learned it, and he would never forget.

A knock sounded on his bedchamber door, and Julian stopped short. He stood, strode over to the door, and yanked it open.

A footman stood at attention, two letters resting on a silver tray he held in front of him.

“I am sorry to bother you, Captain, but these arrived for you this evening.”

Julian thanked the young man and flipped him a coin. The footman bowed to him. Julian pulled the letters from the tray, turned, and shut the door behind him. Recognizing Derek’s bold scrawl on the first one, Julian ripped open the seal. He held his breath.

Swift,

Collin and I have arrived safely in France. Good news. We’ve questioned some people who heard a rumor about two Englishmen being held by the French. They think they know where the two men were taken. We’re leaving in the morning to look for the camp. Don’t worry. We’ll be careful in case it’s a trap. I’ll write again as soon as I know more.

Hunt

Julian expelled his breath. Wasn’t it just like Hunt to sign his letters Hunt instead of Claringdon? How long would it be before his friend got used to the fact that he was a duke? Julian smiled at the irony. He still thought of him as Hunt. How long would it be before he thought of him as Claringdon?

As for the contents of the letter, they were as good as could be expected. Hunt had a lead and was pursuing it. Julian couldn’t ask for better news so soon. But, damn it. He shouldn’t be here, enjoying the merriment of a country house party while God only knew what was happening to Donald and Rafe in France. If they were still alive, they were no doubt being held and likely tortured.

Julian crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it into the fireplace. Wartime correspondence should be destroyed immediately.

Wait.

It wasn’t wartime any longer.

Well, it was as long as Donald and Rafe weren’t safe. Julian shook his head. He had to finish this nonsense with his supposed engagement and get to France to help his friends as soon as possible. Which meant no more waiting. He had to find Penelope Monroe immediately.

He turned his attention to the second letter, nearly forgotten in his grasp. He glanced down at it and sucked in his breath. It was from Cassandra.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Jane was ushered into the green drawing room at Garrett Upton’s house the next morning. His home was nowhere near as grand as the Upbridge estate that would one day be his, but it was large and serviceable and only a few miles’ ride from Lucy’s house. Jane had left her maid and the groomsmen outside with the coach. This was a conversation much better held in private.

She glanced around. Upton was not yet in the room. She rolled her eyes. He was going to make her wait. Of course he was. Now how had she got so wrapped up in Lucy’s latest scheme? She shook her head. Lucy had that way about her. The moment she got a notion in her head, she began to put it into action and the rest of them just fell into the choreographed affair that she pulled off with such aplomb. It was shocking, really.