The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(93)

“I like her,” she said. “I truly do. I very much want her to like me.”

“She does. She thinks you extraordinarily beautiful.” His mouth twisted in a fleeting smile. “She’s not the only one.”

Julia squeezed his arm in acknowledgment of the compliment. But she wouldn’t be distracted. “Was their mother cruel?”

Up ahead, the drive divided into two separate branches. The first led up to the front of the Hall. The second curved around to the opposite side, a distance away, toward the outbuildings that were presently housing the horses.

Jasper guided Julia down the second path, his mouth set in a grim line. “At times,” he said. “Near the end, especially. She blamed them for a great deal that had gone wrong in her life. I did my best to keep them clear of her.”

Julia frowned. “And yet you’ve buried her here with all reverence, as though she were a saint.”

Good Lord. Is that how it appeared?

Dolly Carvel had been no saint. When she’d first appeared at the Hall six years ago, Jasper had been disposed to think her a devil. It was true, he had buried her here, and he had marked her grave with an angel. But it hadn’t been for her benefit. It had been for Charlie, Alfred, and Daisy.

“What purpose would it serve to tear down the children’s memory of her?” he asked.

“A false memory, it would seem,” Julia said.

Jasper couldn’t dispute the fact. “If the children wish to reflect on Dolly’s petty cruelties, they may do so in their own time. I’ll not be the one to remind them of her faults.”

“You’d rather they make a fiction out of her?”

“If that’s what they prefer,” he said. “No doubt it’s better that way.”

Julia’s wide silk skirts brushed his leg. “Can a lie ever be better than the truth?”

He inwardly flinched. “Sometimes, yes. I believe it can. If it’s in a good cause.”

“It’s still a lie,” she said. “I’m not convinced that lies are ever a good idea. Not even when a person means well.” She paused. “But it’s none of my business, is it?”

“You’re my wife. Naturally, it’s your business. On this subject, however, I trust you’ll defer to me.”

“You needn’t worry. I’d never presume to criticize the children’s mother to them. It’s obvious they revere her. I know you cared for her, too. You must have done to have been with her for so many years.”

Bloody hell. How did they get on this subject?

There was nothing Jasper could say that wouldn’t make him out a villain. If he told the truth, that he’d never cared for Dolly at all, he sounded like a cad. And if he lied and said he had, he’d sound as though he was betraying his feelings for his wife. Either way, Julia would be hurt.

“Must we be forever talking about the past?” he asked with a scowl.

“I can’t simply pretend you didn’t have a life before.”

No, indeed. How could she with the children in residence and Dolly buried at the bottom of the garden? Every corner Julia turned on the estate held a reminder of the sordid history of the infamous Captain Blunt. And Jasper could do nothing about it.

The only solution was to go forward.

“I’m more concerned with the life I have now,” he said. “We should be talking about the future.”

“Very well.” She cast him a guarded glance. “What about it?”

In that moment, he could have told her anything. Spoken about his feelings or about what he hoped for their marriage. But the time wasn’t right. Not when they’d just been discussing his relationship with Dolly.

“I’ve been, ah, thinking of the tenants’ cottages,” he said instead.

“The tenants’ cottages?”

“They require a great deal of work. New roofs to start. I thought we might begin with them once we have your fifty thousand pounds in hand.”

She lifted her skirts out of the way as they left the dirt path to cross the grass. “You haven’t mentioned my money since the day we arrived here.”

He grimaced. “I’ve thought of it enough,” he admitted. “It’s tempting to want to improve everything at once. But we must be strategic. After the tenants’ cottages are repaired, we can take people on to look after the fields and the livestock. They’ll bring us an income, eventually. As for the house, we must have builders in to assess the rot, and to repair the roof. Once that’s completed—”

“You keep speaking of us and we. As if you wish my opinion on the matter.”

“I do,” he said solemnly. “It’s your home now. I want you to be happy here.”

The swell of her bosom brushed his arm as she walked at his side. “I think I can be.”

His pulse quickened. It was his private dream. That she’d find contentment here with him. That she wouldn’t come to regret their marriage. “Can you, sweet?”

Her cheeks took on a familiar rosy glow. The same diffuse watercolor blush that appeared whenever they spoke of intimate matters. “I believe so,” she said. “I’m still anxious about things more than I’d like, but it’s nothing to how I felt in town.”

“What things?” he asked.