Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

" W hat did you say?" his mother demanded, pressing a hand to her chest as if she had been struck.

Rafe bit back a sigh of impatience. "You will not interfere with Julia's interactions with Grace and Emma," he said, his tone firm and unwavering. "I will not tolerate any disobedience on this matter, Mother. If you cannot respect my wishes, you may cut your stay here short."

The dowager countess shook her head as if trying to clear a fog. "What has happened to you? Where is the man of logic and reason that I raised?"

Rafe arched a brow, rising from his seat with deliberate calm. "I am standing before you, Mother. Since Julia entered their lives, Grace and Emma have been happier than I have ever seen them. They are still taught the proper niceties, but there's now a balance—a sense of allowing them to discover who they are as individuals. It's something I never realized they needed until Julia showed me."

"You're bewitched ," his mother said faintly, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"No, Mother," Rafe replied, his tone sharpening. "I am simply seeing things with new eyes. If you cannot respect my decisions, you should prepare to return to town."

As the tension hung thick in the air, the door to the study opened quietly, and Julia stepped inside. The housekeeper, Mrs. Davidson, followed close behind with a tea trolley laden with a pot of tea, delicate china cups, and a selection of cakes. Julia moved with effortless grace, her every movement exuding composure and poise. She was dressed in a gown that accentuated her figure, and her hair was styled in soft waves that framed her radiant face.

His mother gaped, her eyes widening in surprise at the transformation before her. Even Rafe, who had always admired his wife's beauty, had a sharp intake of breath as he took in her appearance. She was the very picture of a countess—elegant, refined, and utterly composed. But as he met her gaze, a wrenching feeling twisted in his chest; behind the calm exterior, her eyes held a deep, unmistakable hurt.

"Julia," he began, his voice thick with concern, but she only offered him a polite smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Thank you, Mrs. Davidson," Julia said softly to the housekeeper, who curtsied and then discreetly left the room, leaving the tea trolley behind.

Rafe's mother remained seated, her expression a mixture of shock and something else—perhaps even a hint of reluctant admiration. Julia approached the tea trolley and began to pour, her movements measured and graceful.

"Shall I pour you a cup, Lady Ashton?" she asked, her tone courteous yet distant.

The dowager countess hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, thank you."

Rafe watched the exchange, his unease growing. "Julia," he said again, more insistent this time. "I would like to speak with you alone."

Julia's gaze flicked to him, her polite smile never wavering. "Surely it can wait. You have not seen your mother in a while. I am sure she is eager to catch up with you, my lord. I also have duties to attend to this afternoon. I will oversee the rest of Grace and Emma's lessons with their governess and attend to urgent correspondence."

The formality in her tone stung, and Rafe found himself at a loss for words. Before he could respond, Julia turned to his mother, her expression polite but firm.

"Lady Ashton," she said, "the girls will join us for supper this evening. It will be served promptly at six."

With that, Julia inclined her head gracefully, her every movement composed, before she turned and swept out of the room, his mother stunned.

Rafe stared after her, his heart heavy with mixed emotions he couldn't quite untangle. He had never seen Julia like this before—so distant, so guarded. The warmth and openness he had come to cherish in her seemed to have retreated behind a wall, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible.

What the hell is going on?

"Her poise is remarkable," his mother finally murmured, breaking the silence. There was no mistaking the reluctant admiration in her voice.

Rafe didn't reply. His thoughts were too tangled, too full of the image of Julia's wounded eyes, the sound of her measured voice. "Excuse me, Mother, I have some business to finish. I am sure you wish to freshen after your long journey."

His mother frowned, her gaze thoughtful as she considered her son before leaving the room. Rafe finished the letters to be delivered to his solicitor and steward tomorrow and then went to his chamber to prepare for supper.

An hour later, Rafe entered the dining room, immediately drawn to the lavish spread before them. The table was laden with an array of sumptuous dishes—roasted quail, pork glistening with a rich glaze, prawns drenched in a fragrant garlic sauce, a golden pudding, baked potatoes swimming in a creamy sauce, braised oxtail, and honey-glazed ham, all meticulously prepared by the cook. The room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, the soft clinking of silverware adding a serene undertone to the evening.

As he sat at the head of the table, his eyes lingered on Julia. She was seated to his right, with her posture impeccably straight and serene expression. But that polite reserve was still there, an invisible barrier that separated her from the warmth she usually exuded. It gnawed at him, for he did not understand what had happened.

Grace and Emma sat across from him, their faces alight with excitement as they beamed at their grandmother. Rafe's mother looked surprised, almost disconcerted, by the joy emanating from the girls. It was clear she wasn't used to seeing them so animated.

"Grandmother," Grace began, her voice bubbling with excitement. We learned how to swim! Julia—I mean mama," she corrected herself with a proud smile, "has been teaching us in the lake. It's so much fun!"

Julia gasped, and her eyes gleamed with tears. Rafe also felt a sense of shock and realized this might be the first time the girls called her so.

His mother blinked, her expression faltering for a moment before she regained her composure. "Swimming lessons, you say? In the lake?"

"Yes!" Emma chimed in, her enthusiasm unmistakable. "And we also learned how to fly kites! We made our own kites and everything. And, oh, we've been catching frogs too. You should see how good we are at it now, Grandmother. We're gentle, just like Julia taught us."

The dowager countess seemed momentarily at a loss for words, her gaze shifting to Rafe as if seeking confirmation. He nodded slightly, and she turned her attention back to the girls, her expression softening despite herself.

"And we can identify so many different types of birds now," Grace added, her eyes shining. "Julia says it's important to know the world around us."

Rafe watched his mother carefully, noting the flicker of surprise that crossed her features. She had always been a stickler for tradition, for propriety and decorum, and the idea of her granddaughters taking part in such unconventional activities must have been jarring. But there was no denying the happiness in Grace and Emma's eyes, the way they radiated joy as they spoke of their new experiences.

"Yes, it is important," his mother said tightly. However, this is not the proper way to learn it as young ladies."

"Lady Ashton," Julia said, her voice steady, "I understand your concerns, but I assure you, nothing I do is ever meant to harm the girls' upbringing. I only wish to give them a broader view of the world, to allow them the freedom to explore and grow in ways that will make them strong, capable women."

The dowager countess's eyes flashed with anger, but there was a flicker of something else—perhaps uncertainty or even grudging respect for Julia's poise.

"They are Sinclair girls," the dowager said, her voice still stern but less sharp. "And they must be raised with the dignity and decorum befitting their name."

Julia nodded. "And they will be. But they will also be raised with love, understanding, and the opportunity to become their true selves, not just the roles society dictates for them."

After a tense silence, the dowager countess finally spoke, her voice somewhat softer though still firm. "We shall see how this progresses. But mark my words, I will not tolerate anything that brings shame to this family."

Julia inclined her head, accepting the dowager's words with grace. "I would never wish to shame this family, Lady Ashton. I only want what is best for Grace and Emma."

His mother flicked her gaze to the girls. "Your recent accomplishments are … quite impressive, girls."

"Thank you, Grandmother," Grace replied, her smile widening.

"Thank you, Grandmother," Emma chimed in.

Rafe's gaze shifted back to Julia, who quietly served herself a small portion of the roasted quail. Her movements were deliberate and graceful, yet the polite reserve in her demeanor persisted. Anna was like this; he suddenly realized, the memory unbidden and unwelcome. His first wife had always been composed, always reserved, never allowing herself to break from the rigid mold of propriety that society demanded of her. But Julia … Julia had never been one to hide behind a mask of politeness. She had been a force of nature, unpredictable and wild, and he was falling in love with her because of that very unpredictability.

Seeing her like this … so damn proper made him ache in a way that he hadn't anticipated.

The dinner continued, with lively conversation filling the room, but an undercurrent of unease gnawed at Rafe. The meal was exquisite, the wine flowed freely, and his daughters were more radiant than he had ever seen them. Yet, as he watched Julia interact with everyone, the sense that something was amiss only deepened.

When the meal ended, his mother cheerfully led Grace and Emma to the music room, eager to hear their progress on the pianoforte. Rafe lingered, his gaze fixed on Julia. He crossed the room to her, gently taking her hands in his.

"You were impressive tonight," he said softly.

Julia offered him a smile, but there was something in her eyes—something distant and difficult to decipher.

"I just want Emma, Grace, and any other children we might have to experience a childhood filled with joy and love," she replied.

Rafe felt a pang in his chest as he pulled her into his arms, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. But even in his embrace, he sensed a tension in her body.

"You do not seem yourself. What is wrong?"

Her eyes widened. "There is nothing wrong. It is as it should be."

Rafe frowned. "Julia—"

"There is nothing to speak about, my lord."

Later that night, as he took her into his arms and made love to her, Rafe felt a sadness in her response that he couldn't ignore. Despite his best efforts to bring her pleasure, he sensed that she was holding back, and for the first time, he feared she wouldn't find release in his arms.

When the moment passed, he rolled away, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar sensation. Before he could speak, Julia reached out, cupping his jaw with her hand. She kissed him softly, a gesture that held more tenderness than passion, then slipped from his bed without a word and padded silently to the connecting door.

Rafe watched her go, a deep ache settling in his chest as she disappeared into her room, closing the door softly behind her. It was the first night since their marriage that he found himself alone, without Julia's warmth beside him.