Chapter 3

From the way his mouth flattened, Louisa knew she was not going to get an answer from him. She met his eyes and waited but he stayed stubbornly mute.

He kept silent.

A breeze buffeted his back while it ruffled her skirts and hair. "Are you planning to leave again?"

"Tonight."

Her eyes shuttered down. "Drat it, Julius. You won't give it till the morrow?"

"It is best if I leave." He said. "I must see to Rose."

"I thought our agreement to try and make the marriage work would behold you to stay awhile. It was why I agreed to your terms on one condition," she said undeterred. "Stay the night and prove to me you do want to try, otherwise, the agreement is off. What do you decide?"

With that, she left the library and headed back to the ball, heart beating without control but her face as placid as the surface of a lake. She stepped into the ballroom and found the proceedings going on as planned and swiftly claimed a glass of refreshing water.

"There you are," the light, musical voice of Louisa's sister Annabel Mullens, the Marchioness of Everdon and trailing behind her was her husband, William. "I have been looking to the moon and back for you dear sister."

Claiming another glass of champagne, she saw her sister, Annabel Mullens, the Marchioness of Everdon, charged right through the doors, the bright blue peacock feather in her hair fluttering back with her speed. Clad in shades of blue and green, with odd, jeweled peahens dangling from her ears, her artist sister looked as eccentric as she truly was.

"Louisa," Annabel smiled widely as she neared, her arms spread wide. "Your aura is glimmering with such life and light. I am happy to see you."

She didn't know how that was possible, not after what had happened between her and Julius an hour ago.

Embracing her, Louisa ignored the comment about her aura— it was a commonality for her sister and mother to see things others could not. It was understandable though, both were gifted artists; Louisa, however, could not draw a circle if her life depended on it.

"Hullo sister," she smiled and hugged Annabel tightly. "How are things in the dazzling world of paint and clay?"

"Completely malleable," Annabel replied. "I shape color and clay into what I want, I create every shade to my liking, I mold every dollop of clay into the figure I want. It is very… chuffing, you say."

"Meaning, she like to play god," William Mullens, her husband, the Marquess replied. "Creation and destruction at the tips of her finger."

"You make me seem like a tyrant, dear," Annabel replied lightly, giving her husband a loving, doting look that made a twist of unwanted and unwelcomed jealousy crimp Louisa's heart.

Not once had Julius ever looked at her like that, not even though their courtship— which made sense because he had never wanted a love match— and it felt like a javelin to her heart. True love deserved to be celebrated and because she might never feel such a thing did not mean she could not be happy for her sister.

"Sister," Annabel asked after taking a glass of champagne from William. "Why is everyone staring at you?"

"They are always staring at me," Louisa replied wryly. "I am either and outcast to some or a lady undeserving of her husband, remember."

"…I do but it does not feel like this," Annabel replied, her brows lowering. "It's different."

"That's because my erstwhile husband had returned an hour ago," Louisa confessed.

"Julius is here!" Annabel gasped, delighted. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because this night is for you," Louisa smiled. "And your delightful husband of course."

"Why, thank you," William lifted his glass. "I am so happy to be acknowledged after the bright light of my wife begins to fade a little."

"You have your own light, darling," Annabel smiled, "He is going to revolutionize the manufacturing sector after he finalizes a corrosive to decimate anything from stone to steel. My darling is locked in his laboratory from dawn to dusk. The Royal Society is nipping at his heels."

"Please, dear, its not there yet." Willaim smiled. "But it will be."

When a new dance was announced, the Scottish Jig, Annabel begged off from their conversation and William escorted her to the dancefloor.

Smiling, Louisa shot another look to the doorway and once again, Julius did not emerge. Muffling a sigh, a giggle gained her attention and she looked to see Morgan Hunt, the Viscount of Grantville charming a gaggle of young ladies nearby.

He flashed a dissolute smile that was told to have lured married ladies and widows into his bed. She walked past, only to have him call over. "Your Grace, forgive me for being remiss. You have a wonderful party here and may I compliment you on your lovely gown?"

Forced to reply, she smiled indulgently. "You may and thank you, my lord."

"I was just describing the acrobats at Vauxhall to these venerable ladies," he smiled. "Have you seen the Chinese tumblers yet? I tell you, Your Grace, there is not a singular more enrapturing sign on the land than You need to before they're gone."

"To be true, no, I have not," Louisa replied pointedly ignoring all the piecing stares digging into the side of her neck and forced her expression into calm nonchalance.

They all knew her existence had imploded on itself, but she would be thrice damned if she let them see it.

Sipping her water, she forced herself not to look at the door for Julius might or might not enter through. Instead, she trained her attention on the renowned rake.

"I have not made many social rounds lately," she added. "Nor have I stepped foot in one pleasure garden in my life. I am afraid the rumors of what they are like after dark are true."

"You mean the alleged amorous tête-à-tête between lovers in the dark crooks and crannies in the lovers walk?" His brows lowered and his lips curled into a smirk. "I cannot confirm or deny if they are as scintillating as they are reported to be."

The conversation was bordering on inappropriate. "In the same vein then, you cannot confirm or deny your presence there as a participator or a voyeur?"

"Neither." He shrugged. "Either. Does it matter? Anyway, there is another performance in two days. I would like you to accompany me."

Her brows shot up at the invitation. "I do not know if I should say yes or no. I must take care to preserve my reputation in such a scandalous place."

"If you are worried about such a thing, take an army of maids with you, or—" his golden eyes flicked up and behind her as a ripple ran over her already tumultuous senses. A pulse beat madly in her throat. "—even better, your husband. Your Grace," he bowed.

"Grantville," Julius said coolly. "Did I overhear you extending an invitation to my wife to attend a performance in a pleasure garden?"

"It's all innocent, I assure you," Morgan replied. "It's simply a performance, nothing any different from these soirées, musicales, operas we all attend. I shall open the invitation to you as well."

"As honored as I am, I must reject the invitation for her and me." Julius replied. "Vauxhall is not a proper place for ladies of our class. The gardens are filled with all manner of blackguards and lurkers, especially after dark."

Irritated as his gall, Louisa tightened her hold on the glass, "That's a hasty decision, Your Grace. I do not see a problem if I have proper chaperones and protection. It could very well be that other ladies will be in attendance as well."

"You won't be going," he said stiffly, a muscle jumping into his jaw.

"Please excuse us, my lord," she gave Morgan an apologetic smile then aimed the same smile at Julius. "May we speak in private for a moment,".

Without waiting for Julius to reply, she went off seeking the solace of a removed balcony, knowing he would follow. Finding one, he bypassed the glass panes of the double doors, an stepped into the cool air night air that carried the budding scents of spring. The arching Mayfair rooftops crowded all around them.

The moment Julius closed the door, she turned on him, "Excuse me! What was that in there? What authority do you have to reject a simple invitation to an innocent performance?"

"Nothing at Vauxhall is innocent," Julius' lips curled at the word. "That Garden and the others like it are breeding grounds for criminals, rouges and seducers," Julius replied. "I will not let you walk into such a place, traipsing alone in the dark with who knows what lurking behind you and not encounter trouble."

The roar of a ball in full swing seeped through the doors even though he'd closed them for privacy.

"You are an enigma, you know." She said. "First, you allow our marriage to fade into nothingness, then you return and act like a possessive dog over a bone. Which is it Julius? Which one of you is the real one?"

"Both are the same." He replied through grit teeth. "I simply do not want you anywhere near that place."

"In broad daylight?"

"Yes."

"With an army of footmen and chaperones?"

"Yes."

"What if I go to Bow Street and request the Commissioner to accompany me with a troupe of gunmen and horsed calvary," she asked, her tone flat but decidedly teasing.

"Even with that, the answer is no," he said. "And every calvary is made of horsemen, so stop trying to twist my head."

She let out an exasperated sigh, "There is an easier solution to this, Julius, come with me and see for yourself."

His brows lowered. "How is it that is seems you are decided on going when I have said it is not allowed."

"Because I am." Louisa said, heading to the doors. "If you are so sure that these marauders and blackguards are there, is it not your duty to protect me, husband?"

"Confounding woman," he grunted behind her. "Fine, I shall but we leave when I say so."

At that, Louisa turned to him, "Another agreement in one night. My, my, what shall I negotiate next?"

He walked past her, "Nothing because I am done negotiating. I will stay for six months, Louisa and if not… we'll have that annulment."

Let's see about that.

Grimly, Julius watched as the carriage approached the Somerset House in Whitehall, City of Westminster, London as Colonel-CommandantHarrington, a pompous man who thought his position gave him permission to rub everyone wrong.

Julius had met the man once and had promised himself never again—only to find an official missive from the man to come in for official clarification of things that happened during the war morning.

"Clarification," Julius scoffed. "He meant interrogation."

The dome of the building was the first thing he spotted and as he got closer the Palladian design to the building and the Roman temple fa?ade came into view. He inhaled the tang of the Thames River, the salt and tar-tinged air loosening and expanding his chest.

He was already apprehensive as Louisa's ball was approaching—as he was on the horns of attending or not—and this interrogation was not helping.

At the stop, he descended and gave his driver leave to amuse himself for a while. "I have a feeling this will take a while, Higgs." He said.

"Yes, Your Grace," the man tipped his cap.

Heading up the steps, Julius met a clerk and told him who he was supposed to meet before he was taken to an office on the second floor. The clerk knocked and with the terse "Enter" the man stepped in and said,

"His Grace Duke Blackwell is here to see you Commandant Harrington," the clerk bowed.

Knocking on the door he heard a terse, "Enter."

Stepping inside the office, Julius gazed at the Commandant with cool eyes. The man was tall, topping six feet, his coal-black hair was immaculately slicked back, his somber tailoring fitting his whippet thin form. He had high cheekbones, a blade of a nose, his chin and jaw arrogantly jutting with unfounded superiority.

Mouth twisting into a cynical sneer, Harrington held his hand out for a shake. "Brigadier-General Blackwell."

"Commandant Harrington," Juluis shook the man hand and kept from scoffing; it did not take much to know a man never used his hands for anything. Harrington's hands were as smooth as silk.

"Please sit." Harrington said.

"I'd rather stand," Julius replied. "This is a quick visit, is it not?"

"No," the man said. "Please sit."

Gritting his teeth, Julius removed his great coat, and hat before setting them aside and then took the seat across the desk. "Your missive was not clear, what exactly do you need clarification about?"

"Straight to business, I see," Harrington leaned in and flicked a ledger open. "In an effort for full transparency the Navy had ordered a second inspection into the actions of the commanding officers. Do you care to clarify what happened on the night of May 27, 1813? There is only a note about an incident. Do you recall that night?

"I do."

The man narrowed his eyes, "And what was it about?"

"Why do I have the impression that you already know what happened?" Julius asked through a stiff jaw.

"I have half a story," Harrington said, eyes lowered "It took a lot of digging, something I did not have to do and I found very underhand as it felt like there were pains taken to hide the reports. Even with that report, I have a feeling the incident has been whitewashed from a biased perspective."

"Beg your pardon?" Julius said flatly. "Are you insinuating that I have somehow persuaded my commanding office back then to overlook what happened?"

"I would like to know what happened so I could decide that for myself," Harrington said, "And what led up to midshipman Wallace end up with a broken arm, broken nose and a dishonorable discharge?"

"It was midnight and I found Wallace manhandling a woman, or should I say, a young girl into his tent against her will," Julius said stiffly. "He was assaulting the child."

Harrington leaned in his eyes glimmering like a cat who had gotten in the cream. "If so, the appropriate response would be to report him to the commanding officer, not take matters in hand and punch him until his nose shattered and his stomp on his arm."

"If you read the report, you would know that Wallace attacked me first and I retaliated," Julius said. "It also gave the girl time to flee. Other midshipmen had correlated the report saying the Wallace had a history of bringing young girls into his tent."

"But why go so far as to break his nose and his arm?" Harrington asked.

"The fight got out of hand."

"Is that it?" Harrington smirked then spun a page in the ledger, "Or is it that you have a history of unprovoked violence? So many notations, January seventh, brawl with midshipman Delany, shooting incident with sub-lieutenant Provost, broken jaw with Commander Islington, and then to cap it off, you held a sword to Captain Morrigan's neck."

Closing the ledger, Harrington asked, "Do you care to explain all those incidents, all of which were swept under the rug."

Shame tricked through his heart. He was the first to admit to himself that those incidents had been the production of crippling stress and the horrors of war.

"Morrigan was making the wrong call to retreat that day when the better idea was to flank the troops and regroup," Julius said. "I know I had passed my post that day, but my actions save a hundred lives that day."

"Even so insubordination and assault on other soldiers is unforgivable," Harrington said sitting back, smug. "Your valiant acts aside, I believe you are a danger to yourself and others."

"Meaning?"

"What do you remember about Lieutenant Maxwell Jameison?" Harrington asked smugly.

Julius' blood turned to ice. "You've read about that. Why ask me?"

"I want your recollection," Harrington drummed his fingertips on the table. "The report is that you shot him, and if that is true, you will be court-martialed, so please, tell me your version."

"I… cannot." The words came from Julius' lips roughly, as if broken glass was scraping his throat.

"Because you have amnesia of that incident, isn't that right?" Harrington asked, "I find that coincidental that you have no memory of shooting another soldier. Is it a ploy, I wonder."

"I woke up a gurney being carried to a field hospital," Julius said, twisting his head and lifting his hair to show the scar on his temple. "Is this not enough proof? It is documented as well."

"By men who were in your favor and had no issue smudging the truth."

"There are multiple witnesses of that day," Julius said. "Surely two or ten can answer for me."

"There were four men who witnessed it, and all are now dead," Harrington said. "Unless I can summon a spirit from the grave, I don't think that will work. If my investigation proves you are guilty, I will have a tribunal gathered to see if you do deserve your post of if the crimes you have committed will force our hand to remove your accolades."

Fury frosted Julius' insides, "Do what you must, but I will not sit here and be insulted by a bureaucratic peon who had not seen or lived a day in war. I know your sort, a weak man with a few accolades who believes his new position gives him the right to be judge, jury and executioner.

"You, who has lived in the peace me, and my fallen brothers died for, thinks he can accurately judge a man who survived the horrors of war, of death and famine and pain. Sit there with your pens and papers and reports and draw whatever conclusion you will get from your witch hunt."

Rising from his chair, Julius reached for his coat and hat, only for Harrington's words stopped him.

"You've proven to me that you have no respect for authority, and I will make it my mission to see you answer for every crime you have committed against your fellow servicemen. If you are disbarred, the fault rests on you."

At his calm superiority, Julius irritation boiled over. Spinning, he pressed his hands to the desk and held the man's eyes his voice artic and deathly still. "I have been on the wicked end of a musket, a dagger, a sword and fought my way out of garrote wire around my neck, I have faced death ten times over, have you?"

Julius saw emotion flare in the other man's eyes. Fear. Fury. The same feelings that ran molten through his own veins in those days he'd faced death. "Do whatever you want but be aware, I will not let you run roughshod over me."

"Did you threaten me, Brigadier-General Blackwell?" Harrington asked.

"I left Brigadier-General behind the moment I stepped on civilian shore. For you, it is Your Grace," Julius walked out of the room. And no, it was not a threat, it was a warning and a promise."