Chapter Two

Three years to the day after Eliza died, Julian sat in melancholy silence at his desk in his study. Across from him hung the portrait of his late wife, and he stared with longing eyes at her beautiful porcelain face, framed by shiny, dark brown hair. The painting hardly did justice to the sheen of her ringlets and the sparkle in her bright hazel eyes. But on the anniversary of her passing, he knew it was as close as he would ever get to seeing his beloved Eliza ever again.

His heart ached as he gazed up at her image. Well-wishers and loved ones had assured him that time would ease the agony he felt. But even years later, the pain was still as fresh and intense as it had been on the day he lost her forever. Worse still, his duties as viscount did not care about the gut-wrenching grief in his heart. They awaited him and demanded his attention, even on the days when the pain was so great that he could hardly pull himself from his bed.

Eliza, my love, how I miss you, he thought, grunting as tears stung his eyes. The only way I can survive, albeit barely, is to envision you holding our sweet little baby in your arms, smiling down on me.

On all of you, Eliza’s soft, sweet voice chastised him in her gentle, loving tone.

Julian sighed. Of course, he had not forgotten their two surviving children since her passing. However, he had kept a careful distance from them. In Henry, he saw Eliza’s eyes, so brilliant and hazel and filled with insatiable curiosity. And in Elizabeth, he saw Eliza’s every feature, down to the dimple in her chin. He loved his children, to be sure. But seeing their faces reminded him of the woman he would never again hold. He had to keep them away from him, lest they begin thinking he blamed them for the loss of their mother. And for the sake of his own sanity.

He was in the midst of justifying his strategic detachment from his children when there was a knock on the door.

“Come,” he said, rubbing his eyes in frustration. He resented the interruption. But when he saw it was his mother, he softened, if only a little.

The dowager viscountess approached her son with her hands clasped firmly at her bosom. Her mouth was pulled tight, and her eyes were filled with concern. Julian did his best to collect his expression, trying to pretend as though he had been studying a document on his desk. He motioned for the dowager to sit across from him, which she did.

“Julian, I come with grave news,” she said.

Julian closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

“What is it, Mother?” he asked.

Augusta sighed.

“It is the governess,” she said. “She has unexpectedly resigned, citing her father’s illness as her cause for such sudden employment termination.”

Julian stared at his mother. Although it was far from the best news she could have given to him, it was also far from the worst. Had she needed to disrupt his brooding solitude for that?

“Could this matter not have waited until the morning?” he asked. His frigid demeanor was tempered, but barely. He wanted to be left to his thoughts again, not deal with the petty dealings of the household.

The dowager shook her head, surveying Julian.

“I am afraid not, Julian,” she said. Her tone took on a slight edge of defensiveness. “This impacts the children, leaving them without the care and education they require. Every moment is of the essence.”

Julian sighed.

“I will write a letter to be posted to the newspaper tomorrow,” he said. “That is the best I can do, as I am already behind in my ledgers.” His mother did not speak or move to leave the study. She stood, still staring at him, until he spoke again. “Is there something else, Mother?”

The dowager took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. Julian braced himself. This was clearly a discussion she was prepared to have until she was completely satisfied with Julian’s response. Still, he waited to hear what she was about to say.

“I am concerned for the well-being of Elizabeth and Henry,” she said. “They need someone to care for them immediately.”

Julian nodded with deliberate slowness.

“That is why we have household staff, is it not?” he asked. “And as I have already said, I shall write to the newspaper tomorrow and call for a new governess.”

His mother sighed, but she remained where she was.

“I believe that they need more than a governess, darling,” she said.

Julian raised an eyebrow, his defenses rising.

“What do you mean?” he asked warily, not liking the calculation in his mother’s eyes.

The dowager sighed.

“They need education, to be sure,” she said. “However, they also need a mother figure in their lives. Especially with their father so busy with duties and business.”

Julian tightened his jaw, locking a firm gaze with his mother. Her implication, and the entire reason for her disturbing him in his study, was suddenly abundantly clear.

“This is not something I am prepared to discuss, Mother,” he said, freezing the words with his tone. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

The dowager shook her head, her own gaze intensifying.

“You must consider remarrying,” she said, dropping her previous charade of being concerned about the children’s education and getting straight to her true point. “Henry and Elizabeth are young enough right now to still gain a positive effect on their lives if you take another wife. But I fear that if you wait too long, it will be too late.

Julian stood from his chair with such force and speed that his chair slammed into the cabinets behind him. Grief mixed with anger, coursing through him as though attached to racehorses.

“Remarriage is out of the question,” he said. “I have made that clear enough since her death. I have no intention of replacing Eliza in the children’s or my life. I have already refused to replace her in our hearts. And I will not tell you this again. Leave the subject at this, Mother. I shall not be discussing it with you again.”

The dowager pursed her lips, and Julian understood that his words carried little weight with her. His rage simmered in his blood, and he braced himself for what he was sure would be a bitter argument. There was a long pause, and Julian wished that she would simply leave the table, and the subject, altogether.

“Julian, I understand your grief over Eliza,” she said. “I loved her like a daughter. And losing your father allows me to share in the ache left in the hearts of widows and widowers when a spouse dies. But there are more important things at stake here, and I do not think you understand that.”

Julian’s skin prickled as his anger flexed within him.

“If you understand, then what do you feel could be so important that it is worth trampling the death and loss of such dearly loved ones?” he asked.

The dowager threw up her hands, as though she herself was growing frustrated. She shook her head, looking exasperated.

“The children, Julian,” she said.

Julian nodded, biting down on his back molars to keep from losing his temper.

“I believe we just addressed the children,” he said. “I told you that there will be no woman who replaces their mother. There is no more to discuss on the subject. As for their education, we shall find someone to fill the role of governess. That is all that relates to the children, Mother.”

Augusta shook her head and furrowed her brow.

“You alone cannot make a stable home and life for them,” she said. “I should not need to tell you how important it is that they have a mother figure in their lives, and that they have security in their household. I understand that you may never love another as you loved Eliza. But this is not just about you. You must think of what is best for the children.”

Julian shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he tried once more to get his mother to leave the discussion alone.

“I am thinking of what is best for them,” he said. “They will get a nurturing woman as governess, and they have a nursemaid. They do not need a new mother. Not when their dead one was so well loved.”

The dowager regarded Julian with all the vexation of a jaded phaeton driver.

“How can you say that is what is best for them, when they are starved for affection?” she asked.

Julian had had enough. He pointed toward the study door, his eyes sending the message that he was more than done with the topic.

“Leave, Mother,” he said, pounding his fist on the desk, struggling to keep control over the volume of his voice. “I will not discuss this with you further. Not now, and not ever again. Is that clear?”

The dowager stared at her son, clearly shocked. Julian knew he was coming across very abrasively, and he knew he needed to calm himself. But he also wanted to ensure that his mother knew that he would not tolerate her pushing him about marriage. No matter her intent, as he had told her, he would never even consider replacing Eliza. And that was final.

At last, Augusta turned on her heel and marched out of the study. Julian waited until the door closed behind her, which did so with considerable force. Then, he settled back into his chair, sighing deeply. He put his head in his hands as he battled with the feelings his mother had stirred. He had made his entire life about fulfilling each of his duties as viscount. Now, his mother had placed one more onto him, one which he had already fulfilled once when he married Eliza. How could he ever consider fulfilling it again?

With a deep breath, Julian rose once more. He opened the study door, calling for Wyatt. The butler appeared less than a minute later, bowing respectfully to his master.

“I require you to see to contacting the people at the newspaper office immediately,” he said. “It is of the utmost urgency that we replace the governess we just lost. The children cannot be without critical education at such impressionable ages. Nothing takes priority over this task, is that clear?”

Wyatt bowed, giving Julian another smile.

“I understand, milord,” he said.

Julian nodded, dismissing the butler with a wave of his hand. When Wyatt was gone, he went back to his desk, his eyes landing on the portrait of his late wife once more.

Darling, what do I do? He pleaded silently. Eliza had once been his grounded center. He could go to her for any advice, and she always knew just what to say. He tried to think of what she might say to him right then. But as it happened more often of late, her voice, and her words, were forgotten.

Deep down, he knew what his decision would be. It did not matter what society or his duties demanded of him. He was unable to allow another bride into his life. He had told his mother that the children would have a new governess to fulfill the role of a feminine influence in their lives, as well as their ensured guarantee of getting the education they needed. And he had meant those words. He was, in fact, prioritizing his children’s needs, as his mother had mentioned. But why did their needs have to include him inviting another woman into their lives in any sense other than that of an employee?

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