Chapter Eighteen

The miles passed. For quite a while they were each lost in their own thoughts. Then Julian leaned forward. “So what is it that’s stopping you, Zo? my love? What are you worried about?”

She just looked at him. She didn’t know where to start.

“You know I love you, and I think you love me—no, don’t say anything.” He held up his hand. “You can’t ask for love: it can only be given freely as a gift, so I’m not asking you. But can we talk about why you think marrying me is so problematic?”

She sighed.

“Your sisters like me. They’d be happy if we married, I’m sure.”

“I know.”

“And Lady Scattergood probably wouldn’t approve, but—”

She huffed a small laugh. “Oh yes she would. As long as a few weeks after the wedding you left me and traveled to the other side of the world, sending back beautiful, exotic gifts until you died. It’s her idea of the perfect marriage.”

He laughed. “Well, she’s doomed to disappointment, because if you marry me, wild horses couldn’t make me leave you.”

“Your grandmother would hate it, too,” she said.

“Ah no, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said smugly. “Last night when she arrived in London, she sent for me to deliver the usual rant about my finding a suitable bride and getting myself an heir.”

“Well, an illegitimate half-French orphan is hardly what she would think is suitable.”

“Trust me, when I present you as my bride, she’ll fall on your neck with delight and gratitude.”

“She won’t.”

“She will. I told her that I’d been in France, where I’d met and fallen in love with an orphaned, illiterate French maidservant who had been unjustly dismissed and who stole from me, but was very beautiful. I told her I wanted to marry her and that I was sure I could cure her of her larcenous habits.” He grinned. “Naturally, she had a fit—steam was practically coming from her ears.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “You are appalling, you know.”

He grinned. “I know. But when I tell her I’m going to marry you instead of my light-fingered maidservant, she will be eternally grateful.”

“No, she won’t. She thinks I’m an impudent, brazen, insolent hussy.”

“Ah yes, but you’ll be an impudent, brazen, insolent lady hussy. In any case, I told you, Grandmama enjoys a good battle. It keeps her young. So, that’s your sisters, Lady Scattergood and my grandmother sorted. What other barriers to our marriage have you dreamed up?”

“I haven’t dreamed them up—they’re real.”

“I know, love,” he said softly. “But let’s bring them out into the air and look at them in daylight. I find worries are worst when you keep them to yourself and brood over them in the dark of night.”

He was right. She did spend a lot of time brooding at night.

“If I were marrying Reynard the wandering artist, it wouldn’t be so hard,” she began. “Although it would disappoint my sisters and Lucy. But I know how to do that, be that kind of wife. But a countess…” She shook her head. “It’s not just that I’m illegitimate and was born in the gutter, it’s that I don’t know how to do countess things. It’s different for Izzy. She was raised with Clarissa, as a lady, and knows how to do things properly.”

“What sort of things?”

“Oh, how to run a grand house, manage servants, visit tenants, be a gracious hostess, entertain guests—”

“Stop it. You do know how to do that, and whatever you don’t know, you’ll learn. Every young wife, no matter what her station in life, must learn how to manage her household. And you already know how to deal with people from all walks of life. You think you don’t know how to be a lady, but whatever Lucy Paton and your sisters may have taught you, none of it makes you a lady.”

Zo? was confused. Had she spent the last three years wasting her time, then?

He continued. “I’ve known many a so-called lady—fine society ladies with all the airs and graces and accomplishments you can imagine—but the way they treat those who they consider their inferiors would make you cringe. You, on the other hand, must have learned all the important things from your mother. I’m not talking about your accent, I’m talking about kindness to others of all levels of society, I’m talking about loyalty to those you care about and a generosity of spirit that leaves me breathless at times.”

She blinked and swallowed a lump in her throat. Did he really think that of her?

“Now, as to the so-called duties of a countess,” he continued, “they vary considerably and depend very much on the kind of earl you marry. Your sister Izzy, for instance, married Salcott, a serious-minded fellow who is bidding fair to become a mover and shaker in the world of politics and government. Correct?”

She nodded.

“And yet this man, a well-known high stickler, punctilious in doing the right thing, and planning a serious political career, chose to marry an illegitimate, outspoken and unconventional woman—presumably the very last kind of woman an ambitious politician should marry.”

“He loves her. And she loves him.”

“Precisely, and that is more important than anything.”

“But Izzy is an excellent hostess.”

“I agree. She’s intelligent and gregarious, and she will set out to learn whatever she needs to learn. As will you. But what about your other sister, Clarissa? My impression of her is that she’s shy and doesn’t enjoy large gatherings.”

“She doesn’t.”

“And her husband, also an earl, has no political ambitions and is happy looking after his estate and adoring his wife.”

She smiled mistily. “They are very happy together.”

He reached out and took her hands. “And so could we be. I don’t need a wife to impress others and further a career. I just want us to be together and be happy. And raise a family together. I don’t intend to change my agreement with Grandmama, by the way.”

Her brows drew together. “What agreement is that?”

“That I be the earl for nine months of the year and go vagabonding for the other three months, wandering and painting. We could do that together if you want—you, me and Hamish. I thought you enjoyed that life.”

“I did.”

“Well?”

She pursed her lips, thinking. “I want to be a painter.”

He looked perplexed. “But you would be.”

“No, a proper painter, not just a lady with a hobby.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love painting, but I don’t have half the talent you have. I promise you, if you marry me, I will do everything in my power to help you to further your talent and your opportunities.”

“But I don’t want to be ‘the countess that paints’ and have people say, ‘Oh, isn’t she clever?’ I want to be myself.”

“Z-B has already begun to make a name for herself. Being a countess should not make much difference, though admittedly, it might help you develop opportunities. But it’s talent that counts in the art world. I should know.” He gave a rueful smile. “My title will never get me accepted into the Royal Academy, because I’m simply not good enough. But your paintings might and probably will. The academy even accepts women—Angelica Kauffman and Mary Moser were early members—though it has to be admitted that most members are men.”

They hit a pothole, and Hamish, who had been snoozing on the floor, his head resting on her feet, woke, scrambled to his feet and nudged her meaningfully. Glad of the respite from the questions that had been disturbing her peace of mind for weeks, she spent the next few minutes making a fuss of the dog.

Reynard—no, Julian—was right. When she’d been brooding over her worries, alone in the middle of the night, they’d seemed insuperable. But every single one of his responses made sense. So what was holding her up? Was it nerves? The fear and uncertainty of knowing that happiness was there, within reach? That all she needed to do was to reach out and grab it?

It was disturbing to think she was a coward. But marriage, especially to a peer of the realm, was a big step.

She’d told Milly, Screw your courage to the sticking point and you’ll not fail. Lowering to think that Milly might have more courage than she.

The carriage slowed and turned down a narrow drive. Julian glanced out the window. “Ah, good, we’re here. That’s Dot and Fred’s place.”

At the end of a drive lined with trees, bare at this time of the year, the house emerged, a wide three-story sandstone building with an arched entrance from which two wings spread, with a line of gabled dormer windows on each side, and two large bay windows on the ground and second floors. Facing south, it would be wonderfully light.

“What a beautiful house,” Zo? exclaimed. It was much bigger than she’d expected.

“Yes, it’s not bad,” Julian said diffidently. He was trying to hide his pride in it. She was stunned. He’d given this place to his sister and her husband. It was a magnificent gesture.

The front door opened and a footman ran down the steps to meet them. A butler waited in the entrance, and two grooms appeared from around the side to deal with the horses. The footman let down the carriage steps, and Hamish bounded out and hurried to the nearest tree while Julian assisted Zo? to alight.

“Julian!” A small, rounded, dark-haired lady emerged and bustled toward them, a huge smile on her face.

“Dot.” He picked her up and whirled her around. Laughing, she exhorted him to put her down and introduce her to his lady friend.

“Dot, this is my intended, Miss Zo? Beno?t. Zo?, my sister, Lady Strangham.” Zo? shot him a glance.

“Your intended, Julian? Oh, this is exciting. Welcome, Miss Beno?t, I’m delighted to meet you.”

“I may have been a trifle premature,” Julian admitted, intercepting a stern look from Zo?. “She hasn’t exactly agreed yet.”

His sister frowned. “But you’ve brought her here, unchaperoned?”

“Yes, I kidnapped her.”

His sister widened her eyes at him for a moment, then gave a merry peal of laughter. “Oh, Julian, you’re incorrigible. Miss Beno?t, you’re not distressed by this, are you? You don’t look distressed.”

“Annoyed, perhaps, but not in the least distressed,” Zo? assured her. “Thank you for your warm welcome, Lady Strangham, and I’m very sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

She waved that away. “It’s no inconvenience at all, I assure you. I love having visitors.”

“You haven’t heard the worst of it yet,” Zo? said dryly. “Not realizing I was to be kidnapped, I brought nothing with me, just the contents of my reticule—a handkerchief and a few shillings.”

Lady Strangham blinked, then laughed again. “Oh, how typical. Aren’t men hopeless?”

“He seems to think you won’t mind lending me whatever I need.”

“I don’t, of course, but whether I have anything to fit you is another matter. Perhaps some of my dresses from before my recent confinement will do, though they will have to be let down.” She linked arms with Zo?. “Come inside and tell me all about it. And please, call me Dot. When people call me Lady Strangham, I always think they’re addressing my mother-in-law.”

She led Zo? into the house and called for refreshments to be served in twenty minutes. Two small boys came racing down the stairs, paying Zo? scant attention but hurling themselves joyfully at Uncle Julian, who swung the smallest one onto his shoulders and dangled the giggling older boy upside down for a moment before setting him on his feet again.

A nursemaid stood on the landing, halfway up the stairs, holding a squalling bundle in her arms.

“Oh dear, Bessie is hungry again,” Dot exclaimed. “Do you mind?”

Slightly bewildered, Zo? said, “Not at all.”

“Oh good, come with me, then. Julian can look after the boys. Boys, take Uncle Julian out to wherever your papa is. He will want to look over the farm. Perhaps you could start with the pigs.” She darted a mischievous glance at her brother and laughed at his resigned expression as two small boys grabbed his hands and began towing him to the piggery.

“Come along.” Dot took Zo? upstairs with her, and they followed the nursemaid into what was clearly the nursery. Dot started unfastening the front of her dress at once and said over the deafening sound of the tiny bundle’s displeasure, “I’m feeding her myself, you see. I know it’s terribly unfashionable and unladylike, and that I ought to employ a wet nurse, but I don’t care. I love it.” She sat in a chair, facing slightly away from Zo?, and took the baby. There was sudden, blissful silence. “Now,” she said chattily, “tell me all about you and my scapegrace brother.”

Which Zo? did. Relating her story to Julian’s very receptive and warmhearted sister made her realize that somehow, their discussion of her fears had somehow settled them. And that what she wanted, more than anything in the world, was to be with him for the rest of her life.

Watching Dot with her sweet little baby daughter, she was also aware of a pang of envy. One day she wanted this for herself, too.

By the end of the day, Zo? felt almost as if she were already part of the family. Dot was lively, sympathetic and welcoming. Her husband was a tall, quiet man, quite content to let his wife take the conversational lead, unless it concerned farming, about which he was endearingly enthusiastic. The two of them were still clearly in love.

The children, too, were lively and happy. The boys had firmly attached themselves to their uncle and begged that he come up and tell them a story before they went to sleep. Uncle Julian’s stories were amaaaazing , they assured her. Zo? had no difficulty believing it, but she didn’t go upstairs to join them.

Somehow her mind had settled. Julian was going to be her husband. She would accept his proposal tonight if they ever had a moment alone.

She had decided, and yet she was absurdly nervous.

She was fairly quiet during supper, which, luckily, wasn’t particularly noticeable, as Julian and Dot were both very talkative. From time to time she felt his eyes resting on her, a question in them.

Finally it was time for bed. Dot accompanied Zo? upstairs to help get her settled in. Her maid had sorted out some clothing for Zo?, including a warm, long-sleeved nightgown in white flannel. Her bedchamber was cozy, with a fire burning in the grate and a large four-poster bed. Dot bustled around, closing the curtains and ensuring Zo? had warm water in which to wash, tooth powder and a toothbrush and anything else she might need, including books and a maid.

“Our bedroom is at the other end of the corridor,” she explained. “The baby wakes in the night, but you shouldn’t be able to hear her from here. At least I hope not. And Julian is right across the hall. I hope that’s all right. Your door locks, of course.”

Zo? thanked her again for her generosity and hospitality, which Dot dismissed with an airy wave of her hand. “I’d do the same for anyone my brother kidnapped,” she joked. She wished Zo? good night and left her to get undressed.

The maid helped Zo? to undress and took the rest of her clothing away to be laundered. Zo? washed in the hot water, using a beautifully fragrant soap, then slipped into the voluminous white nightgown. She cleaned her teeth, then climbed onto the bed and waited.

A few minutes later she hopped off the bed, parted the curtains and peered out. A blackberry-dark sky with a bright scattering of stars and a crescent moon.

She picked up one of the books that Dot had left for her, climbed back onto the bed and idly flipped the pages, taking in nothing. Her ears were stretched for every little sound. Had he come upstairs yet, or was he still downstairs drinking and chatting with his brother-in-law?

She put the book aside, slipped off the bed and tried her door. Should she leave it ajar so he would see it when he came up to bed? Or would that be too brazen a hint? No. She was going to be brazen enough. Besides, it was letting in a draft. She closed the door and sank cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire.

Finally she heard him come up. His door closed. She waited a little while, imagining him preparing for bed. She swallowed, took a deep breath and knocked softly on his door. It swung open instantly. Julian stood there in just his breeches and shirtsleeves.

“Vita?” he said softly. She didn’t say anything—her tongue was thick with nerves—but he held out his hand and she took it. He drew her inside, closed the door behind her and locked it.

“You’re freezing, love. Come over to the fire and warm up.”

But it wasn’t the fire she needed to warm her. She put her hands on his shoulders and gazed earnestly up at him. “Are you sure about marrying me, Julian?”

His arms slid around her waist and he drew her against him. “More than sure. I love you with all my heart and soul and body, and I don’t want to be apart from you ever again.” His eyes blazed blue. “Does this mean you’ve made up your mind?”

She nodded. “There will be difficulties, but I’m sure we can—I can work through them.”

“ We will work through any problems together.” He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her softly, almost reverently, on the lips. It was a vow. She smiled, and his returning smile lit the room. He picked her up, whirled her around and they fell together, laughing, on the bed.

And then they were kissing, kissing, kissing. His mouth and hands everywhere, tasting her, caressing her, lavishing her with soft, sumptuous, silken kisses that fired her blood and melted her bones. She ran her palm down his jawline, reveling in the faint prickle of bristles under firm, masculine skin, enjoying the soft rasping sound it made.

He drew back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I should have shaved tonight.”

“No, I like it,” she murmured, and stroked her palm over his jaw again. “This is almost how I first met you, only you’re not quite as bristly tonight.”

“And you like it?”

She gave him a slow, sultry smile and brushed against him like a cat, breathing in the faint fragrance of his cologne. He hadn’t worn cologne in France. She tried to decide which she preferred, the fresh, fragrant skin-with-cologne scent of Julian or the bare bold naked unadorned man scent that was Reynard. Both were incredibly appealing to her senses.

And then they were kissing again.

She couldn’t get enough of it, of him. She felt not just desirable, but cherished, as if she were something—no someone precious.

She pulled off his shirt and ran her hands over his hard masculine chest.

“Hah! Two can play at that game, missy,” he growled. He tugged at her nightgown. “What the devil is this thing my sister has dressed you in? It’s practically a tent.” He was floundering in its voluminous folds. “We might have first made love in a caravan, but I’m hanged if the second time is going to be in a tent!”

She laughed. “Oh, but it’s lovely and warm,” she purred provocatively, making no attempt to help him.

“You don’t need this to keep you warm. That’s my job.” He finally found the hem. “Lift up,” he said, and an instant later she was bare to the air and the nightgown had been flung away. “Ah, now that’s how I prefer you to be dressed.” And he proceeded to lavish her with…love. It wasn’t just bed sports, it was love. Though as bed sports went, she was learning a lot.

They made love twice, and each time he took her to a peak where she arched and shuddered and then—shockingly—screamed. Just exactly like a wild vixen. And then collapsed, boneless and euphoric.

“I’m glad we’re in the other wing of the house,” she told him after the first time, when she’d been lying in his arms, dreamy and sated. “I wouldn’t want your sister to hear that.”

He laughed and proceeded to show her that she wasn’t nearly as tired as she’d thought.

They made love again in the morning, and when they went down to breakfast, Dot gave them a knowing look and a big smile. Zo? tried not to blush, but she felt it heating her face.

“Let’s get married,” Julian said after breakfast.

Zo? gave him a quizzical look. “I thought we’d already agreed on that.”

“Yes, but I mean now. Today. I have a special license with me.”

“Today? You mean here?”

“Yes, in the village church if you like. It’s quite ancient and rather lovely, as I think I mentioned.” He gave her a hopeful look.

“I am not getting married in the village church, no matter how ancient and lovely it is,” she told him. “My sisters and Lucy would be so disappointed if they missed my wedding. No, I will marry you at St. George’s in Hanover Square with my sisters and their husbands and Lucy and Gerald and Lady Scattergood if we can get her there—and your grandmother as well as your other wives and their children.”

“Other wives? What’s this about other wives?” Dot had overheard them, and Zo? left it to Julian to explain his three wives. When he’d finished, Dot thumped him on the arm. “You are atrocious!” she told him.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said without the slightest sign of contrition.

They stayed with Dot and Fred and the children two more days, spending the days walking and talking—with each other mostly, but also with Dot and Fred. She liked Julian’s family very much.

And every night and each morning they made love, never the same way twice, but always gloriously satisfying.

Lovemaking with Julian wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Sometimes it was intense—pure, raw passion—and at other times it was joyful and playful with conversation and laughter. And each morning she woke thinking she couldn’t be any happier. And every day he proved her wrong.

Then on the third day, it was time to return to London and face the music.

“Drop me off at Clarissa’s,” Zo? said as they neared Bellaire Gardens. “I know she’ll want to talk to both of us, and Lady Scattergood might not let you in the house.”

But when they got to Clarissa’s, they found Izzy and Leo as well as Lucy and Lady Tarrant gathered in the downstairs sitting room, looking worried.

“What’s going on?” Zo? asked after she’d embraced everyone.

“Clarissa is having the baby.”

Zo? glanced around. “What, now? Where is Race?”

Izzy pointed. “He’s up there with her.”

“In with Clarissa? When she’s having the baby?” It was quite unheard of in Zo?’s experience. Men simply weren’t allowed in a birthing room, not unless they were a doctor. Or unless they were there to say goodbye. No wonder everyone looked so serious. Was Clarissa expected to die? She didn’t know how to ask it.

But Izzy understood the silent question in her eyes. “No, there’s nothing wrong—that we know of. Race has said from the beginning that he was going to be with Clarissa throughout her labor.”

“Really?” Zo? glanced at Julian, who looked uncomfortable. She looked at Leo. “Did you—?”

“No,” he said hastily. “I didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed him in anyway,” Izzy said. “I have no desire for anyone to see me in that state. But Clarissa is different. Race has been in there all this time, wiping her brow and holding her hand and doing whatever she wants.”

“How long has it been?”

A scream rang out, and they all fell silent, listening.

“Long enough,” Izzy said. She got up and paced the floor restlessly.

After a few minutes, Leo caught her hand and drew her down beside him. He rubbed her back soothingly and tried to distract them. “So, Zo?, how was your visit?” he asked, but another scream rang out, and they all fell silent again.

Tension filled the room.

They heard a door upstairs open and close. Someone was coming down the stairs. They all ran out to the hall, and looked up to see Race coming unsteadily down the stairs. A high, thin wail floated down. The baby.

“Oh God,” he said. His knees appeared to give way and he plonked down halfway down the stairs. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

They gathered around the foot of the stairs. “Race? You mean—? Is Clarissa—?” Izzy faltered. Her skin was chalky gray.

He looked up. “Oh, no, no, she’s fine—tired, but otherwise all right. Very happy. They’re just cleaning her and the baby up. She was so brave, so strong. I had no idea…So brave. All you women…so strong.”

There was a universal sigh of relief. The upstairs door opened again, and a nurse appeared on the stairs, carrying a small bundle, which was no longer yelling. “Lord Randall? Would you care to hold your daughter now?”

Without waiting for a reply, she came down the last few steps and placed the baby in Race’s arms. “Oh God,” he murmured, staring down at the bundle in his arms. He loosened the swaddling clothes a little and a tiny arm emerged.

In wonder, Race touched the little starfish hand, and it closed around his finger. “Look at her,” he said brokenly. “Have you ever seen such a perfect little person? My daughter. Look at those little hands, those perfect tiny fingernails. It’s a miracle. She’s a miracle. And my Clarissa is a miracle. And alive.” He looked down at them, his eyes full of tears. “We have a daughter.”