She mounted her horse and headed north, toward Rothbury, but she soon noticed her mount was limping. It wouldn’t make it to Rothbury. Had she ridden him too long? Oh, poor thing! She would have to walk him back to Margery’s door.
After Margery told her where to find the nearest public stable, Julianna boldly asked her if she would be going to Rothbury.
Margery held the letter to her chest and smiled. “I do not wish to go to Rothbury, Miss,” she said. She looked a few years younger than Julianna, perhaps ten and eight. She had pretty, pale yellow hair tamed neatly in a crown of intricate braids and the rest falling like dappled water down her shoulders.
Julianna scowled a little thinking of her own untamable hair, which was beginning to feel like the weight of a damned kingdom on her head. She should cut it all off and scatter it to the four winds. She should have done it years ago.
But it gave her something to hide behind.
“If you see my brother again,” said Miss Sommers, “you can tell him I have found work caring for someone. ’Tis not a child, but ’tis close by.” She smiled and began to close the door, but she paused and stepped out again. “But if I wanted to go and I had a lame horse, there is a carriage that leaves for supplies from Rothbury every few days. They take passengers for a price. A price too high for me to pay!” she laughed and then shrugged her petite shoulders. “We accept our lot, aye?” Before Julianna could answer, she shut the door.
Julianna stared at it instead.No, not all of us do.
What was her lot? To be an esteemed nobleman’s wife, as her parents had always demanded—and she had insisted just as hard that she was not ready for? She had her way until she was nineteen years old. For him. For William. Though she realized now that she had been caught in a young girl’s fancies. She and William would not have been happy together having to scrape by and hoping to eat each day. Would the Scots have taken them in? Would she have agreed to live with them?
Oh, why was it always the same? Why did she always end up thinking about what kind of life she could have had with William? He was a traitor! She should not want to see him! But, oh, she did.
She walked her horse to the stable Margery had directed her to and left her horse with a groom. She paid him to see to her animal and then asked him about the carriage going to Rothbury. If William was there, or if she could find out something about him, it would be worth the coin.
Two days later, she found herself sitting in a cramped carriage with a young man and an old woman he was apparently chaperoning.
Margery Sommers had been correct. The price of passage was high. Too high, in fact, for Julianna to brush off. The way she once had. She had to fill the position as governess or she wouldn’t be eating for a while.
How had William found anything beautiful in her back then? For he had called her beautiful often.
She shook her head to clear her unwanted thoughts. She missed basking in the innocence of a carefree life, but she had grown up. She was starting over—and she wanted to find the man who had helped her.
She had spent two days at an inn, (that cost her more coin) deciding what to do. She wantedhimand onlyhimto see the woman she had become. She was not the cowardly girl he knew. She wanted him to know it. Perhaps because he was the only person in her life who really mattered in her heart, him and the woman who became William’s mother.
She’d spent much coin on trying to find them. Even now she had merchants and fellow messengers helping her.
The ride in the carriage was bumpy, and twice during the trip Julianna was certain the old woman released her gases.
’Twas a frigid day, so opening the wooden shutter and sticking her head out the small window for relief was a great help. She turned and offered her poor companion, who looked about to fall faint from holding his breath, a space at the window.
He removed his hat and came close. But he breathed in Julianna’s hair instead of the brisk winter air. Aye, she thought, her hair did smell nice. She’d used her last few drops of honeysuckle and jasmine oil on it. After sleeping in a bed where many others had slept before her, ’twas worth it. She pulled out another bunch of her tresses from under her hood, unraveling it from a long, loose braid. They both sank their noses in. After a moment of breathing, he looked up and smiled at her. So close, his breath became hers.
She backed away from the window—from him, and sat down, noticing him for the first time as she went.
His confident smile remained, higher on one side than the other, making his green eyes twinkle with pure, well-honed charm. His flaxen hair was long—for a nobleman—and tied back at his nape.
“I am the Viscount of Bamburgh, Louis Pratt,” he greeted. The old woman snored as if in response. “My grandmother, Lady Bamburgh.”
“Julianna Fenly,” Julianna told him after a few moments of her making certain the woman was still asleep. She didn’t use her real name in case folks who ran in Phillip’s circle of friends knew of his death and suspected her. As far as she knew, people believed him missing. She gave no title because she had none to give. Her husband’s will had not been read. Her father’s titles had been stripped. His debts, which according to some were many, had been paid out, leaving her almost penniless. “You are far from home.”
“Mm, aye,” he agreed with a well-practiced smile. “We are traveling. My grandmother has relatives in Ashington.”
“I see,” Julianna remarked and then looked toward the window again.
“Where are you from?” her companion asked, his voice dipping to a smoky drone.
She supposed she could go back to Alnwick. The guards would either kill her or serve her. But it wasn’t home. She could never go back to Berwick and live with so many ghosts.
“Rothbury,” she replied and flicked her dark gaze on the woman. There wasn’t much else to look at but his grandmother. So she did.
She had known dozens of men like Bamburgh in the past. Pretty, dangerous, and terribly boring once the charm wore off.
That was the trouble with William. He ruined her for anyone else. The night he’d kissed her—the night he left—he was already a man, having survived a world much harsher than hers. She knew that world now. She’d lived in it.
