They’d reached the halfway point along the graveled walkway surrounding the Upper Ward’s emerald lawn. Susan stopped and turned to Julia.
“Years ago, I expected a marriage proposal from Peter FitzGerald.” Susan shuddered. “Horrible to think of it now, but I was … besotted. Then he met Harriet.”
Julia squeezed her arm. “A lucky escape, although I’m sure it didn’t seem so at the time.”
“No. And then I rushed into my disastrous marriage to Augustus.”
Julia kissed her cheek. “I wish you every happiness, though you don’t need me to cheer you on. I suspect life with Lionel Dermott will be a delightful adventure.”
“Bless you for that, Julia.” Susan looked up at the looming towers and the windows of the guest wing. “Royal service and a tiny legacy … I could live in modest independence. There was a time when I thought that would make me happy. But when you meet a person—someone whose absence leaves a hole in your life and heart—what youthoughtgoes out the window.”
“Yes,” Julia said, and they walked on. They’d reached the gateway before she felt Susan’s gaze.
“Tell me, Julia. Was that a polite ‘yes’ or a ‘yes’ with conviction? I rather think the latter. I imagine Inspector Tennant hopes so, too.”
Julia’s smile spread slowly. “Aunt Caroline would say I’ve taken far too long to figure it out. But yes, with conviction. Both of you are absolutely right.”
CHAPTER 18
On Saturday, the first day of February, Susan Styles stood at her window, watching the gray-white mist curl across Marlborough House’s great lawn.
Fog veiled the distant trees, and she wouldn’t be back to see them bud. That morning, Susan had waited on the princess one final time. It was the last morning she’d live in another person’s house. A tap brought her to the door, and four footmen carried her buckled bags and trunks downstairs.
Susan took a last look around. She’d raised her window an inch and smiled at the sound of a rattling carriage. Then she closed the door and walked to the top of the staircase.
Lionel had arrived at Marlborough House ten minutes before his appointed time. For a change, he wasn’t wearing Home Office iron gray and black. Susan wondered if he’d dressed to match his mood. He wore a dove-gray cutaway coat over a creamy double-breasted waistcoat, a red-and-gold paisley tie, and a matching pocket square. He’d pinned a white carnation to his lapel to crown it all.
Lionel bounded up the steps two at a time and met Susan onthe landing. Then he took her hands, kissing them one by one. He tucked her arm under his and said, “Time to break the happy news to Alix.”
When they finished their audience with the Princess of Wales, Lionel grabbed Susan’s hand and raced her down the “God-awful” battlefield staircase. At the bottom, he took her in his arms and waltzed her across the Blenheim Saloon’s checkerboard floor, passing two astonished footmen and a gaping housemaid. Lionel threw back his head and laughed.
At the front door, he said, “Let’s be off, my darling. We’re going to have a deliriously happy life!”
That same misty Saturday, Julia walked to All Hallows, carrying a small vase with six pink carnations. She loved the simplicity of the familiar brick church with its white stone tower, although the belfry was barely visible that morning.
Julia escaped the fog by slipping through the west front doors. She entered the nave and looked up. The ceiling’s barrel vault arched over white plaster walls and golden oak pews, the plain glass windows letting in the misty day’s meager sunlight. Julia crossed to a side aisle, her clicking heels echoing along the north wall.
She stopped at a spot between the first two windows and found the plaque she sought. It read,WILLIAM AND SUSANNAH LEWIS, 1841,LOST AT SEA ON THE SSPRESIDENT. THEIR GRAVES ARE KNOWN ONLY TO GOD. Fate had decreed that Julia never knew her parents. But her grandparents had built a foundation of love and security as solid as the Roman stones beneath the church. She bent and placed her bouquet at the base of the wall. The first of February was her mother’s birthday; she would have been fifty-four that day.
Julia wondered what her mother would say if she could speak. Perhaps, “Life is a precious gift. Don’t waste the time you’re given.” The church bells rang the hour, a reminder oftime’s passage. Julia would be twenty-nine on her next birthday. “Seize the day,” her grandfather had said, referring to Richard Tennant.
She thought of him and smiled. His attraction was undeniable. She felt its pull each time they met.One of these days, he may speak.What would she say? Julia had wondered if she could be happy with such a guarded man. Some people married, thinking their partners would change. Julia neither expected nor wanted a different Richard.
She walked toward the altar and looked up at the half-domed apse. So many had kneeled beneath it, praying for guidance, strength, or the gift of acceptance, “Thy will be done.”
What ofherwill? It had been a journey. At last, Julia understood what she wanted. She loved him. And as for the world’s opinions? She wouldn’t let its narrow views about marriage rule her. So, if Richard walked into the church, took her in his arms, and asked her to marry him, she knew what she would say. She closed her eyes and imagined him drawing near, his embrace, his kiss.
Julia exited the building and walked along the churchyard path, wondering if Richard caught a morning train to London. She calculated the hours, thinking,Perhaps I’ll see him this evening.Then there he was, walking out of the mist, moving with a slight hitch in his step, his unbuttoned overcoat flapping. Julia’s heart lifted.
“Richard.” She extended her hands, smiling. “You’re back. I didn’t expect—”
“I caught the milk train.” He tucked her arm under his elbow, and they walked along the path. “Mrs. Ogilvie told me you were here.”
“And the coroner’s jury?”
“A verdict of murder, as expected, although they’ll try FitzGerald for treason in London. It trumps all other charges.”
Julia shook her head. “Each time I see a newspaper headline,I think of his poor wife and sons, wondering how they will survive it.”
