Laurence waved his hand. “Fine, fine. Yes, plan something for this week if you can manage it. I’d like to leave by Monday once I can arrange a special license.”
“And I will, of course, chaperone since that seems to be the solution,” Caroline said. She was watching Julia, her eyes holding and sending every message Julia feared receiving. “I would be more than pleased to perform that service.”
“Then it is arranged.” Laurence said. It seemed he could read the temperature had shifted in the room and he turned toward Julia. He took her hand. “Don’t think me unfeeling, Julia. It’s only that my grandfather may intervene if we don’t rush. I must put my foot down if I’m to have the future I desire.”
She nodded slowly. What else could she do? As she’d already said, she had agreed to this proposal. The benefits of it hadn’t changed, even if Laurence wasn’t being particularly sensitive to her needs. If he truly feared the earl’s interference, she supposed she understood that. And he was right that she’d have a lifetime to continue to enjoy time and celebrations with her family. Perhaps even more so because she had left the life of a courtesan and was considered a proper lady.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you know best.”
“Of course I do,” he agreed. “Now earlier Julia was kind enough to share some of Mrs. Windham’s whisky from her illicit source. Why don’t we share in that in celebration together?”
“Certainly,” Silas said coolly, and motioned his head for Vaughn to help him pour. Julia could see them talking together at the sideboard, glancing back at Laurence with barely hidden disgust.
But surely they would one day get along with him just as warmly as they did with each other. She had to believe that. Just as she now had to believe that this agreement, made to protect herself, would end up comfortable.
Any other option was just unbearable to consider.
CHAPTER 4
Going to the home of the Earl of Heathfield, Alexander’s grandfather, was never good. Today it was a necessity. At least that was what Alexander kept reminding himself as he pulled into the crushed stone drive and swung down from his horse.
It was a beautiful home, just as every jewel in his grandfather’s holding was beautiful. Once he had admired the earl’s wealth, but after seeing the way he held it over Laurence’s head, over Alexander’s mother’s head…over his own…the money and property felt more like a noose than a pair of wings.
He straightened his jacket and came to the door where his grandfather’s long-suffering butler awaited him.
“Good afternoon, Jones,” he said. “How is your sister?”
Jones’s face lit up at the acknowledgment that he was an actual person. “Doing much better, Mr. Castleton. Thank you so much for the inquiry.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” Alexander looked toward the house with a little sigh. “The earl is expecting me.”
“Indeed, he is,” Jones said, and motioned to the parlor where Heathfield met with all guests of a certain rank. Alexander was below that level, but as family he got the elevated treatment. Atleast presently. He was under no delusion that it couldn’t change at the whim of his grandfather. “The earl will be with you…” The butler bent his head almost as if apologizing. “He’ll be with you shortly.”
Alexander sighed as he paced to the window to look out on his grandfather’s gardens. Late spring was in full bloom out there in the greenery and it should have been a most enjoyable time. Only there were no flowers planted there. Too frivolous, the earl always said.
He’d be late, of course. A game Heathfield played, one he felt gave him power. Luckily Alexander came prepared and took a seat before the fire and drew out a small volume of poetry he often carried with him. Walter Scott’s words drew him in and the time passed with little effort. In fact, he didn’t even notice the arrival of his grandfather until the old man cleared his throat at the door.
Alexander shoved the book aside and jolted to his feet as the earl fully entered the chamber and shut the door behind him. “My lord,” he said with a brief bow before he took his grandfather in.
Heathfield was a man of angles. All hard edges and cruel little turns. As a child, Alexander had seen him as impossibly tall, but he’d grown to be even taller when he became a man, himself, so that was gone. But the harsh quirks to the earl’s mouth and the steely hardness to his stare remained and when they were turned on Alexander he felt like he was ten years old again. Like he could hear the earl screaming at his father through thick wooden doors, calling both he and Alexander worthless and threatening to disinherit them both.
He never had, but the constant threats left a man feeling uncertain. That was why he’d invested the small inheritance that had come after his father’s death. If he made his own fortune, he’d never again have to beg for this man’s good graces.
“And there you are,” the earl, said and moved to the sideboard. “Did you not pour yourself a drink?”
Alexander knew that was a trick question. Pouring a drink before Heathfield’s arrival would be judged as rude. Not pouring one, foolish. The answer was never correct.
“I did not find myself in want of refreshment, my lord, so I waited for you.”
His grandfather’s gaze came up as he splashed scotch into two glasses. Alexander had never particularly liked scotch, but this was a game, too. He took it and, after the earl had sipped, did the same.
“Very polite today, I see,” Heathfield said, and motioned back to the seat Alexander had vacated. “Sit. What book were you wasting your time on?”
“Scott, I’m afraid. Not your favorite.”
“Poets are the scourge of this generation, they’re why you’re all so soft,” Heathfield breathed. “And you didn’t request this meeting to speak to me of them. What is it you want, boy?”
Short and to the point. One almost had to admire the man for it. “My mother, sir,” Alexander said.
