Cass groaned and squeezed the pillow. “Oh, it’s all so… so… uncertain.”
Lucy pulled her close again and gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Ah, the very essence of romance is uncertainty, dear. Never forget it.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Well, I for one have never heard of Miss Patience Bunbury,” Julian’s younger sister, Daphne, said as she sat across the drawing room from him writing a letter, while he and his mother looked on.
“I can’t say I’ve made her acquaintance, either,” his mother, the countess, added.
A blond curl flew over Daphne’s shoulder as she tossed her head and gave Julian a sly look. “Quite curious if you ask me.”
Julian settled into his chair. “What do you mean, curious?” He’d greatly enjoyed spending these last few days with his mother and Daphne. The two women had been beside themselves with happiness when he came striding through the door. His mother had silently held back tears, her eyes brimming with them, and hugged her second-born, while Daphne had clapped her hands and nearly shrieked with excitement.
It was damn good to see them again. His sister, just a girl when he had gone to war, was now a beautiful, accomplished young woman who he quickly learned was always buzzing about the house doing several things at once. His mother had deeper worry lines in her forehead and a few more wrinkles but she still had the same laughing gray eyes he remembered.
They’d caught up on everything from the less gruesome aspects of Julian’s time at war, to the frivolities of the last London Season, but neither of the women seemed to know what had possessed Donald to go off to the Continent.
“He said he was going to Italy on holiday,” his mother told him. “I don’t know why he would leave in the middle of a war. But you know Donald, always so evasive. Never wanting to worry us. Though now I’m concerned because he’s been gone for months and we’ve yet to receive a letter indicating that he’s arrived safely.”
“I’m certain news will come soon, Mama,” Daphne said. “And besides, Captain Cavendish is with him. He’ll keep Donald safe.”
“Yes, you’re right, dear. Captain Cavendish has been an excellent friend to our family through the years and he’s an excellent soldier.”
Daphne had nodded, but the look she gave Julian made him think she knew more than she was letting on. Especially since she knew Donald was with Rafe. Julian had inclined his head toward his sister, the siblings tacitly agreeing to allow their mother to continue to think Donald was on holiday. But Julian made a mental note to ask Daphne about it later.
Now that he and his mother and sister had had a chance to become reacquainted after all these years, Julian had informed them he was leaving for the countryside and that’s how the subject of Patience Bunbury had come up.
“I just mean that it’s a bit curious that Miss Monroe is off at a house party hosted by a young lady we’ve never heard of,” Daphne said with a shrug, returning her attention to her letter.
“Perhaps you merely never met Miss Bunbury,” Julian suggested.
“Of course I never met her, silly,” Daphne replied, shaking her head. “I just thought I knew nearly everyone and I don’t know her.”
“There’s a first time for everything, dear,” their mother replied. “I’m certain Miss Bunbury is a fine young lady if Miss Monroe has chosen to befriend her.”
Daphne tossed her quill on the desk and turned fully around in her chair to face Julian, her hands braced on her knees. There was a decided twinkle in her eye. “Ooh, speaking of fine young ladies, tell me, have you seen Lady Cassandra Monroe since you’ve returned?”
Julian cleared his throat. “No. I… haven’t. I paid a call to her parents’ town house yesterday only to discover that the family has already retired to the country for the autumn.” At first, Julian had been more than a bit disappointed; however, when he’d learned the address of Lady Worthing’s house party, he’d discovered that it was near Cassandra’s parents’ estate. More good fortune. Once in Surrey, Julian would find Penelope, say what he needed to say, and then he would go to the Monroes’ estate to visit Cassandra.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Daphne answered, a crestfallen look on her face. “Tell me, does she still write to you?”
“Yes, quite often,” Julian said, a lump unexpectedly forming in his throat. What could he say about Cassandra? She was his best friend. She’d written him for years. She’d begun soon after he left with the army after her sixteenth birthday. He’d thought it would be nothing more than a simple, friendly correspondence. But it had turned into much more. Cassie didn’t know it, but she had saved his life.
“Nearly every day?” His mother’s eyebrows shot up. “I daresay that’s more often than Daphne and I wrote. Did Penelope write you as much?”
Julian shook his head. “No.”Not even remotely close. He leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers over his chest. Penelope. Over the years, he’d considered resigning himself to their marriage. Penelope had been eighteen when he’d gone off to war. They’d decided to wait until after he returned—if he returned—to make it all official. It hadn’t been fair to Penelope to make her wait all these years. Especially when Julian had had no intention of ever coming back. He was under no illusion that Penelope loved him or even wanted to marry him for that matter. The few letters she’d written to him in all these years had been short and full of inane banter. Nothing true. Nothing real. Nothing like the letters he received from Cassandra. Cassandra’s letters had been heartfelt and honest, full of witticisms and intelligence. She made him smile. She made him laugh out loud, and most of all, she made him feel as if someone in this great big world, someone other than his mother and his sister, really, truly cared if he lived or died. God knew his father never had. He was a useless second son after all. He’d been told that often enough. His father had purchased his commission and handed it over with words he’d never forget.
***
Julian knocked on the door to his father’s study. “May I come in?”
His father grunted his assent.
Julian pushed open the door and strode forward. He stopped in front of his father’s massive wooden desk, standing at attention. He stared out the window above his father’s head, his hands clasped behind his back, his new uniform still rough against his skin. He’d get used to the rubbing eventually.
“Julian.” His father’s voice was deep yet cold, as always. “Or should I say, Lieutenant Swift now?”
“Thank you for the commission, my lord. I intend to make you proud.”
