“You’re leaving soon?”
“Yes. I’ve said good-bye to Mother, Donald, and Daphne. I’ve leaving for Surrey in a few minutes, to say good-bye to Miss Monroe.”
His father snorted. “You might as well tell her good-bye forever. No reason to keep her on the hook, waiting for you.”
Julian’s brow furrowed. “My lord?”
“Since you won’t be coming back.”
Julian kept his jaw locked, his eyes still focused out the window. “You’ve that little faith in me, Father?”
“On the contrary, this is about the faith I do have in you. You said you intend to make me proud.”
“Father?”
The earl slammed his fist against the desk, making the papers and ink pot bounce. “Damn it, Julian. Must I spell it out for you? You’re meant to die in battle. Honorably, of course. The more honorably, the better. That’s why I purchased the commission for you. I expect you to make both me and your country extremely proud.”
An icy claw grabbed at Julian’s chest. He concentrated on keeping his gaze straight, his jaw firm. A harsh breath escaped him. “Sir.” He bowed once to his father, turned on his heel, and left the room.
It was the last time he ever saw his father.
Julian had wrestled with those words during the entire ride to Surrey seven years ago. Would he say good-bye to Miss Monroe for good and let her go, or would he ask her to write to him? He understood what he had to do. Understood what it would finally take to gain his father’s love, his approval. And he would do his duty. But it might be weeks, months even, before he died, and he couldn’t bear the thought of not having something to look forward to in that time. When Cassie had offered to write to him, he’d had some small glimmer of hope, some small shred of happiness to hang on to.
Julian had left for the Continent with his division as soon as he returned from Surrey. Within the month, word came that his father had died.
The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, the months to years. And Cassie’s letters arrived like clockwork, comforting, uplifting, friendly, and funny. Daphne and Mother wrote to him of course, but their letters were less frequent and meant to distract him with humorous bits of news. Cassie’s letters were different. They were heartfelt, meaningful. They were the only evidence he had left that he was still alive. And he’d never been able to write to her—this girl who kept him from a dark abyss—and tell her that he never intended to return. He couldn’t do that to her and he didn’t want to believe it himself. Cassie’s letters were real but they were also the only place he allowed himself to pretend.
***
Julian glanced around the room, his brother’s room, his brother’s house. Julian had been back in town for less than a fortnight but already he was seeing to the correspondence and acting in his brother’s stead. The servants came to him with issues and his mother seemed perfectly content to allow him to run things. Daphne seemed quite pleased with it all, too, probably because he allowed her to get away with more than Donald did.
Donald.
Julian took a deep breath. He and his brother had not been close. Donald was several years older than he and had been raised to be an earl. When Donald wasn’t away at school, he was spending time with their father. It had always made Julian envious. How he craved his father’s attention and approval for one day, one hour, one minute, even. Daphne had always been close to Mother and that had left Julian alone, alone and unnecessary, a spare to an earldom that didn’t require a spare. Father had made that clear enough.
Julian shook his head. None of that mattered now. Not at the moment. He’d done as he was told, gone off to the army, off to war. And in all those long, lonely days and nights, he’d looked forward to Cassandra’s letters. Waited for them each time the mail arrived, and while other soldiers were often disappointed to find that the call came and went with nothing for them, Julian could always rely on Cassandra. She never failed him.
“I heard that Lady Cassandra’s parents are ever so unhappy with the fact that she rebuffed the Duke of Claringdon’s advances,” Daphne offered from her perch at the writing desk.
“Yes, but anyone could see that the duke and Lady Lucy make a much more matched pair,” his mother said. “Still, I can understand their disappointment.”
Julian laughed. “Derek told me himself that he did his best to win Lady Cassandra.”
“It’s true,” Daphne added. “Though he never truly had a chance at winning her heart.”
Julian frowned. What did his sister know about it? “Why do you say that?”
Daphne’s lips turned up at the corners in a whisper of a smile. “Oh, there’s only one gentleman Lady Cassandra is interested in and he’s been, ahem, quite unavailable.”
Julian sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. There it was again. Just as Hunt had said, Cassandra Monroe was in love with another man. That’s why she’d refused Hunt. But who was this man? And when had it happened? None of Cassandra’s recent letters had mentioned a man. Well, any man other than Derek and Garrett… Upton. Upton? Could it be Upton?
Why did the thought of Cass with another man make Julian’s chest hurt? It made no sense. He shook his head. No matter. Whoever the chap was, he had better be good enough for her. That was all. Cassandra was loving and kind. She deserved to be happy. He wanted only the best for his closest friend. She meant a great deal to him. So much that when he believed he was dying, his first thought hadn’t been for himself or even Penelope. No. It had been for Cassandra. Hunt had been there, his face a stone mask, trying his damnedest not to look as if he knew his friend was already dead. He’d pressed his kerchief against the flow of blood from the bullet that had torn through Julian’s chest. Hunt had clenched his fist and his jaw and Julian had known right then that his friend would do anything he asked. His dying wish. What had it been? Hunt had already promised to tell his mother and Daphne in person, let them both know how much Julian loved them. That would be taken care of, no question. That day on the blood-soaked battlefield, he’d made Hunt promise to return to London and marry Cassandra. Julian had known from her letters that she was still unmarried. She needed someone, someone good, someone strong, someone who would take care of her and treat her well. Hunt was the perfect candidate. Or so Julian had thought.
“Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man,” Julian said, absently rubbing a hand through his hair.
“And you haven’t even seen her yet,” Daphne said under her breath.
Julian glanced up and narrowed his eyes on his sister. “What was that?”
