Loving Julia Read online

  All of this Jewel had from Johnson. Although she had seen the earl on horseback twice from her window, she had not spoken to him since that disastrous conversation in the library. Like Chloe he seemed more a ghost than a tangible presence in the house.

  Mrs. Thomas was given a room near the rear of the north wing, adjoining what used to be the schoolroom. Evidently Chloe was judged not yet ready for an education because it was obvious that the room had not been used in at least twenty years. But after Mrs. Johnson had set the maids to washing the walls and the floor and polishing the furniture, Mrs. Thomas allowed with a sniff that it would “do.” And thus did Jewel begin the unexpectedly arduous process of becoming a lady.

  “Really, Miss Julia, ladies do not hunch over when they walk. Neither do they stride about like a man! Keep your back straight, and take small, gliding steps. Gliding, gliding! No, not like that! Like this!”

  Over the next two weeks Mrs. Thomas ordered boards strapped to Jewel’s back during the hours she was in the schoolroom to teach her to sit, stand, and walk with a graceful posture. Whenever Jewel moved about the room, she was first supposed to place a book on her head. If the book fell off, she had to put it in place again and again until she could walk the entire circumference of the room without dislodging it. There were lessons in elocution that involved saying “h” into candles; there were lessons in manners and movements and dress. These lessons were repeated over and over and over until Jewel felt like screaming, or murdering Mrs. Thomas, or committing suicide by jumping out the schoolroom window herself.

  Finally, after a particularly arduous session, Jewel rebelled. Mrs. Thomas had ordered her to bed without any dinner as if she were a naughty child simply because Jewel’s table manners failed to please. Red-faced with fury at having her dinner literally snatched from beneath her nose, Jewel’s eyes flamed as she slowly rose from the table, fists clenched at her sides. This was

  the final straw! The old Gorgon had pushed her too far, and Jewel meant to respond with a roundhouse right that would knock that priggish lady flat on her back.

  Mrs. Thomas must have read Jewel’s violent intentions in her eyes because her own steely gray ones widened to the circumference of saucers. She held up a hand as if to ward Jewel off while backing from the schoolroom with more speed than dignity. Once safely in the hallway her hand dropped, and she glared at Jewel with outrage.

  “His lordship will hear of this!” she threatened before turning on her heel with such dispatch that her skirts swirled about her skinny shanks as she marched down the hall.

  Seething, Jewel hurled a pithy epithet in the woman’s wake. But then she was left to face the probable consequences of her action. The old biddy would undoubtedly run straight to the great “my lord” with her tale. Jewel remembered how the earl looked when he was angry, the icy stare that seemed to freeze its victim to the spot, the soft, silky voice that was more rending than razor-sharp steel. She also remembered his violence in the library, the furious flaming of his eyes as he hurled his glass at the fire and growled at her to get out. The memory made her shiver.

  “Ter bloody ’ell with ’im. Ter bloody ’ell with ’em all!” Jewel said aloud, her chin lifting. She immediately felt better. There she was, the old Jewel with her fighting spirit that this fancy house with its fancy ways had nearly managed to suppress. She didn’t have to take the kind of abuse she’d been getting from anyone, not even on the orders of a bleedin’ earl. Who was he anyway to be so special? Nobody, that’s who. Just because he had been born into a family that had been around for a few centuries didn’t make him any better than she was. Take away his la-de-da family and his lah-de-da money and his lah-de-da ways and put him out on the street where she’d been raised, and he’d be as helpless as a newborn infant.

  The picture of the haughty earl at the mercy of the denizens of the streets made her feel slightly better. She didn’t like feeling afraid of anyone, and as much as she hated to admit it the great “my-lord” scared her more than a little. The realization fired her anger to new heights. Jewel Combs had never been afraid of anything in her life! She had never had to be because she could take care of herself. But this new person that she was becoming, this Julia Stratham, was afraid all the time. She feared the contempt of the servants, from the lowliest groom to the lordly Johnson; she feared Mrs. Thomas because of her position as stand-in for the earl; she even feared the simplest acts of her new life like eating and walking and talking. She feared that whatever she did she would make a fool of herself, and that everyone would laugh. The idea, which she had never consciously admitted before, made her so furious that she wanted to spit. She did, a full round blob of spittle that landed plop on the highly polished floor, then felt slighty ashamed of herself as she stared at it. But only slightly. The rest of her felt pleased to be back in her old skin.

  “I don’t belong ’ere!”

  The thought sprang full grown to her mind. Even as Jewel turned it over she realized how suffocated she had felt, starting from almost the very first night when the earl had bedazzled her into that tub of steaming water. Everything she had done since had been at his behest and not her own, she realized, and she had not enjoyed a bit of it. Except for the food, she amended hastily. But even the fact of having ample food for the first time in her life wasn’t worth turning herself into another creature entirely.

  She could leave. There were no shackles on her wrists, no manacles linking her legs. She could walk out of here just as free as the air and not look back. She could be the Jewel she had always been, and to hell with this foolishness about becoming a lady. All she had ever intended was to get Timothy’s leavings, which were hers by right, but the earl had both blackmailed and bedazzled her until she had felt herself helplessly caught in the web of his power.

  But she was not helpless, and she was not caught. She could leave—if she was willing to face the threat of Mick, the uncertainty of being out on the streets again, the prospect of hunger and homelessness and having to live by her trade which could end with her swinging on the gibbet if she were caught. Was she willing to give up the security that had sounded so attractive to her when the earl had first made her his proposition? Or was she going to let herself be bought by three square meals a day and a roof over her head? Jewel’s back stiffened, and she walked determinedly out the door of the schoolroom. She had been meek Julia Stratham long enough. Jewel Combs was back, and about time, too!

  If she took a small portion of what was hers by right and by law, she would never have to fear anything again. Jewel’s eyes narrowed as she considered the thought. The earl would never miss a few gewgaws, and for her they would mean the difference between living in some comfort and going back empty-handed to the streets. It wasn’t even stealing, Jewel told herself—not that she had anything against stealing, of course. The earl was holding Timothy’s property, which was rightfully hers as his widow.

  Once in her room Jewel started pulling on as many of her dresses as she could force one over the other. They were ugly crow’s dresses, true, but they were made of the finest materials and would last her a good long while. By the time she had struggled into number five, having had to leave the last two unbuttoned, she was about as graceful in her movements as an overstuffed sausage. Before she became Julia Stratham she had had fewer dresses during her entire lifetime, so she gave up trying to squeeze into any more. But she decided to take the wool cloak, too. It was nice and warm and she would have to walk until she could get a ride.

  Should she walk along the roads? she wondered as she hurriedly ripped the coverlet from her bed and stripped the elegantly embroidered case from her pillow to carry the rest of her booty. Or should she skulk through the fields for fear that the great my-lord would come after her? She doubted that he would go to so much trouble on her behalf, but just to make certain she decided to stick to the fields for a while. When he learned of the mementos she was taking, he was going to be furious. Even if he didn’t come after her himself he could have her ar
rested for theft. Would he do such a thing, knowing that the sentence could be anything from transportation to death? Jewel pictured that cold handsome face with the icy blue eyes, and shivered. Yes, she thought, he very likely would.

  It occurred to her then that she could not just walk out the front door in high dudgeon, lugging a pillowcase of valuables with her. Her anger had blinded her to the fact that such a course of action could only lead to the servants restraining her, and then bringing her before the earl. The thought made her shiver.

  Her best choice, she decided, was to wait until the household was abed before making her escape. As the dinner hour was already past, she wouldn’t have too long to wait. Yes, waiting was the wisest course, even if it meant she might have to endure an unpleasant interview with his lordship in the meantime if Mrs. Thomas’ complaint moved him enough. But as she thought about it Jewel decided that the earl was unlikely to disturb himself at this time of an evening because of her. She would probably be ordered to present herself to him in the morning.

  In the meantime, she crossed to the door, threw the bolt, then hastily divested herself of the extra clothes. Every instinct she possessed warned her that no one, positively no one, must know what she intended to do. She must behave as though this was just another evening. Emily would be coming soon to turn down the bed, and see if she could help her mistress into her nightclothes, which she still persisted in trying to do. Much as she hated to do it, Jewel neatly hung the dresses back in the wardrobe. She stuffed the pillow back inside its case and smoothed the coverlet over all, and sat down in one of the chairs near the window to wait.

  By the time the clock had struck one in the morning Jewel was ready. Hours before she had dismissed Emily, and then sat and listened as the house had gradually grown silent. For the past two hours she hadn’t heard a sound to indicate that anyone was still up and about. Of course, the earl slept in another wing, so she had no way of telling if he had gone to bed. But, believing that at such a late hour he surely must have, she struggled back into the five dresses and grabbed the pillowcase. Cautiously edging open her door and peeking around it, Jewel was relieved to see that the hallway was deserted. She stepped out, easing the door shut behind her. Moving with as much silent stealth as she could manage with five sets of skirts hampering her, she gave a little prayer of thanks that hers was the closest bedroom to the stairs. She crept down them into the great hall, which was dark with shadows. As she had thought, the house was deserted and still as death.

  She went first to the kitchen, where she turned an entire silver service with all its fancy little forks and knives and spoons into her pillowcase. The silver rattled noisily, and she shook her head at herself. She was already losing her touch. Not too long ago, she could have lifted the whole lot in the presence of a roomful of people with none of them hearing a thing.

  Spurred now by a rising sense of excitement (it was good to be herself again, going about the business she knew best!), Jewel went back down the passageway to the dining room. There she added a fine set of silver napkin holders, a gold tray, and a lovely pair of miniatures in ornate gold frames to her collection. She eyed a silver soup tureen with some regret, knowing it was too large for her rapidly filling pillowcase. Making a hurried tour of the other downstairs rooms, she appropriated an intricately wrought gold filigree music box, a collection of antique snuffboxes, a silver duck decanter, and a pleasantly heavy gold cigar case among other smaller objects. By that time her pillowcase had grown so heavy that it was all she could do to carry it two-handed, so she decided that she had enough. Wrestling her burden until it lay over one shoulder like St. Nicholas’ pack, she held onto it with both hands as she headed toward the front door.

  Grabbing the knob, she found it was locked. Cursing under her breath, she let the bundle slide to the floor so that her hands were free to work the bolt. It was heavy, and she had to struggle to pull it up. When finally it gave, it was with a protesting groan that made her wince. In the hushed silence of the house it sounded as loud as a shriek.

  But apparently no one heard. Jewel hastily jockeyed her loot into position again over her shoulder, and nudged the door open with her foot. The cool air felt good, as overheated as she was from her exertions and over-dressed state. As she passed through the door, she noticed a ray of moonlight that fell on a pair of crossed swords adorning the wall to the right. They were beautiful things of finely wrought gold and silver. Jewel couldn’t resist.

  She lowered her bundle with a swift look around to make sure that she was still alone, then ran to get a chair so that she could reach the swords. She was panting with exertion as she stood on the woven rush seat reaching for her prize. Only by standing on tiptoe and stretching could she just manage to close her hand around one solid gold hilt. The cool, smooth feel of the precious metal brought a delighted smile to her face as she lifted it away from its moorings.

  “Reluctant as I am to spoil your fun, I am afraid that I must draw the line at those swords. They have been in my family for generations.”

  The soft, slightly drawled voice with its edge of ice hit Jewel with all the force of a lightning bolt. She whirled, dropping the sword as if it had suddenly turned red-hot, and barely saved herself from falling off the chair by clutching its back as it teetered.

  “Blimey!” she gasped above the echoing clatter of metal bouncing on the stone floor. She was too horrified to do anything but gape at him. Her worst fear had become reality; she was face to face with the earl himself.

  Despite the lateness of the hour he had obviously not yet been to bed. The smell of brandy reached her nostrils, and she knew the reason, she decided with an inward sniff. He was still wearing the white shirt and tan breeches that he had worn all day, if the creases that marred them both were anything to go by. A faint shadow darkened his jaw, and his eyes gleamed brightly blue in the flickering light of the candle he carried. He was, as he had been every time she had ever seen him, maddeningly handsome. Still she stared at him with as much horror as if he had been the most grotesque monster on the face of the earth.

  At her expression of utter terror, he smiled. It was not a pretty smile. Then he walked forward until he stood directly in front of where she perched on top of the chair, and held up a hand to her.

  “Get down.”

  Clinging to the chairback, Jewel stared down at that hand as if it were a poisonous reptile. The earth would end before she would put hers into it—how had he known what she was about? Was he in league with the devil? He looked like the devil with those icy eyes boring through her skin.

  “I said get down.” This time the tone of his voice made her shiver. She put her small, suddenly cold hand in his much larger, warmer one, and allowed him to assist her to alight. But then she was standing much too close to him. She backed a pace, then another, and felt marginally safer.

  “Once a thief, always a thief, I see.” His voice was conversational as his eyes moved from the sword that had fallen partly under the chair to the bulging pillowcase that lay full in the path of bright moonlight streaming in through the half-open door. Jewel hung her head guiltily, then snapped it up again. She was not going to let him intimidate her again! She was not!

  “I’m takin’ only wot belongs ter me. An’ jes’ a little o’ it, too.”

  The earl looked at her. The expression on his face was hard to read in the shifting shadows, but there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in the blue eyes.

  “Suppose you explain that extraordinary remark.”

  The silky voice made her shiver, but Jewel was determined to stand up to him this time. She was herself again, and Jewel Combs didn’t take no guff from nobody!

  “Ya owe me wotever it be that Timothy left. This,” she indicated the pillowcase and the sword with a sweeping gesture, “ain’t nothin’ compared to that. So don’t ya be accusin’ me o’ stealin’, yer lordship. I ain’t namin’ no names, but we both know who’s really done that!”

  Those blue eyes narrowed until they wer
e mere slits glittering in the darkness. Watching them with the fascination of a bird for a snake, Jewel swallowed.

  “I would be very careful of what accusations I throw about if I were you. You could find yourself in some deep trouble. Even deeper than you are already.”

  “I ain’t in no trouble!”

  “Aren’t you?” There was that frightening smile again. He moved so suddenly that Jewel jumped, stepping away from her and picking up the pillowcase in one hand as though it weighed nothing at all as he closed the door with the other. Jewel listened with a sinking feeling as he shot the bolt home again. She was trapped.

  “Suppose I were to send for the local constable? With this preponderance of evidence,” he shook the pillowcase so that the contents rattled noisily, “I have little doubt that you would be taken up as a thief.”

  “Ya wouldn’t!”

  “Why not? We had a bargain, remember. I gave you a chance to back out of it in London, which you refused to take. I told you then that you wouldn’t get another.”

  “I don’t want nothin’ ter do with yer bargain. Seems ter me that ya left a few things out when ya tole me about it. Like torture.”

  “Torture!” he sounded surprised. As he looked at her sulky face glaring up at him through the darkness, Jewel could almost swear she saw the glimmer of a smile. “Explain yourself, if you please.”

  “That ole witch makes me talk at candles ’till I nearly singe my eyelashes off, and bend my knees until they ache, and straps a bleedin’ board to my back, and now she won’t even let me eat! If that ain’t torture, I don’ know what yer call it.”