anything I may purchase for you when I return, dear Lady Dereham. Skin creams, for example.’
‘That is so kind of you,’ Julia said warmly. ‘I am sure you must have experience of a very wide range of cosmetic aids. Do excuse me, there is something I have remembered I need to tell Mrs Frazer.’
If she did not remove herself she was going to say something she would regret. Anyone would think that she was some sort of threat to Caroline’s position as reigning local beauty.
The men entered the room as she was crossing it. Mrs Frazer was deep in conversation with Lady Tranton but, having told Caroline she intended to speak with her, she could hardly walk away. Julia sat down beside them and sought some composure for Caroline’s little barbs were beginning to get under her skin. Will had married her for her knowledge of estate management—he had never expected to have to live with her or for her to be the mother of his children. Did he now see her as some sort of rural bumpkin he was ashamed to come home to?
Julia swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. Is that why Will had seemed mysteriously remote since the incident in the milking parlour? He had been swept into thoroughly unseemly passion—was he now regretting it and despising her for her enjoyment? Had she seemed like nothing but an ill-bred romp foolish enough not to be able to manage Henry’s youthful affections? Was his generosity with clothes and jewels an attempt to make her more comme il fait?
Imagination, just foolish imagination, she told herself and looked around for Will. There was no sign of him, or of Caroline Fletcher.
The room was full now and conversation was lively and general. It was doubtful that anyone had noticed who was missing, but that could not last for long. Instinct told her it was not coincidence and that she had to get one or other of them back into the salon as soon as possible.
What were they doing? No, don’t think about it, just find them. Julia slipped out of the room and began to search. There were servants clearing in the dining room, the breakfast parlour was empty, the hall and billiards room were quiet.
Please not the bedrooms. The thought was so strong in her mind that, when she opened the door into the library, the sight of Will and Caroline, locked together in an embrace, was almost a relief. At least they were not on one of the beds.
They did not hear her open the door and she stood there, her hand on the latch, frozen into silent immobility, while she absorbed the shock that followed the relief. Somehow part of her had not quite believed she would find them like this. Caroline had her arms around Will, her head rested on his chest and he was holding her against his body, his cheek crushing the elaborate curls of her coiffure.
The only sound was of muffled sobs, the only movement, Caroline’s shoulders shaking and Will’s hand stroking her back. Julia found she could not stir. Certainly she could not speak, even if she had any idea what to say. Then Will opened his eyes and looked straight at her.
The spell broke as she met Will’s gaze. It held nothing but a desperate appeal for help. Julia found her voice. ‘I suggest that you go back to the salon as soon as possible, my lord, before someone notices exactly who is missing.’
Caroline went rigid. Will dropped his hands from her and turned. ‘Julia.’
‘Leave her. Go back now—do you want to make a scandal?’ Will did not move and Julia’s tenuous hold on her emotions gave way. ‘Go,’ she hissed. ‘It is quite safe to leave her with me, I am not going to start a cat fight!’
He shot her another harassed look, then strode past her without another word and she was alone with Caroline who stood, head averted, face buried in her hands.
‘Do you need a handkerchief or to wash your face?’ Julia demanded. ‘Or are those crocodile tears?’
The other woman dropped her hands to show dry eyes, an unmarred complexion. ‘You have no feelings!’
‘No, apparently not. But I do have a quantity of common sense. It may be a cliché, but you really cannot have your cake and eat it, Miss Fletcher. However delightful it is to use your powers on Will, you risk a scandal and if that happens you would lose your earl and a great deal of money.’ Caroline’s big blue eyes filled with furious tears. ‘For goodness’ sake, do not start crying now! Do you want people to feel sorry for you?’
‘What?’
‘It will seem that you cannot bear to see Will healthy and happily married.’ Julia shrugged and turned to the door. ‘I was going to say your flounce had snagged and torn and we were pinning it up, but if you want to make an exhibition of yourself—’
With a gasp of outrage Caroline pushed past and swept down the corridor towards the salon. Julia caught up to her and linked her arm into hers as they entered the room.
‘Such a pity if that has damaged your lovely gown,’ she said clearly as they entered. ‘I am not surprised you were upset.’
Caroline glared at her and swept away to her mother’s side.
Spoiled little madam, Julia thought, trying to feel sorry for the other woman, shocked to realise that she had been suspicious when she had found them both gone and that she was jealous and upset now.
Ridiculous, she scolded herself. She trusted Will and, if he had been misguided enough himself to offer his ex-fiancée some comfort then who was she to complain? He had hardly protested his love and devotion to her, had he?
Will was standing before the fireplace, staring at her as he might at a bomb with a hissing fuse. He started across the floor as, behind her, salvation arrived.
‘The tea, my lady.’
‘Thank you, Gatcombe. Over there, if you please.’ She turned to Will. ‘Have you come to help me with the cups?’ Faced with two full teacups, he had little choice but to take them. The surface of the liquid shivered as she handed them to him, and his hands, it seemed, were no steadier, but the vibration was not visible and he, too, kept his poise.
* * *
The clock struck twelve before Will could finally make his way upstairs and along the gallery to his room. The last guests had gone. The little crisis with the trace on the vicar’s carriage snapping had been dealt with by sending them home in his own vehicle. The servants had been thanked and the house was secure. Now there was nothing between him and the confrontation with his wife and the consequences of his own actions.
Nancy passed him, her arms full of linens. ‘Her ladyship’s retired for the night, my lord. She’s not feeling quite herself, you understand.’
For a hideous moment he thought Julia had confided in her maid, then he saw there was no accusation in Nancy’s expression, only mild concern. Julia must have said she was suffering from a headache.
‘Thank you. Goodnight.’ He went into his own room and endured Jervis’s punctilious attentions for twenty minutes until finally, mercifully, alone he went and listened at the jib door between their dressing rooms. Nothing. He opened it, half-surprised to find it unlocked, and went through. The door into her room was unlocked too. Will tapped and entered.
‘Julia?’
She
