“Is that where you’re taking me? To a church?”
His expression became serious. He had the look of a ruthless soldier embarking on a military campaign. “No,” he said. “I’m taking you to Lord Ridgeway’s house.”
* * *
The bedroom on the third floor of Lord Ridgeway’s town house was light and airy, the curtains opened to let in the afternoon sun. Traces of lemon polish, washing soda, and beeswax lingered in the air. The fragrance was a comfort to Julia. Surely, nothing depraved could happen in a room that smelled so fresh and clean—even if it was a room in a bachelor’s household.
A stack of pillows at her back, she sat up further in bed to better see what Mary was doing.
Jasper had ordered the maid to accompany them. Mary wasn’t best pleased about it. She grumbled loudly as she reorganized Julia’s clothing in her bags—folding petticoats, bodices, and underthings.
“It’s all creased and rumpled,” she muttered. “That’s what you get for cramming things into luggage willy-nilly. If he’d given me five minutes to fold it properly—”
“We didn’t have five minutes,” Julia said. “We had to leave right away.”
“Why? So he could bring you here? To a bachelor’s establishment?” Mary snorted. “And you a well-bred girl.”
“It’s only temporary. Until he can procure a license.”
“On a Saturday? Bah. He might have left you safe in your bed at home.”
Julia gave her maid a weighted look. “Safe, was I? And what would I have done if my mother summoned Dr. Cordingley again? How would I have managed?” As it was, it would probably take her days to recover. Until then, she’d be nothing but a burden on those around her, Jasper especially.
Mary’s lips flattened in a stubborn line. She was too peeved to admit Julia was right. “He didn’t need to parade you through the streets in your nightclothes.”
“I was covered in a blanket,” Julia said. “I might have been a bundle of laundry for all anyone knew. Besides, nobody saw me.”
That wasn’t wholly true.
While no one save Mary, Jenkins, the coachman, and the footman had witnessed her escape from Belgrave Square, her arrival in Half Moon Street hadn’t gone unremarked. As Viscount Ridgeway’s carriage had rolled up outside of his town house, another carriage had stopped in front of the house next door. The occupants disembarked at the same time Jasper was carrying Julia up the stone steps to Lord Ridgeway’s front door.
Julia glanced back only once, just long enough to form the impression of a bespectacled gentleman and a handsome lady with thickly plaited auburn hair. They’d been staring at Jasper quite unashamedly.
For all they knew, he was abducting some helpless young woman he’d drugged, bound, and wrapped up in a quilt. Julia had read a similar story once in a penny novel, though it had been a carpet, not a quilt. The young woman in the tale hadn’t awakened until she and her seducer were halfway to Calais. By then, her fate had been sealed.
Julia was slightly more confident about her own fate.
On entering Ridgeway’s house, Jasper had carried her upstairs to one of the bedchambers. He hadn’t lingered long enough to debauch her. After setting her down in the bed, he’d promptly gone away, leaving her with Mary.
“It ain’t proper,” Mary said again. It had become her refrain. “And my being here don’t make it proper.”
Julia sighed. Short as the journey had been, it had overtaxed her. She was exhausted, her limbs weak and her breath shallow. “I must get dressed.”
“No point in it. You may as well sleep as not.” Mary removed a single light-colored French kid glove from one of the carpetbags. “Bother. I know I packed the pair of these.”
Julia’s brows knit in a frown. She was reminded of something. Something she hadn’t fully comprehended at the time. “Mary?”
“Hmm?”
“When we were leaving the house, Jenkins tried to give Captain Blunt a pair of gloves. He said he’d left them behind on his last visit.”
Mary continued rooting through the carpetbag. She pointedly didn’t look up.
“Do you know anything about that?” Julia asked.
“What difference can it make? Given where you’re at now—”
“Mary.” Julia took a firmer tone. “Did Captain Blunt call on me in Belgrave Square before today?”
Abandoning the carpetbag, Mary grudgingly came to the bed. Her features were set. “If he did, it don’t make one bit of difference. Not anymore.”
“He did, then.” Julia scanned her maid’s face. “When?”
Mary exhaled a gust of breath. “Yesterday, while we were out at that bookshop in Charing Cross. Jenkins mentioned it in passing when we returned.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not my business. And you know how Sir Eustace feels about gossip.”
“Surely, it isn’t gossip to tell me I had a caller.” Julia leaned back against the pillows, perplexed. “Why did he come?”
Mary shrugged. “To see your father. Same as the other gentlemen who’ve called.”
A cold trickle of awareness spiked in Julia’s veins. For an instant she couldn’t breathe. “There have been others?”
“Now you’re upset. I told you—”
“Mary—”
“Yes, there were others. Not many. A few over the years, that’s all. Not anything to mention.”
As they spoke, the front doorbell rang below, echoing through the house. A creaking tread sounded on the stairs as a servant responded to the summons. Shortly afterward, men’s voices drifted up from the hall.
Julia didn’t heed any of it. Her gaze never left Mary’s face. “Who?”
Mary glanced at the chamber door before admitting, “An old squire from Cork, a spotty lad with a gaming habit, and two other rascals, all light of pocket and looking to acquire your fortune.”
Four gentlemen altogether? Four who had come asking permission to court her?
Or had they proposed?
“Papa never told me,” Julia said quietly.
“Why should he if he refused them? It would only vex you.”
“I had a right to know. All this time . . . I thought no one wanted me. And all the while you knew—”
“They didn’t want you,” Mary said. “They wanted your fortune. Your father was protecting you.”