“But why? You’ve come with me this far—”
“Didn’t have much choice, did I? Not with Captain Blunt issuing orders as though he was our superior officer.” Mary stalked to one of the carpetbags. She tucked the topmost pieces of folded clothing further inside the bag’s capacious interior before fastening the clasp shut. “God forgive me for leaving you with such a man. But you’ve made your bed, miss, and now—”
“Don’t say that,” Julia objected. “It’s not like you. Not when you know what my life’s been like.”
“You might have made a better life for yourself if you’d wed Lord Gresham. But you wouldn’t listen. And now look where you are—and who you’re with. It’s not my place to say so, but someone must warn you. You’ll be miserable with that man. Just you wait. In time, you’ll see I’m right. Once he has you in his power, far away from your family and friends, you’ll come to regret your choice.”
Julia was stunned by her maid’s words. She felt like a mortal maiden being damned by some minor goddess. Each sentence Mary uttered flayed like a knife, laying bare Julia’s own private fears and insecurities.
But she’d made up her mind.
She was set on her course, and no one, not Mary or anyone else, would dissuade her from following it through.
“At least it will have been my choice,” she said. “My own decision, for better or worse. Not something another person chose for me.”
“There’s some not capable of choosing things for themselves. Or of looking after themselves, neither.” Mary stomped to the other carpetbag. She refolded a petticoat before thrusting it back inside. “How do you intend to get by without me to help you dress? To brush your hair and sponge and press your gowns?” She fastened the bag shut. “You think Captain Blunt has a lady’s maid in that haunted manor of his what knows how to use turpentine to remove grease stains from a fine silk weave?”
“No,” Julia admitted. “I don’t think Captain Blunt has any servants at all.”
Mary blanched in horror. “Lord have mercy. I’ve a mind to fetch your parents to bring you home. You’ve no notion what you’re getting yourself into.”
“If you came along—”
“I’ll not leave London,” Mary said again. “If you go with him, miss, you go alone.”
It was an ultimatum if Julia ever heard one. Her spine stiffened in response to it. She wasn’t helpless. Not any more than any other lady dependent on a maid to arrange her hair, lace up her corset, or fasten the hooks at the back of her gown. Nevertheless . . .
The prospect of leaving without Mary made Julia’s heart quail.
Was this how it had to be? A clean break with her old life? Left to embark on her new one with no friend to stand at her side?
But Mary wasn’t her friend.
Despite all her scolding, advice, and the occasional offering of a sympathetic ear, Mary was a paid servant. A skilled servant, but a servant nonetheless.
And as of this moment, she was a remnant of Julia’s past, right along with the fine house, the richly made clothes, and the gleaming coach-and-four.
Julia refused to grieve for any of it.
What awaited her in Yorkshire may not be elegant or luxurious. It may not be easy. But it would be real. And it would be hers.
“If that’s how you feel,” she said, “you may go. I’ll not stop you.”
Mary hovered by the bed. “It’s not too late for you to reconsider.”
Julia didn’t dignify the statement. Her mind was made up. “If you would pass me my reticule?”
Mary mutely obeyed, handing Julia the small embroidered purse with its drawstring of silken cord.
Julia opened it and withdrew several banknotes. “This should be enough to see you through while you’re seeking a new position.” She stretched the notes out to Mary. “If my parents refuse to give you a character, I’ll provide one. You need only write to me in Yorkshire at Goldfinch Hall.”
“Goldfinch Hall?” Mary’s brow furrowed as she took the money. “Doesn’t sound like a haunted house.”
“No, it doesn’t. And Mary?”
“Yes, miss?”
Julia’s stomach tightened with resolve. “I won’t be alone.”
Eighteen
Julia had often imagined her wedding. It was difficult not to when one was romantic-minded. The groom had been in doubt—she’d never had a specific face or figure of a man in mind—but her dream of the day itself had always been crystal clear.
There would be a church, naturally. Someplace pretty and bright with sun streaming in through tall stained glass windows. A kind vicar with rosy cheeks and a smile would stand at the end of the aisle beside Julia’s nameless, faceless future husband, and she’d walk up to meet them, clothed in white satin, with a veil of Honiton lace and a bouquet of orange blossoms.
“Like Queen Victoria,” Anne had remarked dryly when Julia had once described it to her.
As Lord Ridgeway’s carriage departed the small church in Camden, with its sagging gate and overgrown cemetery, Julia couldn’t help but wonder what her best friend would have made of the slapdash ceremony Julia had just participated in.
It had been nothing like her dream.
The church had been dark and dreary, the vicar as cross as a badger at having his tea interrupted, and the ceremony itself—witnessed by two of the vicar’s slatternly servants—had been less evident of romance than expedience.
Julia didn’t regret any of it.
From the moment Jasper had insisted on carrying her down the stairs of Lord Ridgeway’s house and into the waiting carriage, he’d been all that was solicitous. A kind and caring groom, even if he hadn’t kissed her when they were pronounced man and wife, and even if he was presently sitting beside her, looking as cross as the vicar had as he’d read the wedding ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer.
She rested her head against his shoulder, crushing the cluster of lilacs that adorned the side of her fashionable leghorn bonnet.
“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just dreadfully weary.”
His arm came around her as the carriage rolled through the street, jostling them against each other. “We’re not far from King’s Cross. Once we’re on the train, you can sleep all the way to York.”
Julia didn’t answer. It seemed too much of an effort to talk. It was only as the carriage was pulling up outside of the bustling railway station that she gave voice to a niggling doubt. “You don’t think it was bad luck, do you?”