said. “But I honestly didn’t know when I’d return. Did you have a prior engagement?” he asked, eyeing the gown that lay ready for her, an emerald green silk, the first gift he had given her.
“None that I can’t easily break,” she replied with a smile and entwined her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you.”
Muriel Mathieson was a well-born woman with the kind of voluptuous beauty that any red-blooded man would appreciate. Yet he’d always regarded her with the kind of appreciative detachment that one felt while viewing a work of art. Her gaze met his with a puzzled look when he withdrew to arm’s length rather than pulling her into an embrace.
“You may feel differently after you hear me out,” he said.
“Oh?” Her dark brows arched over a pair of vivid green eyes.
“I came to tell you I’m to be wed.”
“You are?” She blinked. “But this is so . . . so abrupt. You’ve said nothing about it!”
“Because I didn’t know myself. Until yesterday, I was determined to return to Portugal.”
Her brows furrowed. “You were?”
“Yes.” He scrubbed his face with a sigh. “I had little choice, Muriel. My affairs are a mess.”
“So your bride has money?” Her lips pursed. “I did not think you were that type.”
“Why type is that?” he asked.
“A fortune hunter.”
He pulled his brows together in a frown. “I know that’s how it appears, but it’s not what you think. I’ve known Henrietta Houghton all my life. It was actually she who approached me. ”
“She asked you to marry her? How . . . extraordinary.”
“Yes,” Julian responded with a low chuckle. “That word quite describes her.”
“It sounds like you are very fond of her.”
“I am. We were exceptionally close as children. She’s one of the few people in this world that I truly care about.”
“When will this take place?” she asked.
“Within the week,” Julian replied. “I procured the license today. We will be wed in our home parish in Shropshire.”
“I see,” she said, her expression impassive.
He studied her face, wondering if she cared more deeply than he’d thought or if it was only concern over the loss of income?
“I would not leave you high and dry, Muriel.” Julian reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a gold watch. “I wish you to take this. It was my father’s. It should bring enough to tide you over for several months . . . at least until . . .” He looked away, not knowing how to finish. He assumed their relationship was exclusive, but he’d never actually asked her.
“Until I find another protector?” she supplied tightly. “I think not. I never intended this, Julian. You and I just happened, but this isn’t the life I desire.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I need time to think. I thank you for the courtesy of telling me. Many men would simply have disappeared.”
He took her hand and caressed her knuckles. “I would never do that,” he said.
“Thank you. So this is our good-bye?” she asked, her voice soft and her gaze searching.
“Yes,” Julian said. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Good-bye, Muriel.”
Releasing her, he once more offered the watch. When she made no move to accept it, he laid it on her dressing table on his way to the door.
“I wish you happiness, Julian,” he heard her whisper to his back.
He paused with his hand on the latch. “Good-bye, Muriel,” he said with quiet finality, opened the door, and then closed the chapter of his bachelorhood.
CHAPTER SEVEN
––––––––
W ITH HER GLOVED HAND POISED ON THE KNOCKER, Henrietta paused to take a breath, hoping to calm her racing pulse. Given its proximity to Covent Garden, the neighborhood appeared surprisingly respectable with it’s rows of neatly aligned brick town houses. She wondered anew about the woman who lived here. What was she like? Would she receive Henrietta or turn her away? She exhaled
“None that I can’t easily break,” she replied with a smile and entwined her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you.”
Muriel Mathieson was a well-born woman with the kind of voluptuous beauty that any red-blooded man would appreciate. Yet he’d always regarded her with the kind of appreciative detachment that one felt while viewing a work of art. Her gaze met his with a puzzled look when he withdrew to arm’s length rather than pulling her into an embrace.
“You may feel differently after you hear me out,” he said.
“Oh?” Her dark brows arched over a pair of vivid green eyes.
“I came to tell you I’m to be wed.”
“You are?” She blinked. “But this is so . . . so abrupt. You’ve said nothing about it!”
“Because I didn’t know myself. Until yesterday, I was determined to return to Portugal.”
Her brows furrowed. “You were?”
“Yes.” He scrubbed his face with a sigh. “I had little choice, Muriel. My affairs are a mess.”
“So your bride has money?” Her lips pursed. “I did not think you were that type.”
“Why type is that?” he asked.
“A fortune hunter.”
He pulled his brows together in a frown. “I know that’s how it appears, but it’s not what you think. I’ve known Henrietta Houghton all my life. It was actually she who approached me. ”
“She asked you to marry her? How . . . extraordinary.”
“Yes,” Julian responded with a low chuckle. “That word quite describes her.”
“It sounds like you are very fond of her.”
“I am. We were exceptionally close as children. She’s one of the few people in this world that I truly care about.”
“When will this take place?” she asked.
“Within the week,” Julian replied. “I procured the license today. We will be wed in our home parish in Shropshire.”
“I see,” she said, her expression impassive.
He studied her face, wondering if she cared more deeply than he’d thought or if it was only concern over the loss of income?
“I would not leave you high and dry, Muriel.” Julian reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a gold watch. “I wish you to take this. It was my father’s. It should bring enough to tide you over for several months . . . at least until . . .” He looked away, not knowing how to finish. He assumed their relationship was exclusive, but he’d never actually asked her.
“Until I find another protector?” she supplied tightly. “I think not. I never intended this, Julian. You and I just happened, but this isn’t the life I desire.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I need time to think. I thank you for the courtesy of telling me. Many men would simply have disappeared.”
He took her hand and caressed her knuckles. “I would never do that,” he said.
“Thank you. So this is our good-bye?” she asked, her voice soft and her gaze searching.
“Yes,” Julian said. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Good-bye, Muriel.”
Releasing her, he once more offered the watch. When she made no move to accept it, he laid it on her dressing table on his way to the door.
“I wish you happiness, Julian,” he heard her whisper to his back.
He paused with his hand on the latch. “Good-bye, Muriel,” he said with quiet finality, opened the door, and then closed the chapter of his bachelorhood.
CHAPTER SEVEN
––––––––
W ITH HER GLOVED HAND POISED ON THE KNOCKER, Henrietta paused to take a breath, hoping to calm her racing pulse. Given its proximity to Covent Garden, the neighborhood appeared surprisingly respectable with it’s rows of neatly aligned brick town houses. She wondered anew about the woman who lived here. What was she like? Would she receive Henrietta or turn her away? She exhaled
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