The Worthington Wife Page 6

  Oh dear. She was not on the shelf yet apparently.

  Summerhay was a nice and charming man. For one moment, she thought: This might be my last chance to marry. And he is a good man.

  “Julia—?” He was brilliant red now, the Earl of Summerhay. “I know we have barely spent time together but I am hoping...hoping that when we know each other better, you might consider doing me the honor of... No, I’m sorry. It must be too early for that for you. But I know my own heart.”

  Could love and desire grow? Did love have to be instantaneous?

  But she thought of walking down the aisle and saying “I do” and not being in love with him. She couldn’t do it. And it would be wrong to do it to a hero.

  “I do enjoy your company, but my charitable work is taking up almost all of my time.” That was too obviously an excuse. This man deserved honesty. For she could spend time with him, let him court her, but when she searched her heart, she didn’t want to. It was wrong to judge so quickly, but she thought of being courted and she wanted to...to run, really.

  “The truth is, I had already given my heart to a doctor,” she explained, “but he has gone to London to work at a hospital. I know it takes me a long time to get over a lost love. I mean this as no slight against you. I am just not ready to move on.”

  “But you will be—someday?”

  “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “And so I can’t ask you to wait.”

  “I want to wait.”

  “No, please. I can’t make you any promises, Summerhay.”

  “I know that. If I wait, that’s on my conscience, not yours. It’s a chance I am willing to take.” He stood, bowed. “I should go and prepare for riding. Until later.”

  Then he was gone.

  She knew in her heart she had done the right thing. She wanted the whoosh. Even if it meant no marriage at all. Which meant she’d best be prepared to make a life without a wedding.

  On the way out of the dining room, she encountered Zoe, who smiled and said, “I’ve decided that your plan to help your war widows is sound. You don’t need to worry about taking a loan against your dowry. We’ll be partners. I’ll provide the financial backing and business advice, you will work with the widows to help them create businesses that are suitable.”

  She threw her arms around Zoe, who laughed. “I’ve never seen you look so bubbly, Julia.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever been quite so happy. Except when you married Nigel. Good things will come of this, Zoe. I feel I am about to change the world.” Or at least her precious corner of it.

  4

  Modern Art

  Julia knew of one thing that could make a woman forget about marriage and love and all its associated problems.

  Well, two things.

  She left the house, walking briskly to Brideswell’s garage. She had money thanks to Zoe. And a list of women whose lives she was about to change.

  That was the first thing that was more important than suitors and marriage.

  The second?

  Her beloved automobile—a brand-new roadster from America with glossy paint and shiny chrome, leather seats, leather-wrapped steering wheel and an engine that roared with power.

  She was driving past the house, toward the front gate, when a young footman ran out and stopped her.

  Over the rumble of the idling engine, he shouted, “Lady Diana at Worthington Park asked if you might drive over there right away. She says they are in the midst of a disaster and only you can help, milady.”

  Julia’s heart plunged. The new Earl of Worthington—Cal—must have told them his plans. “Thank you, George.” She put her motor into gear and pressed on the accelerator. Trixie, her motorcar, roared down the gravel drive and through the open main gates.

  When Julia arrived, Diana met her on the drive. “Goodness, you look pale,” Julia gasped. “Are you ill? Is this about Cal’s—?”

  “Not here.” Diana dragged her to the music room. Sunlight flooded in on the grand piano, the harp, the cluster of gilt-and-silk chairs. A maid came in with a tray of coffee and before Julia could ask her question, the countess burst in. Her plucked brows flew up in surprise. “Why are you here, Julia—?”

  “To see me, Mother,” Diana said. “I asked her to come, since you are so upset. Julia will know what to do.”

  “Yes, I suppose Julia will.” Lady Worthington sank into a chair. “Mrs. Feathers has quit! That man went down to the kitchens and questioned everything she did. Even suggested the servants should eat better and there should be less waste in the dining room. Apparently he cast some aspersion on her character—she believed he accused her of theft. She is packing her bags as we speak. He has done this deliberately to spite us, for where can one find a cook at short notice? He fired his valet, a hall boy and a footman this morning and he has driven away our cook.”

  Julia stared, dumbfounded. Heavens, Cal had already begun.

  “This is wretched,” she said. “How can he fire the staff when work is so hard to find?”

  “Servants are hard to find,” Lady Worthington said, holding out her hand gracefully for coffee.

  Julia poured and gave the countess a cup, then handed one to Diana, who looked everywhere but at her mother and tapped her foot anxiously.

  “The earl declared they should find real work and ‘do better,’” the countess cried. “Do better than work at Worthington Park? Preposterous!”

  Cal simply didn’t understand. Many of the servants didn’t want to “do better,” which often meant long hours in gruesome conditions in factories and offices. They took pride in their work running a great house.

  The countess tried to set down her cup, but her hand shook so badly the cup overturned, spilling coffee. “Blast!” the countess gasped. Then she began to sob, burying her face in her hands. Diana stared helplessly, in shock.

  Julia quickly put her arm across the countess’s shoulders. “I will see about this, I promise. I will stop him.”

  “Stop him?” The countess lifted her head from her hands. She had turned a terrible shade of light gray and looked deathly ill. “What do you mean?”

  Julia swallowed hard. “Did Cal tell you he intended to do this? Did he speak of any plans he has, now that he is the earl?”

  “I do not care what he wants—” Lady Worthington broke off, putting her hands to her mouth. Through them, she cried, “I wish we could be rid of him! But we can’t.” She turned to Diana. “The only way I can see that we might have some protection is to have influence over him. As his wife, you would exert some control. Go and find him.”

  “Go and find him and do what with him?” Diana protested.

  Lady Worthington had been on the verge of collapse. Now she became commanding and strong once more. “We are desperate, Diana. Go at once and make him fall in love with you. It is the only hope we have.”

  “Mummy, one doesn’t just go up to a man, especially a horrible, obstinate, hate-filled man like that, snap her fingers and make him fall in love.”

  “You’ve always been a determined flirt, Diana. For heaven’s sake, put it to good use for once!”

  Diana burst into tears, turned and ran from the room.

  “The girl is being an utter fool! Does she not see what will happen to us if she does not do this? She must marry the new earl.”

  Cal’s arrival—and the fear of what he would do—had changed Lady Worthington completely. Julia had never seen her behave cruelly with her daughters. “Diana is just as afraid as you are,” Julia said softly. Probably more, she thought. “Please don’t be harsh with her.”

  “I must be harsh, or we’re ruined. I suppose she is balking at her duty. She is behaving like a foolish modern girl who wants to marry for love. I suppose she has fallen in love with someone unsuitable, just to spite me.”
<
br />   “How—?”

  “Aha! I thought as much.” The countess fixed Julia with a penetrating gaze. Julia was astounded at the rapid change in the woman—she had been on the verge of collapse, now she was sharp and angry. This must be what sheer fear did to a person. And it appeared Cal hadn’t told her of his plan. Lady Worthington did not know the worst of what Cal wanted to do.

  “Who is she in love with?” the countess demanded.

  Julia swallowed hard. She believed in honesty but she had to lie for Diana. “You are wrong. She is willing to marry him. For all your sakes.”

  “Do not sound so disapproving with me, Lady Julia Hazelton. I will protect my family at any cost. Remember that.”

  “But Cal is in pain, as well,” Julia said. “I do not approve of what he is doing, but it comes from a place of great hurt. Was there a horrible thing that was done to him? If I knew what it was, I could—”

  “It is none of your business!” The countess’s voice crackled like ice. “Now go. Please.”

  “I will. I will go to see Cal and try to put a stop to this.”

  She must do so—just as she had promised Anthony she would look after his family. He couldn’t have known such a disaster would strike, and it now seemed so sad and eerie that he had begged her so passionately to take care of them all.

  She marched out of the room, but as she reached the hallway, she heard the countess erupt into violent sobs. Julia hesitated. Did the countess need her?

  She paused just outside the door, her hand on the door frame.

  “I will lose everything,” the countess gasped, through choking sobs. “John, you wretched fool. I would have protected you. You didn’t have to take your own life.”

  Julia was stunned. Lady Worthington had lost her eldest son, Anthony, at the Somme. And her youngest son, John, in a motorcar accident. But surely, John’s accident had not been deliberate? It had been a foggy night. It was assumed John had taken a wrong turn—the gate to the lane leading to the quarry had been left open. In the poor light, he must have mistakenly gone that way, expecting the gate to be closed, as it usually was. He had gone over the edge—

  Julia knew she should not go in now. The countess would be appalled to think her words had been overheard. But if she had kept such a painful secret for years—one Julia wasn’t sure how the countess could know—she had suffered greatly in silence. Julia wished to help.

  She paused a moment, hoping to cover her eavesdropping, and knocked lightly on the door. Stepping back into the room, she saw Lady Worthington set down her cup. With a frightening calm, the countess said, “The curse is true. There is nothing left for me but tragedy.”

  “Lady Worthington, please don’t say such a thing,” Julia began.

  “Why should you care about us? You could marry the new earl and become mistress of Worthington after all.”

  The woman spoke with such bitterness, Julia recoiled. “No. I don’t want that at all. I want only the happiness that comes from love—”

  “Happiness? What utter madness! Who would aspire to happiness? Who would chase such a fleeting and horrible thing? No one is happy, Julia. Life is about perseverance. I have to protect my girls. That is what is left for me. Protecting them. Settling them. Then nothing can touch them. Nothing.”

  “Let them find happiness. Please.”

  But the countess’s eyes blazed. “I know what is best for them. Now please go. I wish to be alone.”

  Julia left, drawing the door closed firmly this time. She was going to leave, but not without confronting Cal over what he was doing.

  She knew the countess had spoken the truth in those unhappy moments. The countess believed the crash had been deliberate, not an accident.

  But what had driven John to do it?

  * * *

  “Yes, milady,” the Worthington maid replied, in answer to Julia’s question. “His lordship has gone upstairs, to the attics.”

  “The attics? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, milady.” The girl tried to maintain a dutiful expression but then it failed, and her eyes were wide with excitement. “We’ve all been talking about it downstairs. Lord Worthington went belowstairs to speak with Mrs. Feathers. Then he wanted to know how to go up to the attics.”

  “Is it true he has let go his valet, a footman and a hall boy?” Julia asked.

  The girl nodded. “It is true, milady. He said they are to find better employment. He told the valet that having a man button his shirt was demeaning to both of them. Mr. Wiggins was right shocked—oh, I didn’t mean to be speaking out of turn, milady.”

  “I will not say a word to the housekeeper, I promise,” Julia said.

  As soon as she turned away from the maid, her patient smile died. She’d already heard Mrs. Feathers’s account of events. To ensure the cook stayed, she needed Cal.

  Who was in the attic. For what purpose, she couldn’t imagine.

  Julia hurried to the stairs that led to the upper story of the house—here were the servants’ rooms and the nurseries. Sunlight spilled out into the hallway floor from a room at the end of the corridor and she smelled a strong odor, like potent alcohol.

  Was Cal up here drinking?

  Julia reached the doorway of the unused nursery—

  And stopped in her tracks. A wooden easel stood in the middle of the room, a table set up beside it. A painting stood on the easel, but all Julia could see was Cal’s back. He wore a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to bare his forearms. She’d never seen arms tanned to a dark copper on any man but a laborer or farmer. Wide shoulders filled out the linen shirt, and the tails hung out of his trousers. His feet were bare.

  He balanced a flat board covered in blobs of oil paint and mixed it with a long, black-handled brush.

  The muscles of his broad back moved under his shirt.

  She was rooted to the spot—warm, breathless and feeling as if everything had fallen away.

  Then Cal moved and she saw the picture.

  “But that’s me,” she gasped.

  It was a painting of the terrace where she had stood last night. The picture was only partly finished. It was sketched with lead pencil and her face was filled in, as was some of the background of the night sky.

  It was a wild, modernist painting—the sky was rendered in vivid slashes of black and indigo and violet, with gray layered upon it to show moonlit clouds. The sky truly looked as if the clouds were hurtling past the moon. And against all that darkness, she seemed to glow like a candle’s flame.

  Cal turned. “I don’t let anyone look at my unfinished work.”

  “The door was open,” she pointed out.

  “I was told nobody comes up here in the daytime.”

  She looked past him at the intense, vibrant portrait. The woman’s face was definitely hers, but more perfect. Her lips even looked as if moisture glistened on them. The blue eyes seemed to burn with inner fire.

  “What do you think of it?” he asked.

  “You’ve made me much more vivacious and interesting than I really am.”

  “I paint what I see, angel—but tempered with my feelings and my soul. I want to put raw emotion on my canvas. And that’s what I see in you. Raw emotion. Fire and passion.”

  No one thought she was fiery or passionate. Everyone thought her cool and controlled. She felt passion, but she almost never showed it. How had he seen that inside her?

  “You see something quite different to the person I am, Worthington.”

  “I don’t think so.” He mixed colors on his palette, looking at her from under his mussed blond hair. “I think I see the real Lady Julia behind the restrained exterior.”

  His gaze moved over her in the most shocking way. She should be outraged. Yet it wasn’t a bold look. It was a raw, appreciative look, given to her by a
stunningly handsome man—

  She had better put a stop to it at once.

  “I am a lady through and through, Worthington. You won’t see anything beyond that.”

  He grinned. “It’s too late, doll. I already do. And it’s Cal, remember?”

  His soft, deep voice sent a shiver through her. Then she thought of the countess sobbing with shock and terror. Julia crossed her arms over her chest. “Was losing the cook part of your plan to tear Worthington Park to pieces? As well as firing servants who are now out of work, with no place to stay?”

  To her shock, he did not respond. He went back to his painting.

  “It’s rude to not answer,” she said.

  As he worked he said, “It’s true that I would have waited to get rid of the cook. I like to eat. But it made me mad to see so much food thrown away. I know what it’s like to be hungry. Have you ever lived a day on some broth and one piece of bread?”

  That startled her. “Was that all you had?”

  He slashed paint on the canvas and a stone balustrade began to appear. It looked real, as if she could feel the roughness of stone.

  “No, I went without food by choice, Lady Julia, what do you think? My mother would feed my brother and me first and if there was nothing left, she didn’t eat at all.”

  “I’m sorry.” Of course, she didn’t know what it was to be truly starving. Even when they had been in financial dire straits at Brideswell, there was always food. Instead, she had been trained to not eat, to do little more than nibble at all the dinner courses to keep her figure. “But I am familiar with hardship. There are many people in the village who are suffering after the War. And surely the food that is not eaten at meals is used.”

  “Not much of it.” His voice was a low growl. “Why shouldn’t it go to people who are needy? The dogs get more of the leftover food than people do. The cook didn’t see anything wrong with that so I fired her.”

  For all he growled like a tiger, Julia felt hope. He cared about people who did not have enough. Once he understood the importance of Worthington Park to the tenants, he would never tear it apart.