Trying Patience
Chapter Five
"Do you love him?" Mrs. Newman asked with an uncertain look after having done some thinking. She had connected remarks and questions and things that had not been said.
Julia raised her hands to her face, wondering why her words had inspired such a question. "That is not possible. I do not know him." She did not even have to think about it. It did not apply to her. She had already decided that she could not possibly love the admiral.
Mrs. Newman looked bemused by that answer. "You do not? But you spent some time together. Alone, I take it, because the others do not know what transpired."
"Yes, but that hardly means I know him or that he knows me." Julia did not think she possessed the ability to endear herself to anybody easily. Someone could not succeed in knowing her in less than a day.
"You sat in silence."
"No." Julia looked frustrated. "He talked insanely about guns and capturing vessels. And then he called me indecent when I assumed guns were ... er ... not guns and vessels were women." She hoped Mrs. Newman would still think her decent after hearing of those assumptions. Perhaps a decent woman would take everything literally and never think of anything but guns and vessels.
Mrs. Newman's eyes opened wide. "Most people do not know each other well enough to touch upon such subjects, Your Grace. Capturing women, that is."
"I thought so too the first time somebody broached such subjects with me with barely any introduction. Since then I have been more wary. Widows receive more than their fair share of indecent conversation, unfortunately." Julia looked disgusted. "Widows are fair game." And for a good reason, a wicked inner voice told her. They responded.
"But you did not leave?"
"No. Yes. He told me I was indecent when I returned, but does it not prove his indecency that he brought up such a subject with a woman he does not know?" She did not know whether she wanted to be contradicted or not. The admiral had claimed to have civilised thoughts, after all, but how much was that worth?
"But if he called you indecent, does that not mean you were wrong?"
Julia pulled a face. "He said I was."
Mrs. Newman looked thoughtful, but not yet disapproving of anybody. "Was this the incident?"
If only that could be! She would almost hope along with Mrs. Newman, yet the incident had caused too many agreeable sensations to be overlooked. She could recall some if she allowed herself and she indulged in this guilty pleasure whenever her mood was at its best. It was invariably followed by a return to common sense and propriety.
"Oh goodness, no," Julia said after too long a pause. "This merely led up to it. I thought he was spouting horrible naval cant at me about chasing women and after the naval cant he went on to vex me a great deal. He never took me seriously at all."
"Until the incident." She correctly assumed the incident had not been entirely unpleasant or vexing. "Why could you not speak to Clementine about it? Did you refrain because the gentleman is a friend of your nephew's and you do not want to cause dissent?"
It was difficult to put her reasons into words. It was more a feeling than a rational objection. She might sound unkind to Clementine if she tried to explain all of it, so Julia hesitated. "I am afraid she would not understand a more reserved and less affectionate nature."
Mrs. Newman regarded the pile of clothing patterns with a reflective look. "I am afraid she would not understand you were speaking of yourself, Your Grace."
"I could not bear to speak plainly," Julia agreed. She would remain cryptic. "It would mortify me. Please forget that I spoke to you. I shall be mortified for the rest of the week because I did."
"I will forget," Mrs. Newman promised her. "Must you go away feeling wicked?"
"Should I go away feeling good about myself?" she asked with a bitter laugh.
"There must have been some good in the incident. I know there was. Your mood goes up and down. It is quite visible. I think you have kept the good parts from me."
"There was more good in the second incident," Julia revealed grudgingly. "I ought to be more embarrassed about that one, but I am not. The presence of a child lends a more trustworthy aspect to a situation." Playing with little Julia had not been wicked, but she should disregard where it had taken place.
"Well," Mrs. Newman said with a thoughtful smile. "If the second incident is theoretically more embarrassing, yet a child was present, then the first incident cannot have been all that improper."
Julia had one more errand to run before going home. She was a silly and fanciful woman, but this errand was something that could not be avoided. It was in all likeliness not going to do her much good to check where he had been, but she could at least ascertain whether any gossip had been started by himself or by others.
She entered Mr. Martin's shop and asked to be shown his assortment of buttons. Her excuse was at hand, should anyone ask. Little Julia liked awful buttons and there were those new patterns for dresses that she could adorn. Miss Martin assisted her in her task, laying out a great many buttons before her so that she might make a good choice. Julia suspected that she had assisted Admiral Henson with equal zeal and attentiveness. A pretty shop girl -- Julia was a little afraid of the hostility she felt.
"What sort of buttons are you looking for, Your Grace?" Miss Martin asked politely.
"They dazzle me. Er..." She studied the assortment before her, not yet having a precise idea. "Large? Yes, most definitely large."
"How many?"
She remembered the almost saucer-like button of the admiral's. More than two of those would not fit onto clothes for Julia. "Two. No, three." As she was trying to visualise that, she wondered how many buttons had been on the admiral's clothing, because little Julia had only appropriated one of them.
Miss Martin selected the larger buttons. "Three? It is not for His Grace's coat then?"
"I thought I would put them on something for the little girl."
"Oh yes." Seemingly Miss Martin knew everything about little Julia's fondness for large and shiny buttons. "The gentleman who stayed with the duke said she liked buttons. He came here, did you know, to buy some new ones for a coat of his. A very pleasant gentleman he was, Your Grace."
"Hmm," Julia answered jealously, holding up a button to study it more closely. It was frightful. Was that an anchor on it? How cruel. "Did he succeed?"
"Yes, Your Grace. He got several of those you are now examining."
Julia dropped the button instantly. "Goodness, but it is horrid."
Miss Martin seemed surprised to hear that. "It might not do well for a little girl, but for a gentleman it will do perfectly. This one especially. He said he was an admiral." She voiced that word with the utmost admiration.
The duchess did not know what to think of gentlemen who revealed their ranks while purchasing buttons. It was quite unnecessary, she would think, except if one intended to impress the shop girl. "I thought he meant to replace horrible buttons with something more tasteful. Is this his taste?"
"Your Grace, you know gentlemen frequently do not possess much in the way of taste," Miss Martin revealed in a low voice. "They always need much more advice than ladies."
And such advice was willingly given to good-looking admirals, Julia assumed, and willingly accepted. That did nothing for her mood. It was furthermore not improved by the entrance of Mrs. Tompkins, the most notorious gossip of the village.
"Your Grace, Mr. Martin, Mrs. Martin, Miss Martin," Mrs. Tompkins rattled off. She did not enjoy spending too long on greetings if her time could be better employed gossiping. "Your Grace, is that lavender I perceive under your coat?"
"Indeed it is, Mrs. Tompkins," Julia replied evenly. To prevent any questions about her mourning period, she returned her attention to the buttons, choosing one at random. It was shiny and without much of a pattern. "Three of these, please. They will have to do."
"Three?" Mrs. Tompkins' ears were sharp. "That is an unusual number. Pray, what are you making, Your Grace? Is it something according to the newest fashions?"
"You will see it when it is finished. I should not like the idea to be stolen by better seamstresses who work quicker than I could manage." As she spoke, she thought she ought to hint at something, just to see whether it was taken up by any women in the village who were keen on wearing the latest fashions. Unfortunately she did not yet know what she was going to make precisely.
Miss Martin handed the chosen buttons to her mother while she put away the rest of them. Julia watched as her purchase was wrapped up.
"Your Grace, who was the gentleman who stayed with the duke?" asked Mrs. Tompkins.
"You do not know?" Julia pressed a hand to her mouth in mock amazement. "But he was the famous Admiral Henson!" He might indeed be famous, for all she knew.
"Famous? Is he famous? Oh, and to think I --" But Mrs. Tompkins did not finish that thought in her excitement. "What were his exploits, do you know?"
"At s-s-sea?" Julia asked stupidly. She was more familiar with other types of exploits. That was no wonder, since her thoughts had been notoriously indecent of late.
"Admirals are in the Navy, are they not? They go to sea."
"Yes, but --" She had to think quickly. "I was distracted by realising he did not speak of his exploits at all. I could not tell you anything about them. I am sure they were praiseworthy, as he has a habit of practising and preparing for them with paper ships." She wondered if she was listing points in his favour here: modesty and preparation. There had been very little preparation in his romantic exploits, however.
Mrs. Tompkins was thrilled for unfathomable reasons. "Paper ships! Did he fold them?"
"Somewhat," Julia said condescendingly, battling against the shocking thought that practising with paper dolls could not have made the admiral any better at kissing. "Oh, Miss Martin? Do not put those buttons away yet. Six of those horrid buttons with anchors, please." She would sink any new battle that would be played out in her aquarium. Should he come back, she would be prepared. There would be needle harpoons at the ready, attached to the anchor buttons. No paper ship would remain afloat.
"Will he be back?" Mrs. Tompkins asked as if she was capable of reading minds.
"Perhaps the next time he travels this way, but I did not receive the impression he does it often," Julia replied with composure. Unless he came back specifically for her, he would not go to his daughter more than once a year, even less often if he went to sea.
"He was such a pleasant man," said Miss Martin, bringing over the six buttons as requested. "I hope he will. Was he not pleasant and handsome, Mama?"
"Hush," said Mrs. Martin, who had caught a rather disapproving expression on the duchess' face.
It was not so much disapproval of Miss Martin as of Admiral Henson. He had left with a smile and a hand kiss, no explanations or promises, as if he did not have time, only to rush to the village and spend inordinate amounts of time turning the heads of silly young shop girls by being pleasant and handsome. He could have employed his time better -- with her -- than charming girls left and right.
"Well," Mrs. Tompkins said knowingly. "Navy men are always exceedingly handsome. One can tell from their bearing and attitude that the fate of the country rests in their hands."
"Farmers, Mrs. Tompkins, farmers," said Julia in response to this preposterous notion. "Without farmers your handsome Navy men could not eat and neither could you." She took her leave of them wordlessly and left the shop.
Inwardly furious and frustrated, Julia walked home. She was glad to have dismissed the carriage earlier. Sitting in confinement would not have worked to get rid of this agitation and confusion. Her facial expression was distorted as she thought of the man's callous duplicity in leaving her quickly only to take his time being advised about buttons by a young girl. After one vessel was captured, another must follow soon. It was a sport.
Her tears welled up as she viciously slashed at a branch with her umbrella. She was a fool for having hopes and wishes, even if she was not precisely certain what they were about. She slashed once again for Mrs. Newman's conclusion that the first incident could not have been very improper and that somewhere in this mess there had been good parts.
What good were good parts to her if he was never going to come back? Her fate rested in his hands, just like the entire country's fate.
Mr. Newman, coming from another direction, caught up with her as Julia took the path towards the estate. "You look upset," he said to her with a keen sense of understatement.
"Mrs. Tompkins," she said, not slowing down and only giving him a sideways glance. He should not see her face, nor hear of the true reasons for her mood. "Navy men are always exceedingly handsome. One can tell from their bearing and attitude that the fate of the country rests in their hands." She had spoken in another voice and now returned to her own. "Have you ever heard such drivel, Mr. Newman?"
"Far worse drivel, I assure you. A few weeks ago Mrs. Tompkins was still convinced that -- pardon my bringing this up -- a captain was capable of impregnating a woman ashore while he was at sea. It is unkind of me, but perhaps this explains why she was not blessed with any children herself."
"Mr. Newman!" She did not want to laugh. Disapproval was more fitting here. Besides, she was in no mood to laugh at anything.
"And it does make one wonder which miracles she would ascribe to admirals."
"Mr. Newman!" The miracles, exploits and feats of admirals were too current to be subjected to speculation.
"I must thank you for being so kind as to visit my wife," he said, changing the subject. "She does not enjoy calling on people herself."
"Some people will never come to enjoy it," Julia murmured, wondering if she could somehow twist the topic to her advantage. She knew a little about not enjoying visits. Being subjected to a great many of them gave one some skill in the end, but not enjoyment. "Consideration in the early stages makes all the difference in how a person will turn out in later years, but this requires insight. May I ask you -- could you instantly read Mrs. Newman's character?"
"Not all of it, but enough." He appeared to think her words enlightening or simply intriguing, because he gave her a stare.
"How did you know how and when to approach her?" She was very interested in approaches, but she should take care not to reveal why.
"I did not have to."
"I do not understand," said Julia. "Your wife -- I think she would not have approached you instead. That seems to be against her nature. How could there be no approach on either side?"
"We lived in the same house." Mr. Newman shrugged. "There must be many encounters of a non-scandalous nature in a steward's house. It is not very large. If someone in your house were to keep running into the same person it would be with some deliberation and purpose, but not so in mine."
She considered what he had said. "Repeated encounters of a non-scandalous nature would not entice me to marry a person." There ought to be something else.
He made a sound as if he could only just check his words.
"What was that?" she inquired suspiciously. Either he had tried not to laugh or he had swallowed his disagreement. Both possibilities interested her.
"Something inappropriate."
"Do tell," she ordered him in her most imperative voice. "Remember, Mr. Newman, that I am no longer your employer. You must answer me, but I cannot dismiss you."
He studied her calmly. "No, I really think I ought to keep this one to myself."
Julia waved her parcel in frustration and the buttons she had just purchased flew in all directions. "Do not leave while I pick them up," she said warningly, looking at the ground. "Stay and tell me what you were about to say."
Mr. Newman assisted her. He retrieved two buttons and examined them. "Anchors? Why is everybody in need of buttons these days?"
"Mr. Newman!" she snapped, feeling embarrassed. He should not have seen those anchors because he would draw the wrong conclusion. "How many have you got there?"
"Two."
She counted hers. Six. "There should be one more."
"Here," he answered after a glance, bending over to pick it up. He handed the buttons back to her.
"Tell me what you were about to say. You must." She could be insistent and she had every intention of being very insistent indeed if he was not going to tell her.
He sighed. "You said that repeated encounters of a non-scandalous nature would not entice you to marry a person. The question that immediately entered my head was: but repeated encounters of a scandalous nature would?"
Julia gasped soundlessly. That question was too direct and too pertinent. Did he know? Had the admiral told him?
The steward looked apologetic. "I told you it was inappropriate."
"I --" She tried again as she resumed walking. She had to start from the assumption that Admiral Henson had not told him anything, or else she might inadvertently do a lot of damage. "I did not intend to say what you said. I merely said I would not be enticed to marry somebody simply because I had happened to come across him in my house a few times."
It would require much more than random encounters, she felt. This begged the question when she had begun to consider the notion of another marriage and what would make it worth her while. She had not thought about that yet. Perhaps she should.
Mr. Newman nodded. "Precisely, but like me you do not let everybody into your house, so there is not a large chance of repeatedly encountering unmarriageable candidates there."
"Not a large chance," she agreed, biting back everything else she could say, about inviting people and candidates being marriageable, and least of all about scandalous encounters.
"Well," he halted at a crossroads and bowed. "I should go left here. I have business that way."
Julia felt relieved. Considering that he left her so soon, perhaps he knew nothing after all.
When nobody was looking, Julia stood in front of her aquarium and worked out the details of the battle. It would cost her too many needles. If the ships were folded well enough, she could simply weight them with a button and they would sink. Or so they should.
She put the buttons in a silver box that stood nearby as decoration. They would be at hand when the next battle took place. If Admiral Henson never returned, they could rot away forever in that silver box, out of sight and unable to remind her of him with their ugly anchors. But of course she did not wish for that. She would much rather have that battle and sink him by cunning. She could still hear his overly patient Duchess, they have no guns, as if she was very stupid.
After a rather silent dinner she sat down with her working basket and began to work on a small cloak. It needed not be used, as long as it afforded her some employment. Working was necessary to get her through the day. She suspected that her powers of conversation had deserted her completely, for Clementine seemed to be avoiding her. Obtaining very few responses at breakfast had probably discouraged her.
Julia had indeed been too preoccupied to talk much that morning, dwelling too much on the visit to Lady Pritchard that had still been ahead of her then. Now that was all behind her, but she suffered from a bad temper and too little hope.
Little Julia climbed into her bed around dawn. "Gramma! Gramma!" she said excitedly.
Julia reluctantly turned to the side where the sound and movement came from. "Yes? Is something the matter?"
"I am here," the little girl informed her unnecessarily. She curled up against her grandmother and gave a satisfied sigh.
"Thank you very much for telling me," Julia said dryly. She hoped she would be allowed to fall asleep again. Her companion might have other plans.
"Where is Ammiral?" asked little Julia with her arm draped possessively over her grandmother's stomach.
There was no ignoring the child, even with her ears closed. "Away." She might have an even more pressing need than little Julia to know how far away he was and for how long, but she knew just as little about his whereabouts.
"Not good," the little girl said sternly. "Oh, do not fret. Gramma and Julia want to play with Ammiral. Where is the danger?"
"I can see where the danger is, you little minx. You repeat everything. Who spoke of danger? And why?" It might have referred to her, but she was in a frame of mind that made her afraid of being discussed in secret by everybody. In all likeliness the danger would have nothing to do with her.
"What is a danger?"
"A danger is scary. Julia, shall we sleep?" It was still too dark and breakfast would not be served for a long time. There was absolutely no need to get up already. It was more agreeable to stay in bed, even with the little one.
"We are sleeping."
"We are talking," Julia pointed out.
"We are in bed. We are sleeping."
"Just being in bed will not do. Sleeping is with your eyes closed and your mouth closed. Try it." It might last a second.
Little Julia closed her mouth theatrically and got a piece of her grandmother's nightgown stuck between her lips. She spat it out and laughed. "I eat you, Gramma!"
"If you are not quiet, I shall eat you!" Julia threatened. The second she finished speaking those words, she realised she had accomplished the complete opposite of what she wanted. This sort of threat would only excite Julia and there would be no more sleeping today.
"That is danger!" the girl squealed. She seated herself on Julia's stomach to have a better view and better control of everything. "Gramma, say boo?"
Julia had resigned herself to playing. The little girl's good humour was one of the few certainties in this world and it was worth surrendering oneself to it. Besides, little Julia gave her the impression that she was exciting and sweet. "Boo!"
There was more squealing and it had to be repeated several times. "And do beh?" the girl requested after about five minutes.
Julia looked confused, wondering if little Julia meant something she could not yet pronounce, but nothing she could think of sounded like beh. "Beh?"
"No! Beh with your tongue!" She reached out with her hand.
"I do not understand beh with my tongue. And get your fingers out of my mouth."
"Do beh?" Little Julia demonstrated it perfectly, showing all of her tongue and pulling a disgusted face.
It was intriguing how the action could still be exciting, no matter how well she knew what was coming because she had asked for it herself. Julia imitated sticking out her tongue. "Beh!" She remembered that the admiral had started this and that it had been a great success. She would say she was better at contorting her face, however. He had clearly been amused.
Apparently her performance was very amusing, because Little Julia clapped and bounced on her grandmother's stomach, digging her heels into her sides as well.
"Julia, Julia," Julia winced. "I am neither a mattress nor a horse and I am getting very cold now that you have pulled the blanket away. Why do we not get up?" She deduced there would be no more sleeping.
"I am up!"
"May your grandmother get up as well? To dress."
"I pick you a pretty dress!" Little Julia rolled off her grandmother and the bed in one excited movement, landing beside it with a thud that did not appear to hurt her.
"Admiral has come to play with Gramma" little Julia cried. It was around midday and nobody was expecting any visitors. It was really a coincidence that the girl was seated by the window. She tapped and knocked on the glass. "Look! He is there!"
Julia choked on her tea. She could see Clementine do the same, but it would not be for the same reason.
Julian lifted Julia from her seat, not daring to look at his aunt. "I think he came to play with you, little devil. Shall we go and ask if he wants to go rowing in the boat?" The little girl gasped and clapped and he carried her out of the room.
Julia tried to recover her composure in case Admiral Henson should be shown into the room and not directly to the river, which little Julia would of course want. She could not be too visibly unsettled, for Clementine sat with her and she had choked in amusement, not in fear of being found out. Clementine might even ask why her daughter had said what she had said.
"When..." Julia said with the utmost dignity, "did Julia learn to pronounce his D?"
Would he come in? She ought to betray a normal measure of curiosity and interest, nothing out of the ordinary. A few glances at the door would do, but no open-mouthed staring. If he came in, she should not blush.
Clementine blinked. "Oh, in admiral?"
"He did not stay away very long." She had to comment on that, even if it was now hidden away in another observation. He had come back rather soon. Very soon. Why? Was that for her? A feeling of excitement spread through her and she tried her best to hide it, even though it tugged at the corners of her mouth and it warmed her cheeks. "Julia had very little time to learn the D," she finished.
"I thought she called him Ammiral, but I may have misheard that," Clementine said cautiously. "She has talked about him, though."
Julia's heart stopped beating for a second when she thought of the little one revealing all of her secrets. "She has? I suppose you corrected her," she tried to say calmly. Perhaps she had repeated the line too often to herself after little Julia had uttered it and thus corrected it herself.
"I might have. I tend to do that when she says something wrong."
"Is he her new hero then?"
"He seemed to have played with her very agreeably. She kept asking about him after he was gone."
"Yes," said Julia, casting down her eyes. She hoped that was all little Julia had done, although she supposed Clementine would never tell her if there had been more. "I expect we shall not see him for the next few hours." The pirate must have her way and her namesake could recover a little.
"I do not know what Julian is doing now. He cannot be so uncivil as to drag the man straight to the river." Clementine looked towards the door as if she could see through it. "Although he might like it. He may be in need of some play. I understood he was not happily married and his daughter takes after her mother. I think that is why is he getting himself honorary children. He has given up on wives."
There was a sharp ache in Julia's insides. "He has?" If he had given up every thought of matrimony, he could not have had any honourable intentions. That left only dishonourable ones.
Clementine looked fearful when she realised she had been assuming the same with regard to her aunt simply because Aunt Julia was in her forties, not because Aunt Julia had ever said anything to that effect. "Er..." That was the last thing she would ever reveal. "He said so to Julian. Perhaps he only meant he did not want the same again. I can understand him there, but I know it is an impossible resolve."
"It is not impossible to stay unwed, is it?" Julia asked with more sharpness in her voice than she would have liked. It was called taking a mistress.
The younger woman looked flustered. "No," she whispered. "Although I am sure that is not what he meant by his comment to Julian."
"He would hardly boast of ... that other thing." It made her feel nauseous.
"Your Grace," Clementine said respectfully, for she was about to disagree. "He spoke to me about characters and essentials and manners not being a reflection of anyone's character. I hardly think he would do so if he were depraved. He can want nothing from me, nothing for which he would need to disguise his true character."
"Manners not being a reflection of anyone's character?" Julia repeated.
"Manners are but an acquisition. I think he means to look beyond them at what a person is truly like."
"Which person with bad manners would that be?"
"He did not say. We were interrupted. It might be a person with good manners, Aunt Julia," Clementine suggested carefully. "A well-mannered person is quickly seen as good, when they might not be."
"Why, might I ask, were you discussing this with him?" she asked suspiciously, nearly having a seizure at the thought that he would think her good manners hid a depraved character. He had accused her of having improper thoughts, after all.
"Julian's characters and manners, Your Grace."
That was some relief. She drank some more of her tea to have something to do. Until now she had mainly been thinking of herself alone, of her composure and her reactions, and whether he had come to see her. She had not yet considered that he could have left his daughter so quickly for other reasons. There was the possibility that he had fled. His daughter might very well have driven him away and he might very well be here for the honorary children that Clementine had mentioned and not to finish his business with a lady.
Although she would feel for him, the possibility did sting a little.
She thought again. Surely he could not have forgotten his unfinished business here and even if he considered it finished, he would realise that if he visited Julian and Clementine, he would see her as well. He had not come for her alone, or he would have come into the room instantly, but she was part of what had brought him here.
It was also possible that he had come for her alone, but that he would prefer to meet her all alone and not in front of everybody. In that case he would gladly postpone a direct meeting and yes, he would allow himself to be whisked off to the river first.
Julia felt too old for such uncertainty and suspense.
"Here is one lady who is exceptionally happy to see you return, Admiral," said Julian with little Julia on his arm.
"Well, if the other two are happy, but not exceptionally so, I have done well," Admiral Henson replied. He grasped one of the outstretched little hands and shook it.
"We go in the boat!" Julia ordered him. "Follow me!" she cried, despite not standing on the ground and not being able to go anywhere without her father's participation.
"Julia, will you give the gentleman time to dress for the excursion? And perhaps you should first ask whether he feels any enthusiasm for the venture. He may prefer to have some tea with the other ladies instead." Julian gave the admiral a quizzical look.
"I daresay there is plenty of time to have tea with the other ladies later," the admiral said in a pleasant manner. "Unless they insist on seeing me instantly?" He would have thought that in that case they would have come out to greet him together with this pair.
"Ammiral wants to play with Gramma," Julia said wisely. "I want to play with Ammiral."
"I daresay there is plenty of time to play with Gramma later as well," he responded without showing any signs of embarrassment or surprise. It was interesting how she could read his intentions so well, however. "But Pirate Julia must have her way right now, must she not?"
"Give me to Ammiral," she ordered her father.
"I shall do no such thing," he protested. "He must go rowing with you and he must carry you too? He is not your servant!"
The admiral forgave her. "I do not have to change, so I am completely at her disposal. Lenton, will you allow her to go?" The answer to that seemed fairly obvious. If anybody was the girl's servant, it would be Lenton himself.
Julian put Julia down. "Walk; do not run. Stay with us." They set off towards the boathouse. "You did not stay away very long. How was the visit?"
"The last of its kind."
"Oh. And here?"
"That depends on how you behave, Lenton," the admiral quipped, but he thought he might be more inclined to stay here for a while.
"Why did Julia say you had come to play with her grandmother?"
"Probably because of my battle game. The one you wanted to play and she did not." He smiled, thinking he had saved himself tolerably well there. "I assume she told Julia about it. Perhaps she thought it a game for children, who knows?"
The ladies never saw the men until they returned, which Her Grace not quite accidentally perceived from the window by which she was keeping a vigil. She let out a loud gasp when she saw them. "Oh, no!"
Clementine hurried to the window, thinking there was something horrible to be seen. "Oh, yes!" she responded before she could check herself.
"What is wrong with Julia?" Julia cried.
"They are carrying her in some sort of hammock." Clementine did not see any evidence of anxiousness or concern in anybody. The gentlemen had simply taken off their coats and tied them together somehow to carry Julia, undoubtedly to amuse her.
"But ... why? Why would someone take off his coat and -- I do not understand." He had to keep his coat on, or she would never be able to face him with an imperturbable manner. She would give herself away.
"Because Julian knows I like it," Clementine murmured.
"Well, I do not. I must tell them to --" The determination with which she had begun to speak faded away. "I cannot. I forgot that I am no longer the mistress of the house. Pray excuse me for retiring before ascertaining there really is nothing wrong with your daughter." The meeting would have to be postponed another while longer.
Clementine looked after her with a frown. Aunt Julia was being very odd. She opened the window and called out to the threesome on the lawn. As she had suspected, little Julia was in perfect health, giggling and crowing.
"Mama, look!" little Julia called when they had come close enough.
"What is that you are in, darling?"
"A swing!"
"That looks very amusing. How kind of Papa to take off his coat," she said with a smile at him. "I appreciate it. Your aunt, on the other hand, realised with sadness that she no longer has the authority to forbid such a display." She at least owed it to their aunt to make that feeling known.
Admiral Henson developed a sudden cough.
"Oh! I completely forgot to greet you properly, Admiral!" she exclaimed. "My apologies!"
The admiral handed his side of the swing to Julian and said something to him that Clementine could not overhear. Then he stepped to the window. "That was not my point. Precisely what sort of display had your aunt wanted to forbid?" he asked, as Julian carried Julia away.
"Walking about without coats, I presume. It does not bother me at all, but she..." She shrugged.
"...is worried that we may catch a cold, is that not so?"
"Yes, yes." She had no idea why he was so gentlemanly about it. "You had best come inside as quickly as you can, I suppose."
"Move aside, Clementine."
She stepped back and watched him climb in. It was a pity that Aunt Julia could not see it, although her mood was probably too bad for her to have any appreciation for it. "Perhaps, given your agility, you need to reconsider adopting me as a daughter, Admiral. Would elder brother not be more suitable?"
He laughed, although he remembered very well that he had made a comment about Lenton's elder sister once. Perhaps Clementine was cunning rather than complimentary here. He settled for pretending he was merely flattered. "You are too kind."
"Aunt Julia has been a little out of sorts, Admiral. You must not mind her prohibitions too much. I hope the visit to your daughter did not leave you too dispirited or we shall have to cheer up two people," she said with a smile.
His eyes twinkled. It was a comfort somehow that Julia had been out of sorts, as heartless as it sounded. "No, not at all. I managed to upset her so much that she sent me away and I may never have to go again. That is a tremendous relief. At the moment I do not mind anybody's prohibitions, least of all on a matter of coats."
He did not want to believe a trifle like that truly mattered to her. Down by the river a few days ago she had said something and gone away, but others had been present. When they had played with little Julia in her bedroom she had only asked if he was going to sleep in that outfit, but nothing else and she had not gone away either. Nobody else had been present then. That appeared to make a difference.
Chapter Seven
Admiral Henson had gone up to his room to change. His coat was now a little too much out of shape to be put on again and Beckett would have to press it to get all the wrinkles out. One had to keep Beckett occupied now and then.
The admiral wrote a tidy little note to the elder duchess when he was again perfectly attired, having thought of the exact phrasing while he was getting dressed. He must meet her, preferably when he was fully dressed and not in company. Both matters seemed to be of great importance to her, but only the latter condition really mattered to him.
I am going to the library to read about my condition, but I imagine the young
couple are currently not great readers.
~ JH
He was very satisfied with that note. It would be relatively incomprehensible to anyone else, but he believed she would understand him. He had his man deliver it to the elder duchess' apartments and then he went downstairs. If she wanted to speak to him, she would come.
The library was indeed as empty as he had expected and he picked up a few books to peruse. He hoped she would come. The trip to the river had postponed their meeting, but meeting alone was in fact much better.
While Julia assumed she was informed of his location for a purpose, she felt it very much beneath her to run downstairs immediately. That would be the action of a desperate woman and she preferred to think she had not yet sunk to such depths. She had no idea how to initiate conversation anyway. She did not know how to ask what she wanted to ask. He did not write that he wanted to speak to her about anything. He was only informing her where he would be. Perhaps speaking with her was not what he had in mind then.
It is not clear from your note whether you require assistance or solitude in
contemplating your equally unclear condition.
~ JL
She could be quite as uncommunicative as he was, although she was aware that she had to be -- any illicit and scandalous correspondence would probably leak out if they used servants to convey their notes.
Should she receive no reply, she would go to the library. She might not be desperate, but she was curious nevertheless.
The admiral looked up from a random book of poetry when the reply was delivered. He sighed and told himself he could have known the woman was going to be hesitant. She was nothing like the ladies in these poems, who were invariably as cruel as they were beautiful.
No, he did not think she was either cruel or unattainable. He possessed more self-knowledge than some silly poet who did not realise he had nothing to offer. That thought made him wonder what exactly he possessed in the way of tempting qualities. His distinguished career and the fortune that had accompanied it ought not to play any role of significance, not with the right kind of lady. Such a lady ought to enjoy his company and share his concerns. He did not mind sharing some of hers either, but he would have to be told or shown about them. He did not instantly know which of them liked coats or not.
He had caught a brief glimpse of Julia earlier. She had been sitting at the window, but she had disappeared when they had come closer. Given what Clementine had said, he did not think Julia was avoiding him per se. It was only his coatless appearance that had driven her away. The lady would call walking around without a coat flaunting, undoubtedly.
Julia wanted to be proper and she was probably not sure whether he had anything proper in mind at the moment. He could not blame her for that doubt. Kissing ladies was perhaps not proper -- depending on which Julia one asked, of course.
Your condition is clearer to me than mine.
~ JH
If that did not bring her down, nothing could. He wondered what he would do if she did not come. Trying some patience was his best option. Nobody could stay in her rooms forever.
Julia stared at the note. She had read it five times at least and she still did not know what to do. She had dismissed her maid after her second reading, not wanting to be seen reading it so many times, even if dismissing the maid meant she could no longer send down a reply. If she wanted to react, she had to go herself.
What did the admiral know about her condition? He could not know what ailed her, could he? He had been away. If he knew it in spite of that, perhaps she really should go downstairs. If people already had some insight in her, she would not have to explain herself verbally.
She descended the stairs slowly. The door to the library was open. She closed it behind her. The admiral got up to bow and she curtseyed. After that she was lost. She could only think he was so good as to be wearing a coat again, although it made no difference -- she could only stand and stare.
"Duchess..." he said, breaking the silence.
"Mmm?"
"You were out of sorts?"
"Hmm."
"You lost your voice."
She shook her head with a choking sound and sank down in one of the easy chairs. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, but she could not make that heavy feeling in her chest go away. He could, but he did not.
"I hope I am not the cause of such distress, Your Grace, but I am not entirely confident that I am not."
"I am not distressed," she responded. She had not come to pour out her heart. That would be unnatural for her. Somehow she wished the situation would resolve itself without requiring conversation. It would be so convenient if they could read each other's minds -- and so utterly impossible.
"That makes me wonder how you will behave if you are." He sat down again and laid his book aside. "I will listen if you have anything to say."
Julia looked afraid. "I have nothing to say." She could ask him what was on his mind, but such a doubting question might offend. Perhaps she ought to see or know what he wanted, and not seeing or knowing would be considered a failure.
"You have come to cry. That is fine." He picked up his book, but he did not resume reading.
"I am not crying."
"Fine. You are not crying, you have nothing to say and you are not distressed," he observed calmly. "I envy you. I wish I felt the same, but I very much wish to cry, talk and be distressed."
She raised her eyes. "You wish to cry?" She had never heard a gentleman say such an odd thing.
"I cannot. I know I cannot, but all the same I wish it would work for me to have a good cry that would wash it all away." He gave her a look that would have invited a less reserved person to confide in him, or at least cry.
Julia was not so easy. She was still afraid of going wrong. "What precisely? Your trip?" She could not imagine him distressed by anything else, certainly not by his encounters with her. Gentlemen could not be distressed.
"I am relieved and sad. Clementine thinks I am only relieved. She was relieved at that, because she would not have to cheer two people up, you being the other." Again he gave her a look.
But again she clung to her questions. It was safer to be in charge. "What happened?"
"My daughter became very, very cross with me," said the admiral. "I am capable of --" He stopped and did not say what.
"Of what are you capable?" Julia asked. His behaviour had obviously been of crucial importance. It was no surprise that he was capable of things that could make a person cross. She could have been cross with him, had she been different.
"I told her -- not the most admirable thing I could have told her, but she deserved to be shocked in such a manner -- I told her I had shared a bed with two ladies named Julia, to show --" He made a vague gesture.
Julia pressed her hands to her mouth and stared at him speechlessly. He had told his daughter he had shared a bed with two ladies and all he seemed to think of it was that it was not the most admirable thing he could have told her. Certainly not!
"-- to show, perhaps, that I was not so dependent on relatives as she believed and that perhaps she might treat me with a little more civility or I would stop visiting and visit other people instead. I do not precisely know what crossed my mind." The admiral shrugged, as if one did not always know and he least of all.
"D-D-Did you explain what happened in the bed or did you leave it at that?"
"She forced me to leave it at that," he said gravely. "She did not even ask if there were two Julias at once or one at a time, but she flew into a hysterical rage. Apparently I had defiled her mother's memory. I had had enough. I preferred to be somewhere else."
"It seems unlikely that she will ever have you there again," Julia said in an unsteady voice. She could not help but think it was the daughter's own fault for persisting in such an interpretation. Perhaps because she had been in the bed herself she was more inclined to think the daughter ought to have asked on. If she respected her father she would not have gone for the worst interpretation at once, would she?
It brought back memories of the reading of Daniel's will. She had not wanted to believe there was a mistress. She would instantly have believed anyone who had presented information to the contrary. "If she did not ask, she did not care. Perhaps you did well. It was not the most elegant of solutions, however," she concluded.
"I agree. Will you now be all prim and proper and tell me I am very bad? But I spent my entire life being good and I had enough of it."
She shook her head and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes again. He admitted he wanted to be bad. There was no hope.
"Why all those tears, my dear?" the admiral asked kindly.
Julia felt her tears spill freely. She was too confused. His voice contradicted the conclusion she had just reached. "What do you think of me? Too prim and proper to be your mistress, or so depraved that I could never object?"
"Er..." he stared in confusion. "Mistress?"
"Not even a mistress!" she sobbed. "I am even less than that. Only good for a kiss here and there."
Admiral Henson looked stunned. "Give me a second to recuperate. Did you seriously think you were my mistress or even less than one?"
She gave no answer.
"All I could think of was you. All I could say or do was said or done out of a desire to see you again. It was not motivated by anything else and least of all common sense. Mistress?" He still looked astonished.
Julia rose. "I am sorry to have offended you," she said stiffly. "I assure you that I offended myself most of all by not objecting to your advances."
"You are not my mistress!"
She turned and ran from the room. It was too painful to stay.
The admiral thought he might have handled that badly. He wished he could call on the young couple for assistance, but that was impossible. They knew nothing and he was not eager to explain. He was on his own.
She was indisposed from then on. Of course she was. He spent a while with the others, as if he was not more occupied wondering. The company did take his mind off the situation for a while, but he thought about it again when he was changing for dinner. Perhaps Julia had needed some time alone to recover.
He too needed some time to make sense of it all, but he had not been successful so far. If he went over everything again and summarised the situation, he could only say that he had told her it had not gone very well at his daughter's house. As for her, he had concluded she was distressed about something that she could not or would not explain. It had something to do with him, that much had become clear, especially when she had begun to speak of being a mistress.
He sighed. He did not know whether one could become a mistress, or even come by a mistress, without being consulted or informed of the fact.
They ought to speak. The problem was, he reflected wryly, that he did not know precisely what he wanted and that, even if the duchess did, she did not appear to be a person who could speak of her wishes and desires.
There was more wry irony. He had spoken of going slowly, with a firm conviction that he would, and he had ended up being hasty. Too hasty, it appeared. It was unfortunate for Julia that her apparent objections to this haste only added to her charms, however -- if her behaviour was due to such objections. She might also not like him.
He tried to view her behaviour in that light, but he could not see it.
It was not dislike that had caused her to run, for Julia did like him. That made everything so much worse. She lay on her bed considering every possibility, from being his temporary companion to being his lawful wife, but she could not begin to think which situation he preferred. There were advantages to all of them, she was sure, although not all arrangements suited every type of disposition. Hers, she would say, was more suited to something respectable.
She was not a toy, to be used and played with when it suited him and discarded afterwards. He could not do that to her; he was not a two-year old in whom such behaviour would be forgiven.
No, she did not want such an existence. She wanted him to own up to it because she mattered.
That was what she should have said. I matter. Running away had been a cowardly action. She ought to despise herself. She was no longer fifteen. A quick look in the mirror proved her right -- far beyond fifteen. Sadly, her youth would never return. She touched the lines that had appeared around her eyes over the years. Distinction and wisdom had come with them.
"Wisdom," she murmured. Perhaps it was not true wisdom. She had learnt from her life, but she was incapable of being wise about something she had never experienced. She was not wise, or she would know what to think.
No, she was merely old -- yet she was not even granted that qualification! Admiral Henson would refuse to accept that. Julia studied herself in the mirror again. She knew she was handsome, but that had never equalled young. Of what was he speaking? They were about the same age, but that did not mean they were young.
She had always been proper. Proper and distant. Propriety through distance. When distance was gone, so was propriety. The simplicity of that logic was astonishing, as was the conclusion that her sense of propriety was not independent. Perhaps she was so proper as to preserve some distance on the whole, except now. It was a more comforting thought, certainly. If only she could embrace it as the sole truth. There was always that matter of the kiss.
What he should have done, she supposed, was something that took away her doubts. Julia, during the few hours of our acquaintance I have been considering you the worthiest woman in the entire world and it would make me the happiest of men if you consented to be my wife. Did she really want such a fool? He would probably fall out of love with the same speed.
Chapter Eight
Julia was not at dinner either. This was strange, since Admiral Henson assumed she would be in need of sustenance regardless and the dinner table was a safe place. He would never bring up dangerous topics in front of the other two. In fact, he was succeeding very well at not bringing any topic up. Answering pleasantly worked well enough, but he could not think of anything new to say.
The admiral found it intriguing how neither Julian nor Clementine appeared to care about their aunt's absence. Perhaps they were waiting for him to make inquiries, but other than a short comment that she was still indisposed they said nothing about it. He had thought they would care and if they were trying to draw information from him, they ought to be more direct. It was very easy now to say nothing.
He thought he could forget about it for a while when little Julia joined them after dinner, although that would only be for half an hour. Little Julia decided she wanted to play with Julian, so the admiral was left to Clementine. Thinking that complete indifference would also be suspicious, he ventured a question about the elder duchess. "Was your aunt suddenly taken ill?"
Clementine sighed as if the matter was more complicated than that. "Not really. I think she may simply be feeling as though she has lost her purpose, no longer being the mistress of the house. Of course we still need her very much, so she should not feel that way."
It might play a role, but that was not all of it. "Will it pass again if you need her?"
"I hope so. She sent me a note telling me not to come, so I did not see her. I shall respect her wishes until they become strange. She is, I think, not a natural patient."
"What is a natural patient?" he asked.
"Someone who enjoys being nursed and fussed over with kind and sympathetic noises."
Kindness and sympathy seemed to make Julia uncomfortable indeed. The admiral was awed by the insight. "You are a clever young lady," he said to Clementine. "She is also not a natural receiver of compliments, is she?" It was somehow connected.
Clementine laughed. "That first comment?"
"Yes, that one -- and it was sincere."
"She wondered if you needed spectacles," she said in amusement.
"Did she?" he asked, but then he checked his curiosity. He should lead the topic away from Julia. "Have you got some opinion of me as well?"
"Hmm," she mused. "Yes, but I am only beginning to form one. Ask me when you leave."
Admiral Henson made his excuses shortly after little Julia's departure, claiming fatigue due to his very early start of the day. Julian and Clementine were not surprised, but they bade him a good night.
"She will not see you, Admiral," said Julia's maid when he made an inquiry upstairs. "She will not see anyone."
"Propriety be damned!" he said to himself. He would climb up. He would put an end to this insanity without creating a scene in front of others. He had seen the maid by accident and she might think his inquiry had been mere politeness. She would not know he intended to pursue the matter -- or rather, the lady.
After some deliberation he left the house and tried to figure out which windows belonged to the duchess. There were too many windows in this building, he observed. Her Grace would have a grand room, somewhere near the middle and with a balcony. The grand suites had those. He chose one balcony and began to climb up. The matter was important enough to risk a broken limb.
She liked to have her windows open -- bless the woman! That made it so much easier. He entered the room after ascertaining it was the right one and he was not accidentally surprising the young couple. But she was there, rummaging in a drawer. "Julia, you must see me," he announced.
She jumped up in shock and turned around. "Did you -- did you -- how did you come in? My door is locked."
Had he been that silent? Some branches had snapped under his weight. Apart from that observation, there was only one way he could have come in. "The window."
Julia was stunned. "You climbed? Why?"
If she thought but a moment she would know why he had climbed, so he did not think it necessary to remind her that her door was locked. "How could you think you were my mistress?" he asked, approaching her.
Julia backed away to stay out of danger and her eyes focused on everything except his face. "I do not want to talk about it."
"You must!" he pleaded, especially because he felt one of his guesses about her had been correct. Her behaviour was not unexpected now and he must persevere. She did not like talking, but she must.
She backed away further and found herself in a corner. "I will scream if you come any closer."
He stayed where he was, but she could not escape him if she tried. He could reach out and grab her. She might run before she screamed. The latter would bring people and it would require explanations, not something she would like. "You are not my mistress."
Julia looked pained. "Yes, you have said so before. What are you doing in my room if you are not? Only half dressed. Do you mean to kiss me again and then say it is nothing?"
"I never said it was nothing!" the admiral said emphatically.
"No, you simply said nothing at all. How is that any different?" she spat out.
"Well, what could I tell you?" There had not even been time. He had left before there had been an opportunity to speak with her alone. And what could he have told her?
"Why have you come if you do not know?"
"Because I do know it now. This is insane and it must end."
"That is the door," she pointed.
"Leaving would only make it worse." He stepped forward. He did not want to leave until they had made a little progress.
"Admiral," she said warningly, pressing two hands against his chest to ward him off. "Do not come any closer."
He rested his hands on her hips to keep her in place. "Julia, please."
"I have not given you permission to touch me," she said in a quivering voice.
"Er..." he said significantly, glancing at her hands on his chest. He had not given her permission either, but he would agree with her implication that having his hands on her hips was more dangerous. He could easily pull her towards him if he wanted. As he became aware of his touch, he noticed something. "Is there really nothing but this one layer of cloth between my hand and your skin?"
She looked shocked. "Admiral!"
"Pardon the question, but in previous cases where I had the misfortune of having to handle ladies in this manner, there were great thick layers of flesh preventing anybody from knowing they actually had hips."
Her mouth opened slightly in amazement. "P-P-Previous cases!"
"They were not like this one," he said hastily. "They were women who insisted on being pushed into carriages when I stood behind them. It was either complying or having them fall backwards on top of me."
Julia's lip trembled against her will. She ordered it to be still, but she had to bite it first. "Comply with me. Back away." It was too dangerous.
"But --"
"I do not want to be handled. I do not want to be kissed again either."
"Never? Are you certain? Absolutely certain?" His eyes looked into hers searchingly, but she looked evasive and afraid. "Do not lie to me." He would have to comply if she maintained that.
She stared back for a while. "Do it. Now." She could not believe her ears, but she had said it. She really had.
The admiral was too stunned to do much at first. "Not a good idea," he remarked, seeing too much of her confusion. "If we end up in bed, you will blame me and you will be even more insane doing that."
Julia was shocked and she coloured in embarrassment, but she could not turn back. "What sort of man are you? I said do it!"
"Earn it," he said curtly, releasing her. "I will not be ordered."
She sagged back against the wall as he disappeared through the window.
When Admiral Henson climbed the stairs to go back to his room, a distressing noise reached him. He was taking another flight of stairs to avoid running into anybody, but it appeared that people were up and about in the main corridor. By the sounds of it, one of them was little Julia and she was definitely not happy.
As far as everyone knew, he had gone to bed. He should probably not be seen stalking around the house without his coat and with an expression of frustration on his face. They might wonder what he had been up to. He paused on the landing and peered around the corner. Several people had assembled a little down the corridor and they were looking down at something that lay on the floor. They had no attention for anything happening behind them and he was fortunate that his room was on this side of the commotion.
Keeping his eye on the group, he tiptoed closer and reached his door. Now it might seem as if he had just come out of it. He left it open and joined the group. Apart from Clementine and Julian, he counted four servants and one little girl with a fierce temper. Little Julia lay on her stomach, hitting and kicking the rug with her hands and feet, shaking violently as she gave some of the most piercing screams he had ever heard.
From the relative calmness of the adults he gathered that she was not dying. "What is the matter?" he asked, hoping he would be heard over the racket. This might have happened had he refused to come to Gramma's bed. Now that he saw it before him, he thought they had been very lucky indeed.
Clementine raised her hands in despair. "A battle of wills."
"What does she want?"
"She wanted to go to Aunt Julia, but Aunt Julia has locked her door. I am sure she can hear this, but she will not respond to our knocks. We have tried to explain that we cannot open the door, but Julia will not understand it. She thinks that if she screams loudly enough, Grandma will appear. I do not blame Grandma for not appearing, really," she added in a low voice. "A part of me wishes she will not, so that Julia may learn that she cannot always have her way, but another part of me does not want to see her so sad."
The admiral could guess why Julia was not eager for company, but he wished she would have enough of a heart to look out. He also wished little Julia would not notice him and involve him. It would sound a little suspicious if she began to wail that he ought to be part of the scheme.
Little Julia felt the inefficacy of assaulting the rug, because she pushed herself up and started to assault Grandma's door. "Gramma! Gramma!" she wailed, squeezing out large tears when the door would not open. She turned an utterly despairing face to her mother. "Open? Mama, open!"
It was too much for Clementine. She began to cry. "Julian, do something," she begged.
"Such as?" he asked.
"I cannot bear to see her so sad."
"There is nothing I can do," he protested. "She wants what she cannot have. I am not even certain she is truly sad."
Suddenly the key was turned in the lock and the door was jerked open. Julia appeared. She did not raise her tear-stained face to them, but only pulled little Julia inside roughly. Amazingly, the wailing had stopped the second the door had opened. Then Julia threw the door shut with a loud bang and it was locked again from the inside.
There was silence in the corridor. "What --" Clementine began weakly.
"See, it was all an act." Julian sounded glad he had not done anything. "She was not sad."
"Why was Aunt Julia crying?"
The admiral remained silent. He knew, but he could hardly say it was because he had refused to kiss her. He did not think that was the reason, anyway.
"Perhaps she was on the other side of the door, having a similar fit," Julian suggested. "Come to bed."
Julia had been crying. She had to earn a kiss. He would not be ordered. Whatever had given him the idea that she was yearning for a kiss? Her own words, perhaps. Do it. Now. Yes, that had been rather unmistakable, even if she had not really wanted one at all before she had said so.
She wondered what might have happened if he had complied. He scandalously implied they might have ended up in bed. Would they? True, it was but a few paces to the bed from where they had been standing. From that point of view it was not such an unreasonable thing to say, even if it had not been on her mind.
And would she have blamed him if anything had occurred? She needed no introspection to know that she would. She would never blame herself, hypocrite that she was. It would all be his fault, no matter how she might have participated in any kissing.
She had tried to ignore little Julia's temper tantrum, but eventually that had become impossible. The number of people outside her door had unsettled her, so she had simply pulled the girl inside and closed the door again quickly without speaking.
Inside, she leant against the wall and willed her heart to be still. Little Julia whimpered now and then, but she seemed otherwise recovered from her temper now that she could hold on to her grandmother's nightgown. Julia sagged through her knees in the same manner as when the admiral had left her. She pulled the little girl onto her lap. They sat like that for a while until Julia carried her to the bed.
Admiral Henson wondered if he was the only man in the world who did not take advantage of a woman ordering him to kiss her. Perhaps he should have obeyed that order and seen where it took him. But since she had quite clearly not known what she was saying, that would have been a very bad move indeed. Still, he could fantasise what would have occurred if she had meant it.
The next time, he supposed, would not occur until he had made matters clear. He realised that once again nothing had been clarified. He should have said something about the matter of the mistress, but somehow the conversation had strayed from that instantly. She was not his mistress. What else could he have said? He had no clue she would immediately interpret such a statement to mean she was nothing to him at all.
And when he had asked if she never wanted to be kissed again -- asked if she wanted to be nothing to him at all -- she had insincerely ordered him to kiss her. It would amaze him if she knew what she wanted.
What did he want? He did not want a mistress. He had not even wanted another wife, yet he had kissed Julia before he had been able to change that thought. What could he have said at that moment? Nothing useful. Did she think he did not have to adjust his feelings and expectations?
He had done his thinking now, yet so had she and she had been led to think he was a cad. Well, he would not force himself upon a lady who did not want him. He would not even force himself upon a lady who did not know she wanted him. He must make her realise she wanted him. How that was to be accomplished, he did not know, but very likely it required some patience -- yet if he behaved too patiently and too properly, she would think he was indifferent.
"Women!" he groaned in dismay. They never understood what men were about and as he was discovering, some of them were indispensable.
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