Trying Patience
Chapter Nine
When the morning came, Julia had not come to any conclusions, only to feeling a high degree of self-pity and self-loathing. She was bad, he was bad and they were both bad. That was as much as she could say with any certainty.
She had slept only for a few hours and did not feel rested at all when she woke. She should at least feel glad that he had not disturbed her again, even though the window was still open. This brought on a little curiosity and she stepped outside to see where he had come from. There was no ladder, but she did not know how else someone could climb up. Briefly she recalled the image of him -- coatless, as if to punish her some more -- as he had come into the room.
But this would not do. There was to be no admiration of his physical powers, not until he redeemed himself with regard to his character. She hardened herself against such images, only causing the last image to appear, of his hard look and voice when he had told her to earn it and that he would not be ordered.
Julia threw herself onto her bed with an even greater dislike of herself. She could not possibly have a preference for men who did not want to be trifled with. She could not possibly find something to admire in the most humiliating of his actions.
Her mood was not improved by discovering that little Julia, who had already risen, had not only emptied all of the drawers of her dressing table, but also covered her face as well as the mirror in rouge powder and various lotions.
"Julia!" Julia wailed. "What have you done?"
Julia had been missed at breakfast. Her maid had been in to clean everything up, but Julia had refused the offer of eating in her room because her appetite was for misery and not for food. Clementine came to see her now, alerted perhaps by a concerned word from Hilary.
"Aunt Julia?" Clementine asked hesitantly. "Are you unwell?"
Julia lay and breathed, that was all. She did not feel capable of much else and only let out a heavier sigh in response. It was one of those days that there was a lot of satisfaction in imitating a heroine from a cheap novel -- although those were generally less than half her age.
Clementine sat on the side of the bed and studied her closely for signs of illness. "You were crying last night as well. What is it?"
"Nothing."
"I am sorry for what Julia did."
Although the terrible mess had not improved her mood, she was honest enough to know it had not been the cause of her depressed lethargy. "It is not that. She had no idea what she was doing, the poor thing. She thought she was playing."
"What is it then? I want to help you. You have been out of sorts for a few days now. Do not think I did not notice. Are you tired? Have you been eating properly? Are you coming down with an illness?"
"A humiliating amount of self-loathing," Julia murmured, encouraged by the hands that held hers. "I hate myself."
"Why?" This seemed to surprise Clementine.
"Because I would rather be..." She swallowed as if to remove something that was preventing her from speaking. "Different. And I am old enough to know this will no longer happen because my character is fixed."
"How different would you like to be?"
"I do not want to be misunderstood at every turn."
"Misunderstood? When?"
"You think I disapprove of so many things," Julia said sadly. "Something happens. And I have a reaction. And everybody assumes the wrong thing. And they hate me for that." She disliked herself for sounding so incredibly simple. Such simplicity ought to be easy to change, but it was not.
"I do not know anybody who hates you."
"They disapprove of me then. What is the difference?" She rubbed her eyes. "You would hardly say yes, they hate you. You would want to raise me out of my stupor by convincing me they do not. I have examined my character objectively and --"
"And what?" Clementine interrupted. "You cannot want to change your character. Not you. Why? Have you forgotten everything?"
Julia blew her nose because of that earnestness. She would almost believe it, but of course she could not. "Everything? What?"
"Me. I must love you for that."
"But not because I was so warm and kind to you," Julia said bitterly. She would like to be warm and kind. "And that is why I hate myself. I cannot do what you do. I cannot tell an ill-tempered old woman I love her. I could not even tell her I liked her. I could not even say I did not hate her! I could not even --" But she had run out of possibilities that would not make her ridiculous.
Clementine laughed in spite of herself. She embraced her aunt. "Nobody could tell an ill-tempered old woman that! I do not even know any. I will admit I have been afraid of your judgement, but I have never seen it as anything but absolutely just and correct."
That was but a small comfort. In this particular situation it was no help. "But I would so much like to have opinions that are a little less frightening sometimes. I mean rather, to phrase them in a less frightening manner. Do you understand? I made Julia cry too because she thought I was angry." When in reality she had merely been too tired to laugh.
"You were not?"
"No, I was not. It was simply too much. But that is what I mean. I cannot say what I really feel. You must think I do not feel at all."
Being absolutely just and correct was a compliment, but at the moment it was not a desirable one. She could have obtained her justness and correctness from books, after all, and in some cases she would admit that she had indeed. She knew what was right and she had no trouble in voicing that, but such sentiments did not always correspond to her true feelings. It was so much easier to stick to the standards to which one was supposed to aspire.
And manners -- could that be what he had meant? He must not have a high opinion of her if beneath her refined manners she could be thinking of indecent actions and mistresses with an ease that appeared to astound him, even more so because at the same time she was reprimanding him for his actions. Her hypocrisy could not fail to escape his notice.
Julia gave a sob.
Clementine decided not to relinquish the embrace yet. "Could you tell me about another time that you said something you did not feel or that we misunderstood? I cannot think of any examples. Perhaps you are worrying over nothing."
Julia would rather not think of a very recent example, although it was the first that came to mind. Since she had thought about herself at length, another, more innocent, example was not difficult to find. "I wanted to cry when I first saw Julia. Instead I was cold because I had no idea what you would do. You might have wanted to keep her away from me. I made you cry and I could not bear to stay. I did not dislike you. I disliked myself."
"But that is all forgotten."
"No," she said with a shake of her head. "Because such things will keep occurring. I have not changed. I cannot change." She would continue to be stern and distant. It was far from easy to change the attitude to which she had grown accustomed since her marriage.
"Are you alone? Is she angry? Is she ill?" asked Julian, who was playing another paper game with the admiral. They had been told earlier about one Julia's absence and the other Julia's misbehaviour.
Clementine shook her head. "Not yet."
"But?"
"The imaginary stage may lead to a proper illness," said the admiral casually as he rearranged his ships. "If one tries long and hard enough."
The other two stared at him.
"Some do," he answered curtly, thinking he was having very little luck with his comments lately. Perhaps not being able to speak at all was preferable to saying the wrong things.
If he examined his feelings, he would say he wished she was truly ill and not pretending to be so. He did not like pretence. If she were truly ill, he would be concerned, but he did not want anybody to feign illness in order to avoid him. He had heard the little girl had made a mess, but that could not be playing much of a role. It was what they did. Little girls made messes with objects; big girls made messes of feelings.
"I had come down to say I shall eat my dinner with Aunt Julia this evening," Clementine said to Julian. "I believe it may help."
"What is the matter with her then if she cannot have breakfast, but she can have dinner, except not with us?"
"I cannot tell you. It is a female problem."
"That always very nicely covers any condition that may be feigned at will," Admiral Henson observed cynically. "A man cannot understand the intricacies of the female illnesses, naturally, and thus such vagueness is used as an instrument to manipulate him."
"Admiral," Clementine decided after a few moments of looking nonplussed. "Perhaps, given your insight in women, you should stick to playing with paper cannon balls."
"Was that a rebuke?" he asked when she was gone. He had not really known what to make of that comment. "Do I have any insight or do I not?"
Julian shrugged. "For my part, I wish my aunt a speedy recovery and if we may be kept in the dark as to her precise complaints, so much the better."
"Such reticence is always calculated to make us wonder," the admiral said in dissatisfaction. "And what is this, telling me to stick to playing with paper cannon balls? As if I am too young to understand. Perhaps you have not been married long enough to be acquainted with the so-called female illnesses, but take it from an old man..."
Julian gave him a look that indicated he would much rather continue the game. "I have not the foggiest notion of what you are talking, Henson, and I understand even less of your interest in my aunt's female problems. I will not deny you the pleasure of scientific interest," he said hurriedly. "But I thought we had more interesting things to do here."
"Because, Lenton, they are not female problems," the admiral explained patiently. "Dear me! I should run away if they truly were! No, no, they are inventions. Your wife would never have phrased it thus if it was truly something. You must not so easily be silenced by the mention of female problems, because that is all in their heads and not in their stomachs. If she says female problem, she means we are not allowed to know what it really is because it is nothing."
"If it is nothing, as you say, you cannot wonder at my wish to play on."
"Because it is not really nothing, Lenton. The ladies want something from us if they feign illnesses."
"Our silence. Perhaps she simply advised you to keep quiet because you were being incomprehensible and unfriendly, but I did not take offence, so let us play on."
"Unfriendly?" the admiral huffed. "Unfriendly? I am merely stating the case as it really is. Could we go rowing? I have some excess energy and nobody to take it out on."
Julian stared.
"Obviously I am not good at spending it in a verbal manner." Those words might again prove his point, for he thought of the effects of his words on Julia and he sighed. He ought to stop before he was pressed to give examples. "Before I incriminate myself any further..."
"Oh..." Julian said reflectively. "Your verbal firepower seems considerable nonetheless."
Admiral Henson desperately wished the subject of guns to remain untouched. He was determined not to react. Lenton would all too easily be led to discover what was ailing his aunt. The admiral was inclined to think she had merely suffered a few shots too many. It was really nothing female. It could have happened to anyone he had been provoking.
"Especially on the subject of ladies," Julian continued. "You would like to shoot them all because your wife and daughter were unpleasant."
"Yes, yes. I want to go rowing." He was not interested in hearing a younger man's distorted view of women.
"They are not all the same. Your visit to your daughter is too fresh in your mind. You must stay here for another few weeks to be cured of such notions."
This confidence was annoying. "Lenton, I can and will shoot newly-married gentlemen as well. There are never any stupider men than those who were recently wed. Keep your foolish notions to yourself, for they will not convince me."
Clementine was called away from Julia's bedside by Julian, who spoke to her just outside the room. Julia could still overhear every word, especially because she tried not to make any sound breathing so she could hear them better. She hoped he had come to inquire about her. That would be some consolation. Clementine had been talking to the gentlemen, she knew, but she had not reported what had been said.
"Has there been any improvement?" he asked.
"Not yet," Clementine said evasively.
"I shall walk over to Newman, I think, because Henson deserted me to go rowing. Threatened to shoot me too, because I am newly married and therefore stupid." Julian sounded incredulous and in need of sympathy.
Clementine gave it willingly. "Oh my dear! You are not stupid. But let him shoot you. He is in pain."
Julia wondered why the man should be in pain and evidently Julian wondered the same. "Whatever for? He got rid of the daughter, did he not?"
"He would not be so aggressive if he were happy. Something like that is not easy. Forgive him. Take Julia when you go to the Newmans, so she can play with Thomas."
She returned to Julia's bed a few seconds later, sighing. "Men! If only they could talk."
"What are you talking about?" Julia asked as if she had not heard the conversation.
"The foul-tempered admiral. He does not talk about what is bothering him. He will continue to make bitter comments about women until he learns to talk. I suspect Julian contradicted him and was therefore threatened to be shot -- which, you know, I do not take very seriously. He brought no gun."
Julia groaned at the mention of a gun, but mostly at her -- apparently mistaken -- initial interpretation of it which surfaced again.
"If he had, I am sure he would have shot that daughter with it first, not Julian."
Something else interested Julia. "Is that where the bitter comments about women sprang from?" Perhaps it was not all her fault.
"He was not this foul-tempered before he went, do you not recall? What was it he said again? It was quite fierce. Something about female illnesses being kept vague so as to be used as instruments to manipulate men."
Julia was surprised. "As a man, he is not supposed to know that. Does he not contradict his own argument here?" If he knew, he could not be manipulated -- or simply not anymore.
"Are you ready to stop hating yourself, Your Grace?" Clementine asked, quirking an eyebrow at the suddenly greater liveliness her aunt was displaying.
"I suppose it is a point in my favour that I have never engaged in such a practice," Julia admitted reluctantly. "Although I may discover that I was as hypocritical about this as about everything else." Her spirits sank again.
"Come down to dinner with us," Clementine coaxed. "I do not think the men are equipped with enough conversational powers to make their dinner agreeable at this moment. And you will not feel any better if you stay in bed. There are no distractions here."
Except for the ones who climbed in through the window, but Julia refrained from saying so. "Perhaps. I want to rest now."
Chapter Ten
Admiral Henson had rowed until he was almost incapable of walking back. He was in such a state that the water could never be too cold and he even found it soothing to go in briefly. If he could not cry he could at least try this other method of washing away his agitation.
He staggered more than he walked as he returned to the house. This family, at least, would not immediately think he had fallen out of the boat if he was wet. That was a great advantage. Admirals were not allowed to row their own boats, of course, but that did not mean they had lost so much skill over the years as to capsize instantly. They were nevertheless sufficiently out of practice as to feel pain and fatigue.
He managed to get into the house unseen, although he supposed a wet trail could be traced all the way to his room, so he removed some clothing and wrung it out above a huge potted plant. Before he had come to his door via the back route he had taken, however, his eyes fell upon a heaving bosom he identified a moment later as belonging to the elder duchess.
She was delicate enough to faint at the sight of him, but his exhausted muscles were not quick enough to catch her gracefully. He stood helplessly with her for a moment, but then he gently laid her on the floor and fled. He was rather too conscious of the unconscious Julia in his arms to stay.
He rang his bell and hoped someone would come in response. They would see the half-dead duchess first and take care of her.
Julia had been assisted to her room and Clementine was making her comfortable there.
"What happened?" Clementine asked.
"I fainted, I think." When she had become aware of everything again she had been on the floor, supported by a terrified maid, who had apparently screamed loudly enough to alert Clementine. Although at some point she had remembered what had happened, she had not told them. It was too embarrassing.
Where had he gone? He had not been there anymore when she had opened her eyes and neither the maid nor Clementine had mentioned him. They must not have known he had been there. They seemed anxious about her, worried that she had hurt herself during her fall, but she felt nothing. She must not have fallen then, but he must have managed to catch her.
Clementine's question came from afar. "Why?"
"I do not know," Julia lied, not daring to say it had been because of a half-naked admiral. She saw the image again. What if he had indeed managed to catch her? It was too much to imagine. "My salts -- or I shall go again."
"You have not eaten enough," Clementine concluded. "You must eat something now and you must definitely come to dinner, so we can feed you like a baby if needs be."
"It was not the food." Julia closed her eyes. Perhaps he had done right in leaving her, if a mere recollection was strong enough to make her dizzy again.
"What then?"
"Never mind. Perhaps it was. Go about your business again. I am fine." She leant back and waited until they brought her something to eat. She did not feel weak. If she was left alone she would soon recover from this attack on her senses. It had not been unpleasant, only unexpected.
Their eyes had not met. She had been looking lower than that and she was not sure where the admiral's eyes had been. Everything had gone black before their eyes could meet, but obviously he had been a little unsettled by her fall, or he would have stayed. Or perhaps this kind of behaviour did not earn her any kisses. Julia disgusted herself wondering if he had kissed her without her being aware of it.
Seemingly the person who had come up in response to his bell had forgotten all about him and Admiral Henson was glad for it, since he had had trouble coming up with a justification for ringing. Some hot water, perhaps, but he had already managed without that.
He had never had ladies faint at his feet before. It was a surprisingly odd experience and one he had not handled all that well. He had laid her down and fled! She might have died. She might also have woken and told everybody just why she had fainted and then they would wonder where he had gone. How could he explain himself then?
He could not. Now if she had been shot or otherwise wounded in some visible manner, he would have acted, he supposed. But this, this sudden fall was different. It was some emotional thing, he was sure. He could not have helped, only made it worse, he told himself.
At least he knew she could walk -- until she came upon him. He was dressed now, however, which ought to make a difference. He left his room, glad to see the corridor was now empty, and ran into the other Julia with her two dolls. "Madam," he said with a bow and was surprised to receive a curtsey in return. "You are a well-mannered little thing!"
"Yes," she said without affectation. "I sleeped with Grace and Dolly. Mama made Grace and Dolly."
"Did she?" he asked politely.
"Do you want a doll?"
"No, thank you. I have you!" He came after her.
"Bad man!" she cried in delight, dropping to the floor and sticking her legs into the air.
"Bad man? You like saying that," he said when he had caught her. She did not resist being captured at all, but she snugly nestled herself in his arms. "Bad man! Do you love anybody?"
"I love Mama. I love Papa. I love Gramma. I love you." Her head bobbed up and down earnestly.
"I think it is interesting that bad man is synonymous with lovable man. Is it a family affliction, would you say?" he asked, not expecting an answer.
"Pick up Dolly and Grace," Julia ordered. She was not yet impressed by long words. "They want to go on the pot."
Julia had come downstairs on Clementine's arm. She merely looked withdrawn and reluctant, not ill. She had no idea whether the admiral had told anyone anything after all. They might all know. They might all erupt into shocked snickers.
Julian came to her, looking a little angry. He took her aside. "Auntie Julia, you must not die."
She looked astonished, glad he was saying something that warranted focusing all of her attention on him. Exposure to Admiral Henson should be gradual and gentle. He might have all of his clothes on now, but she had not forgotten. "Die!" she repeated uncertainly.
"You have been unwell." He looked at her in concern. "Chagrined and unpredictable and fainting."
"But I am not dying. Did you say Auntie Julia?" It had sounded a little amusing, as if he was a little boy. His apparent concern was touching and she could not find it in her heart to be so cold with him as to brush him off without a proper reply.
"I cannot remember," he said evasively. "Is that important? And you are not dying?"
She sighed. "No, I am not dying. I --" She had to reassure him without telling him the entire truth. It was difficult. He might ask questions and what could she say then?
"Seemingly I am the only one who does not know what ailed you," he complained. "I did not want to know, but I do not want to be left out."
"Nobody knows but me," Julia assured him. She was a little worried nevertheless, but perhaps they only thought they knew what was wrong with her.
"They say they know," he said with a nod at the other two.
"They cannot. I have not told them and they could never guess." She gave the admiral an anxious glance. He might be able to guess, but by the sounds of it he had kept his guesses to himself.
"It is not a female illness then? Clementine did not lock herself in her room without food. She was not ill. And in all these months that I have been living with you I have never noticed you doing that before either." Julian looked a little confused by it all.
"No, I have not," she admitted. "Why should I start now? Do not worry." She gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was easier than before. She supposed it was the influence of their kissy little relative.
Julian seized the opportunity when the ladies were doing something else. "It was not a female illness."
Admiral Henson looked back at the younger man. "You asked?" he said somewhat incredulously. He had seen them converse, unable as he was to ignore Julia. She had been looking very awkward when she had appeared, but she needed not fear -- he would never tell anyone he had been such an ungentlemanly coward as to flee from an unconscious woman, not in the next year or so anyway. "She answered?"
"Yes, I asked and she answered. I could have known, though, because I have been living with her for several months and I never noticed anything before."
"Are you certain?" asked the admiral. "That this is what you asked?" He would have expected a lady to look reluctant and embarrassed when a gentleman made inquiries of such a private nature, not concerned and sweet. Somehow he doubted he would be treated in the same manner if he asked, but it would not fool him now. The lady was not cold. She might be trying some behaviour with him, but she forgot he could see her interact with her relatives.
"I am very certain. I asked it literally."
Being literal and rough-mannered was evidently allowed in some people, but not in him, the admiral mused. "And what was her answer?"
"Why should she start now, she said. Which is true, because I never noticed anything in the past months. And she said only she knows what is ailing her, but she is not dying."
"You asked if she was dying?" Even he would not have managed to come up with such a pathetic question.
"I would not want her to die," Julian defended himself. "She is my aunt. I do care for my aunt."
And his aunt cared for him, or she would not have given him a kiss to thank him for his concern. Admiral Henson supposed he must be polite rather than jealous and convey some wishes with regard to Julia's health. He did so when she came nearer. "I am happy to see you are no longer unwell," he said with a polite bow. Her reaction surprised him -- she looked suspicious. This was the world turned upside down. People asking blunt and pathetic questions were treated to sweetness and the ones being polite were treated to suspicion.
"Thank you," Julia replied curtly and turned away.
"Excuse me," he said, trying not to betray his indignation. He wanted more than a simple thank you.
She turned back, anxious now.
He could see some fear in her eyes. She was very likely afraid he would mention that he had seen her faint. He would not. "And I was happy to hear you told your nephew you are not dying."
She glanced at Julian, who could hear every word. "Thank you for your solicitude, Admiral, but you knew I was not dying."
"But had you been dying, you would have died," he said, referring to her fainting spell. He did not know how else to apologise for deserting her. Perhaps he was equally pathetic.
"One is not sunk by an attack of the emotional fleet," she responded, understanding that this was a sort of apology. She had one of her own to offer. "It has no guns."
"Fleet?" His eyes brightened upon hearing familiar words. Perhaps pathetic comments did indeed inspire more sympathy. It was extremely sympathetic of her to use such words.
This was evidently the vocabulary to which she must adhere, although she did not know much about it. She remembered he had spoken of a highly organised naval battle. "Not in any sort of formation, Admiral, but from all directions. You would be appalled at its disorganisation."
"Perhaps that is why the attack was not effective? The interests of the various ships were conflicting?" He would like to hear more. She was finally talking.
"Very."
They were informed that dinner was ready and thus they had to leave it at that, for which both were extremely sorry.
"What does everybody say to preventing the young lovers from sending each other passionate glances across the table?" Julian asked cheerfully after leading them into the dining room. "Sit beside me, Clementine." He beckoned a footman as he began to rearrange the table setting.
Julia looked startled, but Julian was all innocence and seemingly not interested in anybody's reaction. Her eyes fell on the one other person who might have shared her suspicions. He was eyeing Julian thoughtfully and this made her think that her initial interpretation was not so far off the mark.
She was to sit beside him now. Earlier she had fainted at the sight of the man and now she was to ask him to pass dishes while keeping her composure. Fortunately he seemed as quiet as she was and not intent on embarrassing her with dangerous conversation. The fleet and the ships had been dangerous enough. To continue speaking of that over dinner would certainly raise suspicions.
She did not contribute to any talk, but fortunately she had the excuse of ill-health -- not an entirely honest excuse, for she would not say she was physically unwell at all. Her fainting had been brought on by something else. The admiral was a beautiful man. A sigh escaped her.
"Not unwell again, Aunt Julia?" Clementine asked in concern.
She blushed and sought to dispel the colour by waving her napkin in front of her face. "Nothing but a distressing recollection."
The admiral thought Julian could not be well entertained by his silence, but he could not help it. The ladies had left the room and it was only the two of them.
"Emotional fleet?" Julian asked when he could contain himself no longer. "What the devil is that?"
"I would like to know that myself," the admiral said calmly. That, he thought, was the best answer he could give. He was not even lying, perhaps only withholding his guesses.
"But you answered her!"
"Reacting to a comment does not always require understanding. One could react in the hopes that she would explain herself. Perhaps she will do so later. I could ask her to play the battle game and then I will ask." He thought about it. Yes. It sounded excellent.
"I thought she threw it into the fire once."
"She made me do that, but if I keep it out of her aquarium I am sure she will not be so inflexible."
Admiral Henson stationed himself at a writing table and began to tear up a sheet of paper. He beckoned Julia. She joined him reluctantly. "Let us play my naval game," he suggested.
She was not going to object to it today. It might be the only opportunity for safe interaction., not to mention that she wanted to use the buttons she had bought. "I am prepared." She retrieved the silver box and placed it before him with a grave expression. "My guns."
"May I?" he asked, curious.
Julian had wandered over and stood watching. Julia was not happy with his presence. She would not be able to talk freely if he sat with them. "Go away, Julian. I can sink the man without your advice."
"I might have wanted to assist him, Aunt," he replied. "I am sure you are a formidable opponent. But, as you wish." He retreated with a smirk.
The admiral still had his hand on the lid of the box, so Julia nodded at him. "Go ahead, have a look."
He opened the box and studied one of the buttons with interest. "These look familiar."
"I know. That is why I bought them to sink your ships." She smiled sweetly.
"Mine? Is that the fleet you were talking about?"
"You command it." She blushed when she realised he might think he commanded her emotions, not the fleet she was going to conquer.
"Name my ships, Dearest," he smiled with an equally sweet smile. It was very good of Lenton to have gone away. He could now address the duchess in whichever way he chose. "Let me see what I command. Write their names on these scraps."
Julia swallowed, but she had to continue her challenge. She was not a weak coward. "Do they not always have lofty names? I am no good with loftiness, but I saw you read poetry. Suggest some." Although this was a game, it would still be too revealing if she identified the feelings she had. It would be easier to follow his suggestions and blame everything on him.
"I do not care for poetry at all, if you must know. HMS Hedonism."
"Admiral! Was that on purpose?" If he was going to suggest names all in that vein, she must protest. It did not fit her. She thought he was serious.
He smiled. "Quite. HMS Respectability. HMS Temptation. HMS Propriety. HMS Indulgence. HMS Virtue. HMS --"
She took over all of his suggestions. "You are doing quite well," she remarked with some surprise. She wondered what he knew or guessed.
"Put your little admiral on the HMS Propriety," he advised.
"Why is my admiral little? Is that because she is female?"
Admiral Henson gave her a patient look. "What you should be asking, my dear, is why your admiral is on one of my ships. You were naming my fleet. But take Propriety as your flagship. I will relinquish my claims on it."
"Did you ever have any?"
He grinned. "When the battle starts you will find out soon enough which ones carry my heaviest guns."
"They are all on Hedonism, I am sure." But she was beginning to doubt it. Perhaps he was merely having a laugh at her expense.
"Fire your buttons at it and find out. Virtue might bite you in the buttum, though, if you do not keep any to guard your stern --" He stopped and pressed a hand to his mouth to hide his laughter. It could not hide the twinkling of his eyes.
Julia thought his amusement was infectious, but she suppressed the urge to smile. There was no good reason for it. "Admiral, you have a very juvenile sense of humour."
"I assure you, only a kindred spirit understands me." He glanced towards the other side of the room, but Julian and Clementine did not appear to be interested in them at all. Little Julia had come in. "I love the buttons."
She pulled a face. "They are absolutely tasteless. Why did you tell the shop girl you were an admiral?"
"What would you prefer -- an answer? Or should I ask you why you went to the same shop to buy the same buttons from the same girl?"
"I had to buy some, but apparently you had made such an impression that Miss Martin could not refrain from mentioning you."
"Perhaps I make an impression without even speaking," he said apologetically. "Some people do that to me as well."
Julia coloured. She did not know whether he was speaking of her and she would rather not ask. "Shall we play? Explain the rules to me."
The rest of the evening passed tolerably well. Again Julian and Clementine retired early. When they announced their intention, the admiral followed suit. Julia was glad for it. Staying behind together after their game would excite suspicions in even the most unsuspicious of minds. Now they all parted politely in the corridor.
Julia was undressed and ready for bed when the admiral appeared. He had come through the door this time because she had forgotten to lock it. His entry startled her and she paused by her bedside. It was but a moment and then she got into bed very quickly, as if that offered some protection from the questions he would undoubtedly have.
"This is very likely a bad idea, but I need to have a serious word with you," he said, advancing towards the bed and dropping to his knees beside it.
She had no wish to talk and to end up feeling embarrassed and mortified, but he seemed determined and patient. Hiding under the covers would not work. Even little Julia could find her there and the admiral would still be intent on talking to her. He knew that a blanket did not impair her hearing. Really, the only option seemed to be to kiss him. That was more agreeable than talking and hopefully it would put him off asking any questions at all.
It proved surprisingly easy to accomplish.
It was not exactly what Admiral Henson had come for, but some offers should not be declined, especially not if they came from the lovely duchess. He vaguely remembered saying that kisses ought to be earned, but that sentiment had been voiced at a moment that she had been at her most irrational. Her desire to kiss seemed genuine now -- and he was still more a man of action than of endless conversation.
Chapter Eleven
"I hate myself," Julia complained when she woke, despite a lingering sensation of having been well-loved. This situation was a little beyond a kiss, however, and she had only barely reconciled herself to the aftermath of the kiss.
Admiral Henson opened one eye. "I do not."
"I do not care about you," she said in distress.
He opened both eyes now and ascertained her seriousness. She was not speaking words anyone liked to hear, even people who allowed her to have some hesitation. If he could think how his words were received, so could she. "My companion was unforced and willing. Do not trifle with me, Julia. I do not take it well."
"I do not take this well either."
With one movement he was out of the bed. "You are just like her," he said bitterly. "And not one word while it was going on! You have used me ill."
"Used you?" Julia gasped. She struggled with the blanket and ran after him, stopping him just before the door. She placed herself between him and the door to prevent him from leaving.
"We should not be talking," he said after a few moments during which he carefully straightened his clothing and hers. "Thinking, feeling, but not talking."
"You think very little of what I feel," she said with a constricted throat. She loathed herself and he did not even seem to care about that.
"On the contrary. It is constantly in my thoughts. Step aside, Julia. Do not make it worse." Not for him and not for herself. Her words hurt him. If he did not want to start believing her, he should go.
But he could not simply go away! She was appalled. "I will talk to my nephew and he will --"
"Talk to your nephew!" he exclaimed with some contempt. "Do not make such idle threats."
"It is not an idle threat!"
"You cannot put anything into words and you know it. Really, the last thing I ought to fear is your talking to somebody about your feelings. I am rather more concerned at your having any at all." He opened the door and forced her to step aside. "Enjoy the rest of your morning, Your Grace."
His anger had subsided long before he reached the boathouse. Lenton had a perfect outlet here for frustrated feelings, he thought, although he doubted that Lenton himself used the boat for such purposes. He was thoroughly content with his wife and she with him.
He had taken the boat out himself now, which was a pity. There was no option but to wait until it became available. A greeting disturbed his pleasant recollections a while later and he looked up. "Ah, good morning to you too."
"You did not see me coming."
"I was dwelling on my sins," he said gravely.
"Sins?" Julian snorted. "You need to dwell some more, because they still seem to give you much pleasure."
They undeniably did, but he could not elaborate on them and reveal their nature. "That is why I was waiting for your boat, to punish myself until I am in pain."
"Is that really necessary? What sort of sins could you possibly have?"
"We may disagree, but I consider it necessary to punish myself."
It was his fault. He had gone too fast and she had not been able to follow. Caught up in the moment, it had seemed as if she could, but he should have stuck to what he had come for and talked to her. She really did not like talking, did she? She had kissed him to avoid it. He should have realised that when she had made her bold move, but he did apparently not possess the self-control required to reject an offer that had been sincere at that moment. Had she even spoken at all?
But he did not give up hope. Even to escape talking one did not kiss gentlemen one abhorred. Julia would come to see that too, with or without his assistance. She was reasonable. As for the rest that had occurred, he would take all of the blame for that, although he did not see why she should be hating herself if he did not. If he had hated her, this would never have happened.
Julia did again not leave her apartments. She felt she was a coward, but she really needed some time alone. There were guests coming to dinner and she would be forced to come out later. Everything had to be dealt with before then, from sorting out her feelings to sorting out her bed linen. The guests must not notice anything amiss and neither must the servants.
He had said he was not sure she had any feelings. She did, too many. How could he say so, after he had called her a woman of strong feeling days ago? He must have been referring to her inability to put those feelings into words. She could not argue with that, but was he any better? He had not said anything to her either -- well, nothing that had not pertained to the situation directly at hand. But there was always the dilemma of who was to begin and who was to run the first risk of rejection, she supposed.
After an hour or two, she asked for little Julia to be brought to her, but she was informed that little Julia was with the admiral in the nursery. That required some more thinking.
Admiral Henson was not entirely surprised to see Julia. Her maid had been in a while ago to look for little Julia. It surprised him more that she planned to stay, rather than take the little girl away to her rooms. She could not have come to talk, not in front of the little girl. But if she wanted, he would do his best to speak in such terms that little Julia could not understand.
They were seated at the table, as were Grace and Dolly, which Julia discovered when she accidentally wanted to sit on one of them. She had not seen the doll at all.
"No!" little Julia cried. "That is Grace's chair!"
"I am sorry. Could Grace sit in my lap?" She did not want to be sent away because of Grace, yet she knew well enough that Grace was almost a proper person, especially if she even had her own chair.
"Grace, you want to sit in Gramma's lap?" little Julia inquired and she appeared to listen to her doll. "Grace says no."
"Have my chair," the admiral offered politely when he perceived Julia's befuddled expression. He pushed his chair back.
Julia, thinking he wanted her to sit in his lap, looked hesitant. She ought not to feel that tingle, not right now.
"Oh, Julia!" he said, standing up. "Sit!"
She blushed and sat down. There her feelings were misinterpreted again. He assumed she would not like it, but she would.
Without consulting little Julia's wishes, he lifted her from her chair and placed her in his lap. "Let us place you a little higher so that you can see your pupils even better. We were playing school."
"School?" Julia echoed. "She is but two. She does not know what school is. Did you tell her that?"
"Now we go in the boat," little Julia decided, having enough of school already. "With Ammiral."
Not yet! Julia did not want to be thwarted yet. "I thought she could say Admiral with a D."
He shrugged. "She is not the only young lady who prefers to stick to the appellation she used in the beginning."
That was meant for her, she knew, and she coloured. But she was not a young lady. How could he so easily mix compliments with criticism?
"I have no objections to the other thing," he said, lifting the little girl up. "Anywhere. Let us go rowing. Will you come, Julia? I warn you. I might take something off." He had to be honest with her. If his clothes got wet, he might choose to remove them. She could not vent her disapproval if he had warned her beforehand.
Julia looked at him. He spoke as coldly as when he had said she must earn her kisses and his gaze was not much warmer. It was not inviting. "I am not coming."
"Right," he said. "Kiss your grandmother, Julia." He held the little girl close enough for a kiss and then he leant in himself. She did not move away. "Stay," he said a bit gruffly after he had kissed her. "I would take too much off if you came."
Julia had to grab the back of the nearest chair for support. "I thought..." She did not really know what she wanted to say. Perhaps that she had thought he was angry with her, but his eyes were much warmer now, much warmer. He was not angry with her at all.
"A big kissy," little Julia remarked with interest.
"Which you did not see."
"I am sorry," the admiral said, touching Julia's cheek. "I wanted to have a serious word with you last night, but you..."
"Yes." She knew what she had done. She had kissed him, not once, but every time he was about to speak. He had not objected to that, but she had discovered that while talking and kissing could not take place at the same time, kissing and other things could.
"So ... I should try again tonight." He looked a little hesitant.
Her eyes opened wide. "Again. But I now know you can --" She glanced at her granddaughter, who was listening with an intelligent look.
"A serious word," he stressed. "Unless...?" He did not think he had misjudged her attitude to such an extent, however. No, she would not choose the same alternative to talking again.
"A serious word," she said quickly.
"Was it...?" He should have phrased that differently. Now she would not know what he was asking. "I --"
Her face felt unbearably hot. "Oh, do not ask me. I am not supposed to have any opinion on it." And she was certainly not supposed to voice it.
"I ask you regardless," he said, giving her a searching look. "You must tell me next time." And then he was off, carrying little Julia on his arm.
"Next time?" Julia said to Grace and Dolly. "Next time we see each other? Next time we...? What?" But they gave no answer, their button eyes and curving mouths giving the impression of a knowing smirk.
"I strongly recommend that you try to give Julia a brother or sister," Julia said to Clementine. Something had been on her mind too much. She had tried to do some work, but she had ended up pacing through the house until she came across Clementine.
"This continuous exposure to adults cannot be good for her," she continued. Everybody kissed too much in the little girl's presence. She would begin to think that normal. She needed children to play with.
"Oh."
"It might be a little distressing, but..." She was no longer certain whether it was supposed to be distressing or not. Perhaps Clementine had some opinion on it that she was willing to share -- without realising why, naturally.
"Distressing," Clementine repeated.
"It might be a little distressing to suffer such attentions a little more often for a while, but it need only be until you have conceived." She spoke soothingly, hoping this would draw out a comment.
Clementine stared.
Her frank amazement caused Julia to blush and wonder if she had said anything impertinent. She hoped she was not yet transparent, repeating what she had been told all those years ago. "If you increase the chances of that occurring..."
"Aunt Julia, I do not suffer."
Surprisingly, Julia was seized by a panic upon hearing that. She could not betray her discomfort, but tried to stay calm, returning to the viewpoint she had been explaining when she would much rather ask a question. "Well, you are a very considerate girl, so you would realise the necessity of the imposition."
"I do realise the necessity of the imposition, as you call it, but I doubt that my reasons would merit any approval from you."
"I do not have the pleasure..." Julia said faintly.
"That is obvious. Forgive me." Clementine looked regretful and contrite. "I meant to say we have different reasons for thinking it necessary."
"I did not have the pleasure of understanding you," Julia corrected herself stiffly. "What are your reasons?"
"I did have the pleasure."
Julia felt she never should have brought up this topic. Again her cheeks were burning, much like earlier that day during another conversation. That answer threatened to collapse the structure of the arguments she had been using to convince herself she was bad.
"You will think I should not have," Clementine said quietly. "Because that is what they always say. Did they tell you too? And to think I feared you thought I enjoyed it more than I ought! I had no idea you did not even know any enjoyment was possible." She looked at her aunt with a mixture of pity and sympathy.
Julia wanted to hide. The subject mortified her, even though she had initiated the conversation, but that look did so even more. "It is not," she maintained stubbornly, knowing she was a fool. The girl said it was possible. She would not lie. "At best it is not too --" but there she halted.
"Oh lord," muttered the admiral, who happened to have overheard a trifle more than was proper. He knew he should have walked away, but he had been interested. Before the lady began to contradict herself or give herself away, he should interfere. His name could be included in any revelations. "Forgive me for having overheard," he said, pushing the door open wider to reveal himself.
Julia looked dangerously close to having a seizure of sorts and even Clementine blushed.
He ought to make a comment about enjoyment, if only to rescue Julia. She exposed herself to anyone but him, did she not? Both ladies were clearly waiting for him to speak, but he could not come up with anything quite so quickly. Most of what he had to say about enjoyment would give everything away.
"Those fortunate Navy wives," he said eventually, attempting to keep his tone neutral and light, but he felt it ended up slightly bitter.
Julia had her fit, but Clementine looked more astonished than scandalised. She was wiser than to speak and left the room after a short deliberation, but it was clear that she took the matter of the fortunate Navy wives rather literally.
The admiral regarded Julia quietly. Her breathing was ragged and audible, but he thought she suffered only from mortification and embarrassment. "I am sorry if you did not..." he gestured.
"No!" she said, getting up with alacrity. "Do not be. I did not dislike it very much." She gave him no time to react, because she left the room before he could digest what she had said.
It was his turn now to nearly have a seizure.
She had said it. She really had. It had been as bold as when she had ordered him to kiss her and he had not believed her then. Would he believe her now? She had preferred not to wait and find out.
Julia studied herself in the mirror in the hall. She might not have betrayed it, but she had not found it unpleasant. He seemed to have apologised in case it had not been to her liking, so he must have been pleased to hear her verdict. She wondered why she was lingering in the hall, as if she was waiting for him to come after her. He might not. He would think she had left.
She rearranged her hair twice, her collar once and took off her necklace, but then she had trouble fastening it again and she cursed her silliness.
He appeared eventually.
Julia wondered if she could call on him for assistance. That might appear as contrived as it really was. She gave him a glance and tried again. There was even less of a chance of succeeding now.
"Do you need help?" he asked.
"Er..." She hesitated. She did need help and she should not be stupid. "Please." His fingers were cold and she jumped.
"I am sorry," he said, pulling the necklace back a little so he could no longer brush against her neck. "You were nearly the death of me there, Julia."
"Where? Oh. There." She looked into the mirror and met his eyes. "Was I not allowed to return the favour?"
Julia had a fanciful notion that this was the perfect moment to do her a favour by proposing something or other that involved respectability, but the admiral seemed to be content to stare at her and fiddle with the clasp of her necklace. It was pleasant, she could not deny that, but it was not entirely fulfilling.
"I do not know," he said when he heard some sound behind him, "how one fastens this clasp without choking you. How did it come loose?"
"I ... er ... did that myself so I could stay here," she confessed. "Which is really --"
"I really should have a serious word with you this evening, Julia," he said softly.
"Why this evening?" she asked, seeing Clementine somewhere behind her in the mirror. If he had anything respectable to say, Clementine would hear about it sooner or later. He might as well do it now.
"Because this is not the right moment, would you not agree?" He removed the necklace entirely and studied it with great attention.
"Well..." Clementine was not yet interrupting them, Julia saw. He had plenty of time. "And why is she not allowed to know?"
"There are matters we cannot discuss in front of her," the admiral said, evidently mastering the skill of fastening the clasp. "Got it! Because I have never discussed them with anyone and I hope I never shall. I will make an exception for you, but not here."
She frowned. "What --"
He fastened the necklace around her neck again. "That. Now keep it on." He stepped back. "I do not wonder at ladies having maids for that task."
Clementine had approached now and she gave them an odd look, as if she was trying to guess what they had been talking about. "Had I mentioned we shall have guests this evening?"
He smiled at her. "I think so. They arrive between six and seven. Time to change for you ladies, considering how long it takes to put a mere necklace on -- and one must probably allow enough time to try out several."
"One must look one's best for the steward and his wife," Julia said condescendingly.
"If they are good friends, they will have seen you undecorated," he commented, wondering as he spoke if this made him a good friend. He had seen her in her nightgown. That was fairly undecorated, though no less lovely.
"That is what I meant," she said, wondering if Clementine thought something else. There was an odd look on her face.
"Ladies," he bowed. "I shall retire to change."
Chapter Twelve
"Did the admiral take up the subject?" Clementine inquired curiously when the gentleman was out of sight.
"If so, would I tell you?" Julia answered, raising her eyebrows. She tried to be haughty and dismissive again. It might still work, even if she had told the girl yesterday that it was an act.
"You did not faint, I hope."
"I did not. I stayed quite calm, given the circumstances. I must stress that what he overheard was nothing for which a lady could be reproached." Although his pride might have been a little wounded by her implication that she had disliked that he had stayed with her, she had corrected that, she believed. "That does not mean I think you ought to be reproached," she added hurriedly. "But perhaps we could be reproached for speaking of it."
"Just as he could be reproached for eavesdropping," Clementine said with a mysterious smile. "And for embarrassing us, which I am sure he knew very well was going to happen when he stepped in. What was he doing to your necklace?"
"He saw I was having trouble fastening it. It had come loose in my nervousness. The topic, you see. I was fiddling." That was not haughtiness; that was rambling. She wondered what Clementine knew or suspected. Perhaps her words and her smile were a pure accident and she had seen something in their attitudes.
"On another matter of proper behaviour for ladies -- do you think it beneath us to invite the Newmans?" Clementine wondered.
That, at least, was a simple question. "I do not."
"But you said --"
"I do not always say what I mean!" Julia cried and stalked off. She was angry that she was still not succeeding at making herself clear. She was never going to manage. "I told you."
Admiral Henson was determined not to visit Julia's rooms, as tempting as it was to have a serious word with her instantly. He would stay in his own and change. Rowing with little Julia had not got him wet, but he would have to wear something more suitable for a small evening party.
"Admiral," said Beckett after clearing his throat. "Was the young lady demanding again last night?"
The admiral paused for a moment. He recalled that he had already been up that morning when Beckett had come and although he had lain on his bed, it had never looked as if he had lain in it. Beckett would have concluded that he had not slept here, but he had not said anything that morning. "Did you spend all day wondering about that?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"Which young lady are you talking about here?" Beckett would remember little Julia, whereas he was inclined to remember big Julia. Both young ladies could be demanding in their own particular way, he supposed, but apart from insisting on kissing him he would not say the eldest had been very demanding last night. He did not yet know whether that might change if she was more at ease.
"I could not begin to guess, but I took the liberty of telling the maid you occasionally had problems sleeping because of night watch."
"Night watch. The maid?" He supposed that was the chambermaid who had come to make his bed. She must be rather ignorant if an excuse about night watch satisfied her curiosity.
"You cannot not sleep in your bed without anybody noticing," Beckett said with a discreet cough. "The other time you came back."
"I came back this time too."
"But you did not sleep anymore, so I think it was in the morning. You have never done this before, but you must realise that the servants do talk, Admiral."
He had never imagined it otherwise, although he had had more important things to think about that morning. One did not wake up with Julia only to think about servants. "What do servants talk about?"
"Obviously they will not speak about you or gossip in general in my presence," the valet said condescendingly. "But I have had a word from Jones, the duke's man, and he suggested that I warn you to be cautious."
"How does he know anything about anything?" And what did the duke know? But that would be a desperately pathetic question, so he did not ask it.
"He likes Hilary, who assists the ladies, and she whispered something in his ear about caution."
"Indiscreet, is she?" He would have to tell Julia about that.
"No, Admiral. Observant."
"Is her mistress as observant about her, or is she allowed to whispered niceties in the ear of Mr. Jones? Seriously, Beckett. Shall I whisper some niceties in the ear of her mistress?"
"The duke and the duchess share a set of rooms, Admiral. According to Jones, when they dress in the same room, he is practically back to back with Hilary if she is assisting Her Grace's maid."
He frowned. "They dress in the same room? She wants him there? He wants her there?" As he spoke he shook his head. He did not have to ask. He was already imagining sharing his rooms with a particular someone, seeing her dress. Or undress. That would be something. Yes, of course the duke and the duchess shared rooms.
Beckett said something.
The admiral was still imagining holding an amiable conversation with an undressing lady who did not mind at all that he was there. She was not fainting or scolding him for being half undressed either. "Mmm."
"What did you say, Admiral?"
That shook him out of his reverie. "Did you say anything?"
"Yes, I asked what you said because I could not catch it. It sounded like mmm, but that could not be." Beckett folded clothes in a most innocent manner.
"Perhaps it was, but then in a less silly tone of voice."
"Admiral..."
"Yes, Beckett?" He was going to be reproached for that appreciative sound, he knew. He never should have let it escape him.
"If you say mmm and look dreamy, you should not expect to be keeping your preference a secret for much longer."
Admiral Henson looked appalled at having looked dreamy. He was certain that was a figment of Beckett's imagination. "If even the lady herself is not aware of it, how could others know?" That might not entirely do her justice, for he thought she did know, but she seemed hesitant to trust in it.
Beckett looked exasperated at this apparent naïveté. "I do not suppose anybody told you that ladies of quality exist only to provide some indolent idiot with a hostess and an heir, and that often the indolent idiot does not have any preference for her, so that when the idiot dies, she has no idea what to do with herself."
The admiral narrowed his eyes. He did not like the picture sketched. "Beckett, you make me want to elope with her." There was life after idiots and heirs.
Julia was wondering where and when Admiral Henson was going to have a serious word with her that evening. She did not know how long the guests would be staying, but since they did not have far to go, they might stay a while. After that he would still have to talk to her and she should take care not to kiss him. There was no predicting what he might do, though, because he had given her a kiss in the nursery as well.
She recalled what he had said. There were matters he could not discuss in front of Clementine because he had never discussed them with anyone and he hoped he never would. What could those matters be, if he was willing to make an exception for Julia alone? That, he had said, but although she had interpreted that to refer to last night, she could not be certain.
Although she had of course already thought about it for hours, she was willing to think about it some more now that she had spoken to him. He was not angry with her. She knew that now and it made a difference. At least one element of awkwardness would be removed from their future meetings.
Hilary was in a good mood, since her mistress had become increasingly interested in dressing to advantage again. "I am very happy that you have taken to wearing all of your clothes again, Your Grace."
Julia regretted with a sigh that she was not witty. It would have been an excellent moment to come up with a suitable rejoinder, but she could not come up with words quickly enough to voice what she was thinking. Then it struck her that someone else might be pleased if she did not wear all of her clothes and she gurgled.
"Colours are so much better," Hilary continued. "You really must not worry that it is too soon."
"You meant my entire wardrobe. It was also possible to think you meant I had been going around half dressed, which I do not think I did."
"Yes, your entire wardrobe," said Hilary, pinning up her mistress' hair. "I would never say anything if you went around half dressed, unless someone would hold me responsible."
"Very kind of you."
"And this gown I had thought of, Your Grace, it is a bit low-cut, but I thought of a very nice necklace to go with it."
"Low-cut. Oh." Apparently she was not too old for that then.
"The necklace will fill the gap and draw the attention away."
"Oh. What is the point of a low-cut gown if I need to wear a necklace to draw the attention away from the cut?" Julia wondered.
Clementine joined her a little later. She was already dressed, yet it looked as if something had been on her mind. "I am so sorry!" she began.
"Has dinner been cancelled? Should I not have bothered to change?" Julia asked. She was selecting a bracelet and she was glad Hilary had already left her.
Clementine burst forth in the middle of a thought, it seemed. "Navy wives really are fortunate."
"Yes, their husbands rarely bother them," Julia said coolly, not looking forward to a rekindling of this particular subject.
"That is not what I meant!"
"But it is what he meant." His remark had been not been a boast, far from it. Perhaps she felt as sorry for him as Clementine was feeling for her.
"But a beautiful husband is no bother."
Julia chose a bracelet and returned the others to their box. She replaced the box in one of the drawers. The last things she needed were thoughts of beautiful husbands. Perhaps those thoughts would not be dispelled before their guests arrived. She tried a sobering comment. "Blow out the candle and he might as well be ugly."
"He should be beautiful and sweet."
"And most of them are neither." She checked her appearance in the mirror. Her cheeks should return to their normal colour shortly. "Come. I am ready."
Clementine took her arm after a sort of half embrace. "Will you at least believe my situation?"
"I am happy for your situation. Truly. But you need not feel sorry for me. There are more rewarding things in life than beautiful and sweet husbands, things that yield a return."
The Newmans and the Pritchards were invited to join the company for dinner. Mrs. Newman was the only soul who knew a little of the truth, save for the couple involved. Julia was resolved to seek her out for a little chat, but it was difficult. Mrs. Newman was Clementine's friend and it was logical that they would speak first.
She was fortunate that the admiral did not come downstairs until the Newmans were announced. He did not have many opportunities to look at her gown and she did not have many to see whether he was looking. She caught only one glance, but it told her she was not too old for this gown.
Julia kept her eye on the introductions and she could see that Mrs. Newman underwent being introduced to Admiral Henson with more interest than was usual for her. Studying him objectively, she would agree that he was very agreeable to look at. No lady would mind glancing at him during an introduction, even one as shy as Mrs. Newman. It might not be because Julia had told her things about him.
Eventually Mrs. Newman was free to be spoken to and Julia made her move as unobtrusively as she could. "Have you started on the patterns yet?" she asked without really caring for the answer at this moment.
"I have been looking through them," Mrs. Newman replied, blushing as she usually did when she was addressed in company, no matter who spoke to her.
Julia took her by the arm and led her to the aquarium. "That is him!" she whispered unnecessarily. Although she had recognised this silly phase in girls, she had not gone through it herself and now she wondered if it had merely been delayed. Perhaps those who were not afflicted when they were young, were hit when they were old. She was outdoing the average eighteen-year old in silliness here and if Mrs. Newman encouraged her in any way, she could imagine herself breaking into nervous giggles. It was horrible.
"I suspected as much. He looks to be a very fine gentleman."
That could not be denied. A glance at the gentleman in question confirmed it. Surprisingly his horrid buttons looked very well on his coat. From a distance once could not see the anchors. "Yes ... he is."
"Is there any news?"
"Only more scandal," Julia answered, half cringing.
"More of the same or worse?"
"The worst that could happen, I think. It is a wonder that I dare to appear in company." Well, she was a coward who dreaded the inquiries she would receive if she did not.
Mrs. Newman considered that. Save for a faint blush she did not look overly shocked. "In the worst case he would no longer be here, Your Grace."
"True and I am really a saint," she commented, failing to suppress her sarcasm. But perhaps Mrs. Newman had a point. He had stayed.
"Nobody ever said you were not. How do you feel?"
"I suppose you could be right and he would no longer be here if he really could not be trusted," she admitted grudgingly. "But I wish he would put me out of my misery quickly."
"How?"
"He should marry me," she heard herself say. It was really the only solution. "People have been forced to marry over less."
"But would you like to be married to him?" Mrs. Newman inquired. "Could you live together? I understand you cannot yet live with what you have done, or you would prefer not to, but could you live with him?"
Julia looked as if she had not yet thought about that very much. "Well, I must." He did not possess the faults her first husband had had. Undoubtedly he would have some of his own, but she was almost certain that the admiral would remember he had a wife, which would be a good start.
"Do not press him if marriage would make you unhappy. Given that nobody knows, you would only have one moment to be unhappy about. If marriage gave you unhappiness every day..."
"It would not. I think." It was probably to be preferred over feeling wanton. She would be respectable. Why did Mrs. Newman think she could forget that one moment?
"You are not certain?" Mrs. Newman gave her a faint smile.
"Not yet." If becoming certain took some time, saying she was certain took even more. She could hardly say she was certain if she did not know he was. A difference of opinion there would be mortifying.
"But how could you expect that of him? I assume you have met more gentlemen than he has met ladies, since you have never been away on a ship full of women."
"Well..." Julia could not remember him saying anything positive about other women, so perhaps that was true. If she needed some time, so would he. "Yes, I suppose you have a point. It must all be much clearer than it appears to me, is that not so?"
"We are not in the middle of it."
"We? Please do not tell me everybody else is aware of it." Her eyes darted around the room, but nobody was looking at them.
"Oh, no. My husband thinks he knows a little, but I have not told him what you told me. He is basing his suspicions on his own observations."
"How awful," Julia said sincerely. "I am obvious. Did he by any chance mention encounters of a scandalous or non-scandalous nature?"
"He did."
She winced. "Of course he would. In which context? I suppose he did not provide any. It is more entertaining to leave that out." The steward was perceptive as well as easily amused.
"He thought it amusing that you of all people would admit to requiring them, the scandalous ones."
"Me of all people. Requiring them," Julia repeated weakly. Her reputation was such that people considered it amusing, not scandalous? "I admitted no such thing. I only said I would not be enticed to marry someone I had merely encountered a few times, which is not entirely the same thing. I did not even mention a name."
"But could you blame him for speculating? Or for telling me?" Mrs. Newman looked a little anxious for her husband's sake. "He knows I do not talk. It must reassure you to know that he would not be shocked if there were some truth in it, which I did not tell him there was. He knows what might happen between people in a house. As soon as he felt something might happen, he told me and we were married in three weeks."
"Ah, he spoke to you. That is a crucial difference."
The admiral slowly circled the room, observing the gathered party. The room had an air of friendliness and ease, not of fashion or stiff manners. One was a neighbouring family of good standing, he understood, and the other was Lenton's steward and his wife. Julia was speaking to the wife now, but they had walked away a little and he supposed they did not want to be overheard.
"Did you like this neighbourhood so much that you came back for another visit?" Mr. Newman interrupted the admiral's observations.
"Er ... yes, I liked it very much indeed and it happened to be on my way exactly."
"You were on the river, I heard."
"Excellent place, the river," the admiral agreed. He wondered if anything was wrong with it. Perhaps other guests never ventured there, or not alone. Well, he could be trusted on the water. "When was I seen?" He hoped it was not when he had waded in to rescue Clementine.
"This morning. My son wanted to go fishing."
The admiral rounded his lips soundlessly as something occurred to him. "I hope I did not scare all your fish away. I was going rather fast and I never saw you."
"Thomas never catches very much anyway. He is only four," Mr. Newman smiled. "He never leaves the net in long enough for anything to be caught. He scares the fish away himself."
Although Admiral Henson perceived a great resemblance to life, he did not voice it. He had been going rather fast and he had quite possibly scared something away. It became more necessary all of a sudden that he do something about this, for she could well think he was fishing. It was imperative not to postpone that serious word. "I am sorry," he said to Mr. Newman when he realised he had been silent. "Yes, that is how they do it."
"Do you have any children?"
"Not anymore," he answered curtly. "I ... er ... severed the connection. That is why I came back so quickly."
"Such things happen," said Mr. Newman neutrally. "I am sorry to hear it."
"But I will adopt the duke and the duchess."
"And Julia."
The admiral had no idea to which Julia he was referring, although the steward had begun to look too mischievous to be trusted. It could not hurt to repeat him in agreement. "And Julia."
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