The Arrival of Cal’s Brother
Julia’s shoes crunched on gravel as she rushed toward her car, her mackintosh flapping around her. She would drive like the wind to Lilac Farm—
She stopped abruptly, almost skidding on the drive. Walking away from the house toward the converted stable-garage were two men. One was Cal, wearing his rough sweater and trousers, the sweater spattered with paint. The shorter, portly man walking at his side wore a dapper suit. They hadn’t gone yet—or were they returning?
Her heart lodged in her throat. Julia hurried up behind them as the man stuck out his hand to Cal. “If you change your mind about selling, give me a call, my lord. I want that piece of property. Several hundred acres. I could do a lot with that.”
Cal shook the short man’s large hand. “I’m sorry to have wasted your trip, but things have changed and I’m not planning to sell yet.”
“These places can’t survive and that’s a fact. The future is in men like me,” the large man crowed. “The self-made men. It was soap for me. Then locomotives. Love the iron horses and they’ve made me rich.”
“I’m glad I could at least help your wife’s charity.”
“My Dora is a saint. Your contribution is very generous, my lord. As is your offer to sponsor me at your club. Damned hard to break into those places and my Dora is set on seeing our Annabelle married to a titled man. I don’t suppose—”
“Sorry, Mr. Morgan, but I’m already promised to someone.”
“Too bad. Annie comes with a dowry big enough to sink a ship.” With that, the large man left.
Cal met her gaze. He looked guilty. She felt ready to spit fire. Yet the first thing that came out of her mouth: “I had no idea you’re engaged.”
“I’m not. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t try to sell me Annabelle.”
She smiled—just for a moment—then exclaimed, “Were you going to sell Lilac Farm to that man?”
He grimaced. “I’d made the arrangements before we went to London. I forgot to cancel the meeting.”
“You changed your mind?” She barely dared to hope.
“Until I find out what happened to those women, until I get justice for them, I don’t want to start carving up the estate.” His blue eyes held hers. “And I promised you I’d wait if you posed for a portrait. I’m still waiting for your answer.”
“I haven’t even been able to think about that. A portrait doesn’t seem so important now. But you are right to wait until we know the truth. You do agree that we have no proof yet that anyone from Worthington was involved. Not real proof. Americans believe in justice, do they not? That is what you sought when you came here—justice for your parents, especially your mother. Don’t condemn without proof. And what of the Brands—haven’t they suffered enough? You can’t throw them out of their home—”
“I’m not going to do that,” he growled. “I’m going to look for evidence, find the truth. If someone on the estate murdered those girls, they must have buried—” He broke off. “Sorry, that’s not something you discuss with a lady.”
She lifted her chin, fighting to be strong. “I have had to face tragedy. And I’m not afraid of the truth. I would rather have that than have secrets. But how can evidence be found now, so many years later?”
“There are things than can be found. Even years later.”
His face hardened as he said that. She knew what he meant—bodies. The spade in the boot of the car, encrusted with dirt. A man with a motorcar could have driven miles to find girls to flirt with, to lure into his vehicle. But why would that spade be left in the boot of Anthony’s car?
He could have been helping with planting on the estate. He could have used it when they were searching for the girls. Or perhaps he had some other perfectly innocent reason for it.
Or perhaps someone else had put it there.
“You’re pale. Let me take you back to the house, Julia. You don’t need to worry about this.”
“Cal, I can’t just not think about this. I have to know!” She paced in a circle, feeling so tense she might burst. “I should see Ben, see how he is. I should be driving to the hospital to see Ellen. I should ensure the police constable is hunting for the man who hurt Ellen. But all I could do this morning was think of this—of whether Anthony had done this horrible thing.”
“The photograph,” Cal said suddenly.
She stared at him, confused. She saw the bristle of whiskers along his jaw. He hadn’t bothered to shave.
“I found a photograph in my bedroom—it had fallen under the wardrobe. It was of a dark-haired girl wearing a corset. Signed ‘to A.’”
“To Anthony? But why would that have been in your bedroom? Anthony never used that room. He was never the earl.”
“I know. But the picture was there. And Sarah Brand had dark hair. Her mother confused you for Sarah.”
“Sarah had black hair and blue eyes. We were of a similar height. I think her mind wants to believe I’m Sarah, when she sees me.”
“Would you know if it was Sarah in the picture?”
“I suppose so.”
Cal ran off, suddenly, sprinting to the house. She followed, hurrying as fast as her low heels and trim-fitting tweed skirt would allow. By the time she reached the door, he was already coming back out. Frowning. “He burned the photo,” he said.
“Who did?”
“Wiggins,” he growled. “Maybe he knew the girl Sarah Brand and he was protecting the family.”
“Protecting them?”
“Maybe he knows Anthony Carstairs was driving Sarah around. Or maybe he knows what Anthony did to her—”
“We don’t know Anthony did anything!” she cried. “It could have been someone else. Someone else could have used that motorcar and left the spade in it. There could have been some other reason. I want proof before I think of the man I loved as a—a murderer!”
She spun away from Cal, to go to her motorcar.
His hand wrapped firm around her arm—firm but gentle, forcing her to stop. “You aren’t driving anywhere. Not upset like this.”
“I am going to go to Lilac Farm. You can drive me there if you wish.”
They reached the farm to find Brand finally making himself a breakfast of tea and toast after tending to the animals. Julia could see he was exhausted. Mrs. Brand had been awake most of the night, so she was sleeping now, even though it was midmorning.
“I have to watch her,” he admitted. “She gets up and she wanders in the night. She tries to go outside. Once she got away and I couldn’t find her for hours. I lock the place up now.”
The poor man. She had to admit Cal was right—the farm was too much for them.
“I will help,” she insisted. And she did, holding her umbrella up as she spread out seed for chickens. Cal helped, too, and when she attempted to carry buckets of water from the pump for the pigs’ troughs, he stopped her. Brand looked shocked.
“Nae, ye shouldn’t be working, milady,” Brand said.
“I cannot stand by idle and not help,” she said crisply. “But I wondered if Sarah ever told you she was frightened by a man. A man who might have tried to—to accost her.”
She felt guilty as she asked the question. She knew, in her heart, she was trying to prove the man who had been driving Sarah wasn’t Anthony.
“She never spoke of any such thing.”
“Did Lord Anthony really take her driving in the car?”
“Mrs. Brand thinks Lord Anthony took her in his motorcar, but I don’t believe it,” Brand said. “Lord Anthony weren’t like that. Neither were she. Sarah wanted to be married someday and she had no daft ideas about marrying above her station.”
That was hope, at least. “Would you mind if I took a look in Sarah’s room?”
Brand allowed it and Julia went to the house. Cal followed. She realized Cal was letting her take charge with this. The tiny room looked as it must have done nine years before. She looked in the one small wardrobe. Sarah’s clothes still hung in it, smelling of lavender sachets. She found a diary, but there was no mention of any secret love. But Sarah did record times when she’d watched Anthony drive by in his lovely motorcar.
She had no choice but to let Cal look at it, too. Then she put it away, feeling sick. She left the Brands then. Told Cal, “I must go and see some of the women I’m helping today.”
“I’ll take you.”
“It is not necessary. I am perfectly fine to drive.” They argued—to her surprise, he finally relented. He took her back to Worthington, let her go off in her car.
She drove to the cottages and farms of several of the women. It made her feel better to see how they were surviving. One of the women, Mrs. Woddle, was in delight over the success of her sales of preserves. Now, after the War, with girls working in factories, they had to feed themselves and had no facilities to do so. Tea shops were booming.
She went to see the Tofts. Neighbors were helping—and Nigel had been sending baskets of food and treats from Brideswell’s kitchens. It was almost heartbreaking, but she put on a brave face. If the family could, so could she. Seeing the eldest daughter, Mary, turned Julia’s stomach upside down. The girl had dark hair in pigtails and large blue eyes.
Julia didn’t remember any girl going missing after 1916. It seemed the disappearances had stopped then. Why?
Because Anthony went to war.
She did not know that for certain. And it was not proof.
Julia drove to see Ellen after that. In Brideswell’s hospital ward, she told Ellen, “I will loan you the money to begin a business. A seamstress business, perhaps. Please accept this.”
Tucked in her cot, Ellen shook her head. “I would only let you down, my lady. I could never pay you back.”
“I believe you can. You must tell me who attacked you. He should be arrested and imprisoned for what he has done.”
“I can’t tell you his name. He would hurt Ben.”
“Ben will be safe. I will ensure this man never comes near him. He almost killed you,” Julia said, in a vehement whisper so as not to disturb the other women in the ward. “Help me and we will have him arrested.”
But Ellen would not meet her gaze. “I can’t do that, my lady.”
Cal had been right. So painfully right. Ellen was willing to shield an evil man out of fear.
Julia stood. “I will find out who did this. I am not going to let him get away with it.”
Panic flooded Ellen’s face, turning her skin white where it wasn’t bruised. “Don’t, my lady. You have to keep out of it. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I will be perfectly fine and I intend to help you.”
Julia left, frustrated as she drove through the village. The dark, rainy weather matched her mood. But she was going to protect Ellen in some way—that was one thing she could do. She did not doubt the horrible wretch had taken money from Ellen when he had beaten her. It was the sort of thing a brute would do. And she knew where that money would be spent.
She drove to the village nearest Ellen’s cottage, the small village of Worthington. Even in this tiny place, there were three pubs. Then she saw him. A large man leaving the Boar and Castle, the village public house. She was certain this was the man she had seen harassing Ellen on the street weeks ago.
Julia got out of her motor, stalked over to the man. But a few paces away, her courage failed her. But it was too late. He must have sensed her. He turned with surprising speed for such a large man and he strode back toward her.
She lifted her chin. It might be the middle of the day on the main street of the village of Worthington, but the rain meant the street was almost deserted. She had made a terrible, terrible mistake. “Lay a hand on me and I will scream,” she threatened, but her voice shook.
“Ye were the one coming after me, milady.” His fleshy lips smirked.
“I want your name.”
“Ye don’t need it. Ye won’t have any trouble from me if Ellen keeps doing as she’s told.” He puffed up his huge chest. “I’m looking after her. She doesn’t need meddling from the likes of you, milady. Keep away from her.”
“Ellen told me you have threatened her child to force her to—to sell herself and give the money to you. How small and pitiful you are. I will not allow this to continue. I will find out who you are and I will have you arrested.”
He laughed cheerfully. “I doubt that. Ellen would be the only one who could back up yer wild tale and she won’t grouse on me. Ye can’t hurt me. But ye’re fragile. I can hurt ye real easy. Ye go to see her one more time, and I’ll really make ye pay.”
Fury made her stand up to him. “I will have my brother destroy you. I will ensure you never hurt Ellen or her son again. I will move them away, to a place you will not find them. I am a duke’s daughter and I have the power to crush you like the worm you are.”
“Ye’ll regret that,” he snarled. “Don’t ye dare threaten me, ye cow.” He loomed over her, lifting his fist. She was scared, using every ounce of strength not to melt in panic. But she had a weapon. She lifted her umbrella and poked the pointed end into his stomach.
He let out a howl of pain and doubled over. She spun and raced up the sidewalk.
A car was coming toward her.
It accelerated and as soon as it reached her, it screeched to a stop. The man behind the wheel leaned out to look at her.
Cal.
She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him so tight he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Of course she wouldn’t do it.
He jumped out of the car. He ran right past her, down the sidewalk. Shaking, she turned to watch him, but she couldn’t see any sign of the man who’d threatened her.
Cal came back to her. “Julia, who was that man?”
“I don’t know.” That much was the truth. She didn’t have his name.
“Don’t lie to me, Julia. I couldn’t see exactly, but it looked like he was threatening you. I did see you drive your umbrella into his gut and I doubt you’d do that unless he asked for it.”
Cal was looking at her as Nigel would. With the same autocratic, protective look.
She swallowed hard. “Perhaps I should return to my motorcar.”
“You’re trembling and you’re pale. You need a drink, Julia. Something for the shock.”
He hustled her into the Boar and Castle. He ordered a large brandy for her, an ale for himself. It was warm in the pub—despite being June, it was a cool, cloudy day and she felt cold through to her soul.
“That was the man who hurt Ellen Lambert,” Cal said.
“Yes, that was her pimp. How did you know?”
Cal’s brows shot up under his blond hair. “Lucky guess. But I’m kind of stunned you know that word.”
“Well, I do. I’m not completely naive. But you mustn’t tell my brother about this.”
“I take it you mean you don’t want me to mention some thug threatened to hurt you. If I were your brother, I’d like to know that.”
“You can’t. Please. He would use this as a reason to stop me continuing my work with women like Ellen. And Zoe might agree with him, if she thought I was in danger.”
Their drinks came, served by Mr. Grey. As he set down Cal’s pint, he asked, “I’ve been thinking about that business with those missing girls, milord. Did ye talk to old Brown, who used to work at the house? Did he help you?”
“Yeah, he did. Thanks.” Cal was attempting to sound offhand and casual. Then he asked about Ellen’s pimp—about the man who had just been drinking in there.
“Aye. Don’t know his name. He’s only been in here twice for a drink. Usually drinks elsewhere, he said. I banned him for life this time—he wants to brawl and I don’t need the trouble.”
“If he comes in again, would you find out his name before you toss him out? I’ll make it worth your trouble,” Cal promised.
The man touched his forehead, a gesture of respect and agreement. “I will, milord.”
After Grey left, Julia gasped. “Of course. I remember now. Brown is the former chauffeur at Worthington. When did you speak to him?” She had been hoping to get the name of Ellen’s abuser and hadn’t really thought about Brown until just now.
“After you left today,” Cal said, “I drove over to the village where he lives with his daughter.”
“What did you learn from him?”
Cal took a long swallow of beer.
Her heart dipped. He didn’t want to tell her.
He set down the glass. “He said that he found Anthony in the garage one night. He was taking something out of the trunk, but when he heard Brown come in, he locked the trunk, then covered up the car with the white sheet. Brown said he looked upset, nervous. It was just the next day that Anthony volunteered and went to war.”
“What are you saying? That he went to war to make up for—for taking those women?”
“Maybe.”
“Why would he leave those things in the vehicle, where they could be found?”
“Maybe he thought no one would touch his car,” Cal said. “Maybe he had no time.”
Suddenly she realized the truth. Cal didn’t just want justice. He wanted Anthony to be guilty. She believed she knew why—that would prove the Earl of Worthington had been utterly wrong to condemn Cal’s family. That the wealthier, titled Carstairs had not been better or nobler people—since they had a criminal strain in their blood.
She wanted Anthony to be innocent. She wanted to believe in the man she had loved deeply.
They could not both get what they wanted.
Cal set down his drink. His hand rested close to hers. She moved hers away. She couldn’t touch him.
“You need to go home and forget about all this,” he said.
“I won’t. I can’t let you make Anthony guilty, if he wasn’t. What will you do then—use that for justification to destroy Worthington? Hurt more innocent people?”
“I’m not going to say he’s guilty if that’s not true. But if he’s guilty—”
Panic rose. “But if you stop searching for evidence, you can justify calling him guilty.” She was sick with fear. “You can’t do anything until you have actual evidence. Irrefutable evidence.”
He didn’t answer.
“What if I agreed to your bargain—that you won’t touch Worthington if I let you paint me?”
“You were right, Julia. Portraits don’t seem as important now.”
Her heart sank. Then she thought of Cal’s story. Of his mother dying and of him having to protect his younger brother and raise him—
“This is your brother’s birthright also. How can you think of destroying his family home, when he has never even seen it? That is wrong, Cal. He should at least see his father’s home. Wouldn’t that be fair and just to him?”
“The way I see it, this isn’t his father’s home. This is where his father grew up, before being disowned by this family.”
“But it was still his home when he was a child, and it was a part of him. Your brother should see it,” she insisted.
Cal gave her an almost sulky look. She knew she’d scored a point. “Did your father ever talk about Worthington Park?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“What did he say about it?”
“Said it was beautiful. That he was sorry we’d never get to see it. I knew we weren’t considered good enough for this place—we were the dirt that had to be kept out. But David was younger than me and he didn’t understand. He used to dream about seeing it.”
“Then no matter what you do to Worthington, you must let your brother, David, see it first.”
“You’re right. And I did plan to do it. I’ll send him a wire. Arrange his passage.” He sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t have sold the farm today because I know it would have hurt you. I couldn’t do that to you now, after you’ve been through so much. You know I don’t want to hurt you, Julia.”
She knew the rest—the rest he left unsaid. That he feared he would have to. And inside she was in turmoil. To have a boy think he was dirt that should be kept out of a house...it made her blood boil in anger. But that was the past, and there had to be a way for Worthington and Cal to have a future together.
* * *
The day before Cal’s brother was to arrive, Mother held a dinner party. Zoe was the duchess, but Mother had actually arranged everything for the party, something she had not done in many years. Not since grief over Will had consumed her. It showed her mother was healing and that was good. Mother insisted it was to help Julia get over her sorrow from the Tofts’ losses.
But when she went down for cocktails before dinner, Julia discovered Mother had invited the Duke of Bradstock and the Earl of Summerhay. Nigel had invited Dougal Campbell—he wanted to discuss some business about the hospital.
She wanted to turn and run—she was so worried about what Cal might learn about Anthony she couldn’t bear to spend time fending off suitors.
Mother, of course, arranged for her to sit between James—the Duke of Bradstock—and Summerhay.
The electric chandeliers—installed by Zoe—sparkled on crystal and silver. Candlelight flickered on the table.
As they reached the savory after dessert, James leaned toward her. At the exact same moment, the Earl of Summerhay leaned to her also. Both men said, at once, “Would you ride with me tomorrow?”
They stared at each other as she said, “I am afraid I already have plans. But since you both want to ride, why don’t you gentlemen go together?”
“We aren’t courting each other,” James said, lifting his brow in true ducal fashion. “Summerhay is courting you. And I want only to enjoy a ride with you.”
But James was courting her, too, she saw. And she didn’t want to be courted. Why didn’t men listen? But then she felt guilty and softened the blow. “Though of course I am flattered and ordinarily I should love to...” She winced—she did not want to encourage either man, when she knew she couldn’t love either one, but she had been trained to be so blasted polite. “But tomorrow I have plans to go to Worthington Park.”
She could not wait to meet Cal’s brother. He could be a valuable ally and she was going to be there, under any pretext, when he arrived.
“To see the American earl?” James growled. He gripped his wineglass so hard his knuckles went white. “You shouldn’t go there. There are rumors—”
“Of an engagement,” Summerhay finished.
“Not of an engagement. I knew that was rot,” James insisted. “The man’s behavior is notorious. I’ve heard stories about him in Paris, bedding all of his models.”
“What is this? Are you speaking of bedding roses?” That was the dowager and Julia was quite sure she’d heard everything, and was stopping James before he said something even more shocking.
“I am going to see Ellen Lambert’s son, who is staying there. And my good friend Diana.”
“As long as it isn’t to see him.”
Obviously James did not like Cal, but she couldn’t see how he had the right to dictate.
“He’s also mentally unhinged,” James said. “Apparently he goes around the estate, digging in random places, or so I’ve been told. Is he looking for buried treasure?”
She swallowed hard—she couldn’t say he was looking for the three women, not if there was a chance Anthony had been involved. “This is the first I’ve heard of that,” she hedged.
“He must be looking for something—”
Chairs scraped, interrupting James, signaling it was time to go to the drawing room. Julia sighed with relief. When the men joined the ladies, after having their port, Julia went over to Dougal. “I am concerned about Ellen Lambert.”
His sensitive brown eyes showed surprise. “She is recovering well.”
“Perhaps physically. I fear she is suffering from shell shock.” She did love to be able to speak to Dougal as a partner, to have a meeting of minds.
“Shell shock?” he echoed. “Why do you think this?”
“It was Cal—the Earl of Worthington—who suggested it. She suffers nightmares. She can’t sleep. Loud noises make her react in a panic.”
“Some women who served at the front proved to be too delicate for the work—”
“It’s not delicacy,” she protested. “Women witnessed the same horrors as the men. Ellen drove an ambulance, where she saw victims of the worst injuries. According to Cal, the ambulances were shelled and shot at.”
“Medical practitioners have diagnosed such women as suffering from hysteria. They proved unsuitable for the work and returned home.”
“Unsuitable for the work? Who would be suitable to drive a vehicle through a battlefield while being shelled?” She stared at him. “It is not hysteria. It’s shell shock.”
“Shell shock is a different thing entirely. The problems that men experienced were different from those that women did.”
“How could they be? They experienced the very same things.” She couldn’t understand him.
“No male soldier would accept that his condition is like hysteria.”
“Oh, that is it! You think the men would be ashamed to have the same problem as women. Well, they had best get over it. She has shell shock. And I fear she will not be able to improve her life until it is dealt with.”
Dougal gave an awkward cough. “Julia, I would suspect Ellen Lambert’s troubles are due to her current...profession.”
She could not believe she had heard such a thing from Dougal. “Her current profession is a result of ignorance on the part of the government and society. We have turned our backs on people like her. I thought you would champion her cause. There has been help for men with shell shock. Why shouldn’t women be helped? Really, Dougal, I cannot understand you.”
“What do you want me to do, Julia? Even if I agreed, a diagnosis of shell shock would not be recognized—and would not help the woman in any way.”
“But she could be cured.”
“Not necessarily, and the forms of treatment are horrific, Julia. She would certainly be separated from her son.”
She fumbled. She hadn’t thought of that. And she was startled by the way Dougal smiled slightly, as though he were being patient with her, as though he knew, of course, he should win the argument. “There must be a solution.”
“There’s nothing more you can do, Julia.”
“I thought we could work on this together. I have to help her—for her sake and for Ben’s. She served her country, just as bravely as any man. How can there be no help for her now?” Even as she spoke, she saw from his face that he would not help. She had thought Dougal was a wonderful doctor, a progressive, modern man.
“The officials of her country would never call her condition ‘shell shock.’ And given what else she has done after the War, they would not help.”
“But that’s wrong!” she cried.
“What is wrong, Julia?” Grandmama asked, gazing at her with pursed lips.
“Apparently quite a lot with our country,” she said. “But of course, nothing is ever solved at a dinner party.”
She couldn’t explain why—but she felt deeply discouraged that Dougal had turned out to be a different man than she’d believed. Cal had turned out different, too—but in good ways.
Without Dougal’s support, what could she do for Ellen?
* * *
Julia was still without a solution as she rode over to Worthington Park the next day. The day Cal’s brother was to arrive, being driven from the South Hampton docks.
She found Cal pacing outside the front door, a cigarette clenched between his teeth.
“You’re waiting for your brother?” She dismounted—it was so deliciously easy to do so in jodhpurs rather than skirts.
Cal nodded, his face grim.
“I thought you would be happy to see him again. He’s had a long journey. You will have to smile when he gets here,” she teased.
“It’s hard,” he muttered.
“Why is it hard?” She stood at his side, holding Athena’s reins.
“He was wounded badly in the War.”
Badly? Heavens, how badly? “I didn’t know that. Was the journey hard for him?”
“Yeah, I imagine it was very hard. But he made it—to see this damn house.” Cal shook his head. “I told him not to join up. But once I went, there was no one to stop him. He followed me into battle, but I served as a pilot and he served on the ground. I didn’t even know he was there until we were in the same hospital together—”
Cal had to stop talking. She saw tears in his eyes. He blinked hard and the tears were gone.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “It must have broken your heart to see him wounded.”
“It did. He was eighteen. A shell exploded under him after he shoved two men out of the way to save them. They had to take off both of his legs below the knee. At home, when he was a kid, I protected him. Kept him out of—” He broke off. Drew on his cigarette. “Kept him out of trouble,” he finished. “But he went to war and destroyed his life.”
“He is still alive,” she pointed out softly.
“He can’t walk and has to spend his life in a wheeled chair.”
How hurt Cal looked—he was feeling a huge weight of responsibility. For something that had not been his fault. He believed in protecting people—she knew it meant these wounds went very deep.
He kicked the gravel. “After the War, I hired a staff of nurses and servants to look after him. I went away to Paris. Sometimes I feel I was running away from my guilt. I tried painting it away, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t forget. So I tried to drink it away with good French wine and brandy. That didn’t work, either.”
“It is not your fault. He was of age and it was his choice to volunteer.”
“But if you have someone you love, you want to protect them,” he said.
“I didn’t want Anthony to go to War, but I knew I couldn’t ask him to stay. His father had not wanted him to go, since he was the heir. His father wanted him to wait until he was conscripted, but Anthony felt it was wrong to stay home when other men were doing their duty.”
She expected him to dismiss what Anthony had done, but gently, he said, “You went through what I did. I wrote home and told David it was a living hell, but he ignored my letters. He thought I was trying to scare him away.”
Cal’s fingers brushed hers. Just that touch made her gasp. Then he moved abruptly away. “He’s here.” He threw his cigarette away on the drive.
The Worthington Daimler, large and black, drove into view on the drive.
“I shouldn’t have brought him here,” Cal said suddenly. “He doesn’t need any of this. He has a home in America and people to care for him. The countess despises me. How is she going to react to my brother’s condition?”
Cal was panicking, she saw. “It will be all right. I will not allow him to be hurt,” she vowed.
The car stopped. Two footmen who stood on the front steps sprang forward. But Cal went forward, too, not acting like an earl, not waiting. He went to the boot of the vehicle where a wheeled chair had been folded and attached. After the footman took it off the motorcar, Cal took it from the young servant. With practiced motions he wheeled it to the passenger door on the far side, away from the house.
Wait—she realized what he had said. He had hired a staff of nurses and servants. She had thought he was an impoverished artist before he became earl. That he had still been poor.
But he could not have been impoverished to have spent so much money to look after his brother.
The front door of the house opened and the countess marched out. Julia saw her mouth held firmly, her eyes blazing. “It is my duty also to greet guests,” the countess said to her. “Who is this man?”
Cal hadn’t told her? “This is your nephew,” Julia said. “He was wounded in the War. You must be kind and welcoming to him.”
Julia saw how much Lady Worthington had changed. Once a warm, welcoming smile would have curved her lips. Now she looked tight-lipped, grim. Frightened.
From around the car came the wheeled chair. Cal pushed it smoothly from behind, even over the gravel. A young man—he must be about twenty-five—sat in the chair. He waved cheerfully. Julia had steeled herself to see no legs, or trousers pinned at the knees. But his trousers were filled out and he wore shoes. He must have artificial legs.
“You must be my aunt,” said the young man. He held out his hand. His eyes were the same clear, vivid blue as Cal’s but a shock of curly black hair framed his handsome face. “Good to meet you. I’m David Carstairs, your younger nephew from the States. I’d get up but you’d be waiting a long time, I’m afraid.” He grinned.
His greeting was so warm, so different from Cal’s, Julia was stunned. The countess came forward. “I am the Countess of Worthington. Indeed, my husband was brother to your father, Mr. Carstairs.”
“Please call me David...Aunt Sophia.” He said it with a wistful expression.
Julia’s heart tugged.
“You would address me as—”
Julia gave a soft cough, interrupting. The countess was trying to sound austere and Julia had to stop that. And she noticed how the countess’s fingers plucked nervously at the beads draped around her neck.
Show kindness, Julia mouthed. Please do.
Did the countess read her lips? She didn’t know, but the woman’s tone softened. “Do call me Aunt Worthington. That is how we do things in this country.”
“Aunt Worthington. I think Aunt Sophia sounds prettier but I want to do things right.” David Carstairs’s winning smile revealed dimples.
Rain spattered down. “I’d better get you inside,” Cal said brusquely.
Julia watched Cal negotiate the chair around the house to one of the terrace doors where there was no step, and wheel his brother inside. She followed them in, but the countess went in through the front door.
David whistled as they entered the drawing room. “Whoa. What a beautiful place, Cal,” David said. “So what’s tea really like? Do they have cakes?”
“All they do here is eat, and have too much food,” Cal said. “It’s indulgent and disgusting.”
“I’d like to have a meal of cakes,” David said.
“It should take more than a tray of cakes to win you over, David,” Cal muttered darkly.
His brother twisted to look at him. “We haven’t got any other family left, Cal.”
“David, I’m not here because they wanted to make peace and invited me. I’m here because I inherited the place and they’re forced, by their precious English rules, to accept me.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean things can’t work out for the best,” David said. “So have you gone riding? Did you fall off?”
They were very different, the two brothers. And David was on her side, thank heaven.
“I did go riding,” Cal said. “Lady Julia taught me.”
Julia lifted her head.
“I should have introduced you,” Cal said. “David, this is Lady Julia, who lives at Brideswell, which is a neighboring estate.”
She smiled brightly. “I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Carstairs.”
“Cal me David. Could you stop a minute, Cal, so I can show some manners and shake her hand?”
Looking embarrassed, Cal did. She shook David Carstairs’s warm, strong hand. “You taught my brother to ride.” He looked down. “I’d like to learn, but I guess that’s not possible.”
“Perhaps it would be possible for you to sit on a horse and be led?”
“No. Too dangerous,” Cal said shortly.
His brother rolled his blue eyes. “I think I’ve seen worse danger than falling off a horse. I’m game to try.”
Julia felt Cal’s glare. She thought Cal was wrong—overprotective. But fighting with him now was not sensible. She could arrange for David to ride. That might win him over to convincing Cal to keep Worthington intact. “I am sure we can think of something, together.”
David gave her a smile that warmed her heart. “I’m glad to be here,” he said. Then to his brother: “Cal, I’ve been thinking. I want to write a letter to Alice. Maybe we could pay for her to travel here. I’d like to see her. Nothing more, just see her. I know it’s hopeless now to dream of more, but it would make my life complete just to see her smile again.”
Julia was almost in tears. Alice must have been his sweetheart.
But Cal said abruptly, “No.” Then he added, as if he knew he sounded unreasonable, “She’s probably married by now. Let it go. It’s only going to break your heart.”
“Cal, I know there were a hundred soldiers in love with her, and each one had more to offer her than I do. But I’d just like to see her. Maybe she would come, if we invited her to something. Don’t the English give fancy parties and balls? Just like they did at Mam’s house, when she was a maid?”
Cal’s face contorted with pain and Julia’s heart contracted with it, too. He was behind his brother, who couldn’t see his expression.
She said brightly, “I think it sounds like a very lovely idea.”
Cal turned on her. “No, it’s not.” He whispered it, but so angrily, she was stunned. “I’m not having a ball here, David,” he said more loudly.
“Of course you could not hold a ball,” Lady Worthington declared as she approached, her heels clicking on the floor. “You would hardly know what to do.”
It was as if she’d waved a red flag. “I know how to throw a party,” Cal said sharply. “Forget what I said. If you want a ball, David, you’ll get one.”