Page 6 of Better Love Next Time
The earl stood, his hand smoothing down his waistcoat, which had ridden up with the force of his anger. “You leave within the hour for Chedworth. Your trunks are being packed atthis moment. Say goodbye to your mother. We shall see you at Christmas if my brother deems you worthy. Good morning.”
It seemed an excellent idea at the time, not begging his father.
Uncle William hadn’t spoken a word to Julian the entire coach ride to Huntingdonshire, but he had looked at Julian for hours, as if figuring out how to strip Julian’s soul from his body and sell it. Well known for squeezing the last farthing out a man in business, his uncle would likely make gold out of Julian’s monster soul.
We shall see you at Christmas if my brother deems you worthy.
Julian would burn in hell before he let himself be deemed worthy to return to his family. So he could pretend he enjoyed singing carols on the joyous birth of Jesus Christ?
No, thank you.
As the coach turned right at the start of Chedworth’s drive, Julian decided he’d never spend Christmas with his family again until his father apologized for calling him a monster. Which would never happen. Which meant he would never have to spend a penny of his allowance on gifts. Especially for his sister, Caroline, who deserved nothing but coal. A small piece, or else she might be able to warm herself.
A tree limb scratched the window at Julian’s right. He shut his book,The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, as the coach threaded through the gatehouse piers fixed like fortress guards. Except for the fountain with statues of three females in the center, Chedworth was a fortress.
Four stories of red brick and hundreds of windowpanes sucked the life out of its surroundings. The sun had madeits escape at the start of the drive. The clouds swirled above the parapets lining the roofline as if they, too, wanted to flee. A copper dome weathered to green topped the fortress like a wizard’s hat. Below the dome, peering like a cyclops, was a clock. Massive bowed windows jutted out from both ends of the main block like claws.
Quarter past five, Julian noted. The start of his imprisonment.
Julian was already figuring out his path to the copper dome from the outside. The house brimmed with ghosts to chase and an evil leprechaun to avoid. Not as grand as the Thames, the River Great Ouse flowed nearby, offering a safer place to hone his boating skills. There was also his cousin, Georgiana, currently charging out from a nearby wood on a strapping chestnut.
Julian jumped down from the coach. Georgiana leapt out of the saddle, smacking his chest square in a hug he didn’t want. And wanted more than anything.
He slapped her back. Being that she was hardly a girl, he let her hang on him. She smelled like horse, sweat, and dirt. That is, perfect.
Georgiana leaned back, still holding tight. Two years younger than Julian, she towered over him by three inches. Her startling blue eyes looked him over. Just as startling, her red hair had loosed from its braid, curling and swirling over her shoulders and back. Instead of a gown, she wore leather breeches, a mourning band on her left sleeve for her mother departed a year past, and the finest black riding boots Julian had ever seen, anywhere. They were splattered with mud.
“You’ve grown,” Georgiana gushed like a girl. “And you’re so pretty.”
Julian extracted himself with a scowl. He needed a scar like a pirate, one that slashed across his eyebrow. When would his smooth cheeks start growing a beard? He’d never shave it.
Georgiana cuffed his arm. “Don’t look so angry. Youarepretty.”
“And so are you.” Though as far as he could tell she was just Georgiana. Tall, strong, and smelly as a stable block.
Uncle William clamped a hand on Georgiana’s shoulder. “Let us show your cousin to his room.”
To Julian, she asked, “How long are staying?”
Julian shrugged. “Forever, I hope.”
“Wonderful!”
Uncle William jerked his head toward the house. “Andrew. Come along.”
Georgiana turned to Chedworth’s huge, arching double doors with her father.
Andrew, Julian’s first name, was as pretty as his stupid, girly face. Julian spit, hitting his target to the left of his uncle’s black shoe. “My name is Julian.”
His uncle stiffened, and turning on his heel, surveyed the spit and then Julian beneath flat black brows. “Your name is whatever I say it is.”
“I prefer Julian,” he dared.
His uncle’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Do you now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Very well. Allow me to show you to your room,Julie.”
