Page 7 of Better Love Next Time
Julian’s mouth went slack. What if his uncle dressed him in ribbons and petticoats? Julian realized, with approaching panic, he could. And no one could stop him.
Better not to press his luck. Julian gave his uncle the win, and after nodding, followed him through the vestibule entrance to the hall surrounded by an arcade of massive arches. The carvedpillars stood like polished prison guards every eight feet. It was colder inside than it was outside.
The wide, turning, creaking staircase looked exactly like a path to the room where an executioner waited for Julian to remove his coat and stock and place his ten-year-old head on the block.
They reached the landing where Georgiana looped her arm over Julian’s shoulders and whispered, “He won’t call you Julie forever. Just do as he says, and he’ll be generous.”
Julian elbowed her. “I’ll lick the soles of his bloody shoes.”
Georgiana gasped.
“What?” he asked beneath his breath as his uncle led them through the gloomy paneled corridor. “You’ve never heard the word?”
Georgiana’s mouth bent in insult. “I have.”
“What aboutfuck?”
“Is that a word?”
“Anthony Philips says it is, and I heard Ollie say it.”
“What does it mean?”
“It depends. Anthony says it’s like lifting a leg on a rum-dell, and Ollie blurted it out when I unleashed the frogs.”
Georgiana halted. “Frogs?”
Julian warmed to his monster heart to have a proselyte with whom to share his vast knowledge. “I’ll tell you later.”
His uncle swung open a door and ushered them inside. The hearth was cold, but to within an inch of the perimeter, plush carpets covered the wood floors.
His uncle flourished an arm to the chamber. “Do you like it?”
Julian’s bones sighed, his brain half-asleep already at the thought of sinking down into the feather mattress with the thick layers of linens tucked at his nose. “I do, sir.”
“Excellent.” Uncle William smiled. “You’ll earn this room. Until then…” He motioned to Georgiana. “Lead us to the servants’ quarters, George.”
Twelve Days Later
As far as escapes went, Julian’s was a notch above a disaster. It had poured rain to Chedworth’s boundary and threatened to continue until he turned south where the sun beckoned like a wood nymph. Behind him, rain clouds loomed.
He wore the same clothes he’d had on his back the day he’d left London because his uncle had taken his trunks, announcing he would earn his clothes too. Julian had washed his drawers the night before in the cold basin water. Without a fire to dry them by, they were still damp. The linen clung to his ballocks, which made outrunning the storm a chafing misery.
Georgiana had passed him a toothbrush and powder, which he brought along. Along with a stolen sheaf of writing paper, three pencils, two silver candlesticks to sell for a passage to London, a shawl, and a bottle of brandy.
On the outskirts of a Tudor palace, he pulled the brandy from the pillowcase. He took a swig and spewed the rot over his boots. Scraping his tongue with his teeth, he glared at the bottle. His father and brother drank this? Willingly?
He stuffed the cork back in place and twisted around at a female voice raised in song. As soon as he stepped toward the thicket bordering the wood, it disappeared.
It came again, melodious and clear as crystal. The longing it stirred had to be from one of those females who wooed men to their death.Sirens.
Julian chased after it, tearing his coat in the hawthorn to gain the wood, and spied a flash of pink. It vanished. Had he imagined it? Or was it a fairy?
To his left, a forest creature stirred. Above him, birds cocked their heads. On the current of a north wind came a soft, broken cry.
Peering at the canopy, he found the sun and, estimating the voice’s heading as north, started his pursuit. He tracked its course for what felt like hours. Was he traveling in circles, or had he made it to Scotland? Hungry and frustrated, he dropped down to the forest floor at the edge of a clearing and tore open a napkin of food.
His uncle had fed Julian gruel and bread, and when Julian had asked the kitchen staff for more food, the cook had said, “We’ve been warned about you.”
