The Heart of a Duke(44)
She could not. They had crossed over the boundary between them. If she stayed, she questioned her ability to redraw it, or Daniel’s ability to remain on his side of it. “I cannot. I have to go. Good-bye, Daniel.”
She left her fishing rod and hurried down the path and up the hill to where she had tethered Constance, not daring to look back to see if Daniel followed. Untying the horse, she guided her to a mounting perch on the stone wall.
“Julia.”
Face flaming, she glanced over her shoulder from her seat on Constance. Daniel stood a few yards from her, his cravat askew and his thick hair attractively tousled. He looked so heart-wrenchingly handsome that her pulse gave a traitorous leap.
“We discussed why I had left, but the more important issue is why I returned.” The intensity in his gaze had her bracing herself for his next words. “I think I was meant to return for you. To help you.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but then closed it. “And I promise to do so.”
Her lips parted, her heart hammering against her chest. The silence grew until she gave Constance a gentle nudge with her heel, urging her toward Taunton Court.
I think I was meant to come home for you.
A wave of anguish had her nearly crumbling, for she had waited forever to hear such words. But from Edmund. Edmund should have been there for her. But he had never been—or not as Daniel had managed to be over the last week. Daniel had made her feel beautiful, like the woman she wished she were. He made her feel intelligent and desired. He made her smile. He made her laugh. And she hadn’t had much to laugh about in a long, long time.
The tears pooling in her eyes were nearly blinding. She cursed Daniel, for she had always been sure of herself, and he made her uncertain. She had always known what she wanted, and he was making her question that.
Worse, he had her wondering if perhaps . . . perhaps she wanted something different.
Something she could never have.
Chapter Eleven
THE grand entrance of Bedford Hall, with its spacious fifty-foot-high ceiling, was a portrait in palatial splendor and opulence. A marble staircase climbed to the second-story balcony where the molding was of gilded bronze with decorative leaves and fruit, and elaborate fleur-de-lis punctuating the corners. A dazzling chandelier hung suspended beneath a Rubenesque oil painting of voluptuous angels, hovering over them as if poised to swoop down and bless all visitors.
Edmund had added the painting after his father’s death to highlight the baroque architecture of the house that was built in the sixteenth century. When her father had seen Edmund’s addition, he had quoted Shakespeare’s King John, commenting for once that the misguided king had gotten it right. “To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw perfume on the violet, . . . is wasteful and ridiculous excess.” Julia had wisely withheld judgment, for it was to be her home. She hoped to rein in Edmund’s excesses as her mother had done with her father. The estate might be making a profit, but it was too high a price to pay if used to cover such ostentatious displays.
Upon her arrival, the coaches lining the drive had surprised her, for she had believed it to be an intimate dinner party with her family and Edmund in attendance. She should have guessed that was not to be the case. Like his decorating, Edmund never did anything on a small scale. His idea of an intimate party would be limiting the guest list to a mere hundred.
She followed Emily into the formal drawing room. Three enormous chandeliers cast flickering highlights over the burgundy furnishings, crystal decanters, and Oriental rug. Six alabaster columns lined the room, and guests clustered in scattered groups. The women’s pastel gowns created a mosaic of color, their jewels catching in the dancing light, while the gentlemen provided a sharp contrast in their formal black.
Many of the faces were familiar, and all appeared to be members of the peerage. Her gaze swept the room, searching for Edmund, while struggling to tamp down the unfamiliar nerves that flapped like large bats, rather than genteel butterflies, in her belly. She neatened the satin skirts of her rose-colored gown, pressing an unsteady hand to her stomach to settle her nerves.
“I thought it was to be just the family,” Emily murmured.
She caught the dismay in her sister’s voice and slipped her arm around Emily’s waist, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Emily was improving with crowds, but made limited appearances at large gatherings of the ton. “As did I. I am sorry, Emily.”
“Regrets already? We cannot have that. Please, forgive me for not greeting you immediately and allow me to make it up to you.”
Julia whirled, her heart hammering at the sight of Edmund in all his formal attire standing before her. He looked a picture of refined elegance and so incredibly handsome, he stole her breath as he gave her a blinding smile, dipping into a low bow.