Oh, God. It hit Julia with all the force of a basket that had been tossed out a window, catching her in the back as she walked and stealing the breath from her lungs and the thoughts from her head but for one: The duchess recognized the necklace.
It was familiar to her.
Which meant Adairia… had been right after all?
Surely not. Surely…
“Adairia,” the woman whispered, pressing a fist to her mouth, and then on an exuberant laugh, she did the most unduchesslike thing. She threw her arms about Julia’s shoulders and drew her in.
Julia’s body tensed, and she stood there stiffly as the woman hugged her. There were so many things she should say in this moment:
I’m not Adairia. Adairia is gone. Dead. Kidnapped and made to suffer the most brutal of deaths because I did not protect her.
All those words were the ones she should speak, but she was incapable of focusing on anything but the oddest thing—a hug.
Not even her own ma had hugged her.
Working all day and well into the night selling flowers as they had, the moment she and Adairia had returned to the cramped quarters they shared, their hadn’t been much time for maternal warmth. Julia’s mum had been exhausted from the long days they’d spent peddling their goods, and had gone to sleep almost the moment they entered their home.
While she’d slept, Julia and Adairia would all but collapse on a thin mat that served as a mattress. In all those times, she and Adairia had sat there, whispering and talking and imagining the very life Adairia had dreamed herself a part of. Adairia had ultimately come to relinquish those fantasies and had finally grasped the reality that existed for people like her. Mums who’d had time to hug their babes and where stability that was forever.
Now, Julia found herself seduced once more by the whisper of delusions that, at the most unexpected of moments, inserted themselves with a startling tenacity.
Julia briefly closed her eyes. Folded as she was in that warmth, with affection and love spilling from the other woman into her, Julia raised her arms and hugged the woman back.
But this is also a lie, that voice taunted at the back of her mind.
Do you think she’d be hugging you, the stranger and street rat, in place of the one whom she truly wishes?
At last, the woman released her, and Julia immediately backed away from that display… and the guilt… and the man glaring at her.
Aye, that was the correct sentiment. He had the right of it.
Julia breathed deep and forced herself to reveal the true reason she’d come. “I’m afraid—”
Another one of the women stepped closer and wrapped her arms about her shoulders. “There, there, my dear. No need to be afraid any longer.”
As the three surrounded her, talking all at once, Julia tried—and failed—to get a word in edgewise.
“A bath. I am sure the dear girl would enjoy a bath, and a meal, and a warm bed,” the woman’s twin was saying.
“Yes, but that isn’t why—”
“You’re here,” the duchess said. “That’s all that matters. We can speak of everything else after.”
They were a whirlwind, sweeping her off, steering her around the menacing stranger, and coward that she was, Julia went.
Chapter 6
Nearly three hours after the departure of the duchess’ friends, Harris remained in the same parlor where the Great Reunion, as his godmother and her dearest friends had taken to referring to the night’s event, had taken place.
Arms folded, he stood sentry at the door, assessing the hall. Even at this late-night hour, the footmen remained at their usual, daytime posts, on guard, as he’d instructed the moment the duchess and Ladies Cavendish and Cowpen had whisked Lady Adairia abovestairs.
Perhaps he’d be better served in the foyer?
Or mayhap outside the young woman’s room? Yes, that made the most sense.
At that moment, the duchess came sweeping down the hall, speaking a quick, curt word to the footmen as she passed. Each servant bowed and then backed away, abandoning their posts.
Harris’ eyebrows came flying together.
She was dismissing them.
“What are you doing?” he asked the moment she reached his side.
“You are relieved,” Her Grace advised the final servant, who bent low at the waist.
“Why are you sending them away?” Harris demanded as she swept into the room. He followed behind her.
“I am letting my servants sleep,” she drawled. Heading to the sideboard, she made herself a claret. “As good mistresses of households do.” She looked him over. “And I take it you’re staying.”
“Of course I’m staying.” As though he intended to vacate this household as long as that bloody charlatan remained.
His godmother sipped her claret. “I do welcome you staying here. However, I assure you, dear boy, I’ve survived these forty-five years without your assistance, and I shall continue to carry on just fine without you,” she said dryly.
Joining her at the liquor cabinet, Harris helped himself to a brandy. Nay, there was no way in hell that he intended to let his godmother remain in this household alone with that woman. “You’re not naïve,” he said. “You’re not one to have the wool pulled over your eyes.” He held his glass out, gesturing her way. “You’re quite logical and rational, and one might even say ruthless, in the way you conduct yourself in matters.”
In fact, many did.
A smile graced her lips, and she elevated her chin, like one taking the most generous of compliments. “Why, thank you—”
“You are not, however, able to think clearly on the matter of your niece,” he interrupted. “From the moment the Lost Lords of London began reappearing—”
“They weren’t reappearing, Harris. They were found.” She
