Except, as soon as he’d said the words, Harris wanted to call them back. For they felt like a betrayal of sorts.
Yes, these were his closest friends in the world. One whom he’d known since the age of six, when he’d also been the forgotten son of his miserable father. And also one who’d been betrayed—in a different way—by a woman whom he’d been supposed to marry. Nay, the pair of them weren’t the manner to keep secrets from each other, because ultimately each knew the other would keep that confidence until death.
But this? It wasn’t about a worry about that information being leaked. It was about revealing something that would call into question Julia’s character.
Ruthven’s features grew serious. “Indeed?”
Harris considered his words carefully. “You know there have been any number of people who’ve come forward.” Children. Prior to Julia’s arrival, it had always been children who’d passed themselves off as the girl.
“Yes,” Barrett murmured.
“It is only natural that I’ve been… skeptical. The duchess, however, firmly believes the lady to be her long-lost niece, and as such, I’ve made myself available to her and the lady so that I might ascertain this time is, in fact, real.”
“Ah, so as many have suspected, you do it for fealty and regard for the duchess,” Rothesby put forward.
Harris tried to detect shades of sarcasm or jest in the duke’s words, but he was hard-pressed to find them.
“Well, then, we shall toast to hearts that remain free and clear.” Barrett lifted his glass in salute.
Harris was grateful moments later when his friends finally laid to rest the matter of Julia, and worse, Harris’ fascination with her, and proceeded to discuss other wagers he’d recently taken out.
And yet, as he sat there, Harris oddly found himself wishing himself away from White’s and returning to Julia.
Chapter 12
Some people were permitted dreams.
Not most.
Not all.
Just some.
The majority of people—men, women, children of all ages—didn’t have the luxury. They barely had an opportunity to rest, let alone dream.
Julia had never been one who could dream. She’d been just another figure among the masses. She’d always known precisely what she was and who she was. Certainly enough to never have entertained the fantasies—or what Julia had believed were fantasies—that Adairia had.
But at the edge of the serene river, with the charming and beguiling, roguish Marquess of Ruthven pretending to pluck coins from her ear and encouraging her to toss those coins and dream, never more did she wish there was such a thing as dreams coming true. Because if there were, and wishes could become realities, then she would have a future with him.
But dreams were not real, and Julia was not deserving of them.
It was why, yesterday, after her outing with Harris, the moment she’d climbed the steps of the palatial townhouse, Julia had searched out the duchess. So that she might tell Adairia’s aunt everything. The duchess however, had been out with the countess’s and she’d had a reprieve.
Julia, however, could not let these generous people believe a lie. The duchess had suffered so very greatly, and Julia? She’d no right to any happiness when Adairia was gone. Her heart broke all over again at a loss that would always be fresh. Nay, she’d failed Adairia. Julia wished she could be so selfish as to claim her sister’s life.
But God help her, she couldn’t.
It was why she made her way to the gardens even now to speak with Her Grace.
For it was time for Julia to return. To squalor and cold and an empty stomach and lecherous touches when there weren’t enough flowers to sell. And that was if she was able to sell them. And blast if a sheen didn’t fill her eyes and blur her vision.
Julia slowed her steps to a stop. Catching her hand at the wall, she stood there. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took in several slow breaths.
There was still the price to pay for felling Rand Graham’s henchman. It wouldn’t matter that he’d fallen over his own clumsy feet. The bastard’s goal had been to end her, and she’d prevented him from fulfilling that mission.
That was what the sole of her focus should be on. The fact that her life was all but forfeit when she returned to the Rookeries, unless by some miracle, the newest head of East London’s streets had found some purpose she might serve to justify keeping her alive. But that had been before a curricle ride, and coins tossed in an imagined well, and a glimpse of how things might have been if she’d not only been born to a different life, but if she’d had a man such as Harris at her side. A gentleman who breathed fire and burned with rage at even the idea that someone had hurt her.
And now, blast her for being a weak fool, after those sweet exchanges, she found herself… bereft at having to leave Harris, and the duchess, and this household. And it wasn’t just because of the security afforded her by these walls.
It was mostly the people who lived here. In just a short time, they’d showed her the ties that bound them all together through love and caring. It was a bond she’d shared with Adairia, and one she ached to know with this found-family.
You can stay. A voice whispered that temptation, slithering around like the serpent put there by Satan himself. You can live the lie, and there is no one to gainsay that you are, in fact, who you say you are.
Aye, she could live the lie, but it wasn’t an existence she would ever be happy living, because ultimately she’d know, and she couldn’t steal from Adairia’s memory or her family this way.
