Lord Douglas Ashton, now familiarly accompanied by Ms. Julia Fairfax and their nieces and nephew, that caption had read.
She’d clipped that one too and kept it in the upper drawer of her writing desk with the other as well as the one from the night at the gallery, which she also, for some reason, couldn’t allow herself to part with.
While recuperating, Douglas was home all the time but after a few days, he’d fallen into his earlier pattern of being at the breakfast table, going out during the day and returning home, now usually by suppertime.
Through all of that, no brazen advances.
He was spending more time with the children, taking Lizzie and Willie out to ride the horses, answering questions about their homework, sharing the responsibility of getting Ruby to bed, taking them all out to dinner, ferrying them to parties, wading in to handle arguments. All of this he did with natural skill, innate fairness and extraordinary negotiating ability and, again, if Julia allowed herself to think about it, she knew she would be undone.
So, she didn’t think about it.
But he had retreated.
Julia knew it.
She knew it because, just the night before, Julia had approached Douglas in his study. He was reading through some documents, striking things out boldly with his Mont Blanc pen and writing things in the margins. The children were in bed and she and Douglas were alone.
She hadn’t knocked before going in, simply walked up to his desk. His head came up when he caught sight of her movement and she knew she’d startled him. It had always felt like he felt her very presence in a room, even if he hadn’t seen her, not only since she’d moved there but before, all those times she visited. Something about knowing he’d dismissed her so thoroughly made something inside her die. She hated to admit it, but the fact was, it was true.
“Julia,” he muttered, putting his pen down, her name on his lips sending unwanted pleasant shivers across her skin.
She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind.
“I wanted to ask a favour.” Julia had stopped in front of his desk, she was holding her business plan for the charity and he looked at it.
“Another list?”
This was said without humour or teasing, just polite curiosity. It made her even more nervous, both about asking him what she was going to ask him and about the fact that if he was going to go back to his insolent ways, now would be his golden opportunity. And she had no idea how she would respond, most especially if he didn’t.
“I’ve written a business plan,” Julia informed him.
He quirked an eyebrow.
Anxiously, she continued. “I’m going to present it to the trustees after Christmas and I wondered if… well, if you had time, could have a look?”
She extended the plan to him and he automatically reached out and took it.
She held her breath but he did nothing but nod. Then he set her plan atop a pile of other papers and looked back down at his own.
That was it.
She didn’t move, frozen to the spot, disappointment so keen it felt like a pain in her chest.
When he realised she hadn’t left, he looked up again.
“Is there something else?” he inquired politely.
Was there something else?
Yes, there bloody well was! Part of her mind cried.
“No, nothing,” she replied and tried her damnedest to saunter casually from the room.
Now, she was being primped and primed to go to Tamsin’s ball. Sam had hired a stylist and makeup artist for her. It was unnecessary; somewhere in her heart she knew the only person she wished to impress was unimpressible.
He’d taken her at her word three weeks ago. He knew what she meant that night in her bedroom. If he persisted in his flirtation and got what he wanted, he’d have an unwanted attachment on his hands, a lovesick, heartsick albatross and he’d thought better of it so he’d cast her aside.
It was for the best, she knew.