Page 122 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

That didn’t mean she’d ceased wondering about it.

He was in the tower every morning, often until well past noon. What in heaven was he doing that required such solitude? Such secrecy?

Perhaps he was a spy in the service of Queen Victoria.

Or perhaps his tower study housed laboratory equipment and he was engaged in important scientific research.

Julia had thought of every possibility, up to and including the likelihood that he may be locking himself away each morning simply to read uninterrupted. If that was the case, she could hardly fault him. She’d been known to go to extremes for a little uninterrupted reading time herself.

“It’s there behind those trees,” Daisy said, skipping ahead. “Do you see the angel’s wings?”

Julia raised a hand to shadow her eyes. The sun was shining as brightly today as it had on the previous three days. The ideal weather for a visit to Goldfinch Hall’s informal graveyard.

Or so Daisy had claimed when Julia had gone to fetch her from her room after breakfast.

Julia had had little choice but to acquiesce to the excursion. In truth, she was in no mood to pay homage to the final resting place of Dolly Carvel. She didn’t think she ever would be. But Dolly had been more than Jasper’s longtime mistress. She was also the children’s mother, and, therefore, a very important person, alive or dead.

“Yes,” Julia said. “I see.”

At the bottom of the garden, where the land was flat, Dolly’s grave lay beneath the trunk of an alder tree. The branches provided a natural shelter over the marble angel with its outstretched wings.

“He’s watching over her.” Daisy’s voice was quiet with reverence. “Isn’t that nice?”

“It is.” Julia followed Daisy to the grave. The ground was still soggy in places from the heavy rains that had come on Saturday and Sunday. Julia was conscious of the grass staining the box-pleated hem of her silk poplin skirts as she passed through it.

She’d complained about her laundry woes in the letter she’d written to Anne. It had been a long letter—more than four pages front and back—though not an overly intimate one. Julia had refrained from mentioning anything about her burgeoning feelings for Jasper. And she hadn’t written a word about the Bluebeard-like restrictions he’d imposed on her movements in the house.

Anne wouldn’t understand. She’d never liked Jasper to begin with. And she’d have no patience with the agreement Julia had made with him.

What is he hiding? Anne would ask. What’s so horrible he must keep it secret from you?

Julia consoled herself that Anne didn’t know anything about husbands. In five days of marriage, Julia had learned precious little herself. Still, she was leagues ahead of her unmarried friends.

She knew what it was to kiss a gentleman. To sleep with him every night in bed, and to feel his strength pressed up against her softness as he held her in a powerful embrace. She knew what it was to belong to a gentleman, and to feel that he belonged to her absolutely—regardless of his past or his secrets or any of the doubts she might still have about him.

And there were more than a few to plague her.

The children weren’t helping in that regard. Between the boys’ remarks about Jasper being a forger and Daisy’s constant avowal that Jasper had loved her mother more than anyone in the world, Julia was finding it a trifle difficult to get her footing.

“She’s sleeping all the time now,” Daisy said, standing over Dolly’s grave.

Julia glanced at her. “Did your mother sleep a great deal before?”

Daisy nodded bleakly.

Julia didn’t press her on the subject. Jasper had said that Dolly had been desperately ill in her final month. That she’d largely wasted away. Naturally, she must have spent a great amount of time in bed asleep. Though how Daisy knew of it, Julia hadn’t the slightest notion. The little girl had been barely a year old at the time of her mother’s death.

Kneeling down, Daisy removed the broken branches and stray leaves that had gathered over the burial mound.

Casting one last rueful look at her clean skirts, Julia knelt down on the grass beside her. She helped to clear away the debris.

“My mother was the nicest, kindest, most beautiful lady in the world,” Daisy informed her—not for the first time. “She loved me very much.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“Did your mother love you?”

Julia brushed the dried mud from the chiseled placard at the base of the angel. It was inscribed with Dolly’s name and the date of her death. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.