Page 151 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“I think he must like you very much,” Julia said.

Anne gave an unladylike snort. “Bah. Enough about him. I didn’t travel hundreds of miles in the wretch’s company only to speak of him on arriving here. I came to talk about you. What possessed you to take such a leap? And with Captain Blunt of all people.”

Julia gave her friend an abridged version of the events leading up to her marriage, telling her about Lord Gresham, Dr. Cordingley’s visit, and how she’d proposed to Jasper from her sickbed.

“It was the best thing I’ve ever done,” she said sincerely. “He’s made me so very happy.”

Anne’s gaze softened. “I suspected as much. I can only regret I didn’t see it myself. I was that set against him. Evie was more open-minded. She ran into him at Hatchards once when he was purchasing a novel. That was enough to merit her good opinion. Mine is more difficult to earn.”

“Even now?”

“I’m warming to the man. Anyone who makes you this happy must have some redeeming qualities. Mind you, I still think he’s too big for you, and far too dour.”

“Indeed he is not,” Julia objected. “We suit each other perfectly.”

“Hmm.” Anne was doubtful. “What about this old ruin? Can you really be content here? There appear to be no servants of quality. And the grounds—I don’t mean to criticize, but I’m sure you’d agree they’re a little shabby.”

“They’re grand,” Julia said. “All of it—the children and the estate and my husband. I am happy here, truly. I promise you.”

Anne studied her face for a long while before nodding her head. “In that case, I suppose I had better give you your gifts and wish you joy.”

Releasing Julia’s arm, Anne returned to the carriage. A footman assisted her in removing a large book-shaped package from inside. “Is there somewhere we can go?” she asked. “Somewhere out of doors? I’ve had enough of closed spaces to last me a lifetime.”

Julia took her friend’s hand. “I know just the place.”

There was an old arbor in the garden, all overgrown with wildflowers and vines. Julia led Anne there, and the two of them sat side by side in the shady embrace of the leaves.

Julia tore open the wrappings on her package, revealing the enormous book inside. She read the title aloud: “Beeton’s Book of Household Management.”

“It was published only last year, written by a lady who knows everything in the world about managing a household. She even has a section on treating stains.” Anne examined the pages along with Julia as she flipped through them. “You shall learn it all, I have no doubt. In the meanwhile, I’ve brought my lady’s maid, Jeanette, with me from London. Well, not with me. She’s at the inn now, making things comfortable in our rooms. But I shall bring her when we visit tomorrow morning, and she’ll clean and press all your gowns for you.”

Tears of gratitude sprang to Julia’s eyes. She embraced her friend tightly. “Thank you.”

“It’s my second wedding gift to you,” Anne said when they broke apart. “And this is the third.” Opening the black velvet reticule that hung at her wrist, she extracted a folded piece of paper. “I confess, I went in search of it with the intention of exposing Captain Blunt as a villain. Now I know you have feelings for the man, I’m relieved I didn’t succeed.”

Julia eyed the paper with apprehension. “What is it?”

“It’s an old clipping from an 1855 edition of the London Courant. The most thorough report I could find on what actually happened all those years ago in the Crimea.” Anne smiled at Julia’s hesitance. “You needn’t look so anxious. The report says he was a hero. Here, take it. Read it for yourself.”

A HERO OF THE CRIMEA

Success has at length crowned the endeavors of France and England in the Crimea; the mighty fortress of Sebastopol is in the possession of the allied armies. The victory has come with a fearful cost. While gallant hearts were toiling outside of its walls, there were brave defenders inside, who staked everything upon the issue. Among them, Capt. J. Blunt of the 10th Royal Hussars will surely be remembered as one of the conflict’s greatest heroes. Along with a scouting party of four of his valiant men, Capt. Blunt came under fire from an enemy sharpshooter during the fall of the city. Lieut. J. Marshland, son of the late Rev. Marshland, Vicar of Cadenham, was killed instantly. Blunt’s remaining men, Lieut. R. Grainger, brother of Viscount Ridgeway, and Lieutenants T. Akers, son of Mr. L. Akers of Wimbledon, and W. Vaughn, son of Mr. M. Vaughn of Newcastle, succumbed to a hail of bullets. Severely injured himself, Capt. Blunt disabled the sharpshooter, and when an enemy patrol descended and might have made away with valuable intelligence secreted on Lt. Marshland’s body, Capt. Blunt single-handedly dispatched the enemy at great cost to his own life. Blunt is recuperating from grievous wounds at Scutari Hospital. He is being considered for a special medal of bravery to be awarded by Queen Victoria.

The blood drained from Julia’s face as she read. By the time she’d finished, she felt clammy and faint, much like she had after a visit from Dr. Cordingley and his scarificator.

“There, you see,” Anne said triumphantly. “Your husband was a hero. I misjudged the man; I freely admit it.”

“Yes, I see,” Julie answered.

But it wasn’t all she’d seen.

A name had leapt out at her from the newspaper article: Lieutenant J. Marshland.

Jasper had lied to her. J. Marshland wasn’t his pen name. J. Marshland wasn’t anyone’s pen name. He’d been one of Jasper’s men. A soldier serving under him. The son of a country vicar.

“He was a dreamer. He loved novels—reading them and writing them.”

Jasper’s words in the Claverings’ garden echoed back to her.