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“As do I.”
They said their farewells and Giulia approached the tall windows that lined the front wall, watching the siblings climb into a phaeton. She returned to the seating area, lowering herself into a cream upholstered chair and allowing her mind to wander to Ames.
What would he think of these niceties? Of the plush drawing room, and Giulia entertaining a caller as though she was the lady of the house? He likely would have laughed, loudly and with great disrespect. He would have told Giulia to cease putting on airs and behave like the humble maiden her father had raised her to be.
And then he might have asked why in all of her time at Halstead, Giulia had yet to tell another soul of his existence. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She’d never been in a situation such as this before. How did one explain a relationship such as theirs? He was part of her—her other half. For as long as she could remember, he was a part of her life and a permanent fixture in her day-to-day.
Now that he was not so intricately sewn into her daily life, she’d had a chance to breathe, to see the type of person she was when she was on her own. In a way, it was liberating.
She scowled and rose. Just thinking those words felt like the deepest betrayal. She would push these new independent thoughts from her mind. She must. Ames was the one. He was perfect for her. No one—no one understood her like he did. And they were going to be married. He was hard at work providing a living for her. He was following his dreams so they could follow theirs together. Right?
She shook her head and made it halfway up the stairs before she turned and followed her feet to the earl’s study. Before she gave heed to her actions, her fist was lightly knocking on the heavy door.
A gruff “Enter!” brought her hand to the doorknob and she watched it turn as her feet carried her inside the study. She took three steady footsteps into the room and halted, clasping her hands before her. The earl looked surprised to see her, but that was to be expected. His eyes held a touch of guarded vulnerability that she hadn’t seen before; she smiled sweetly, hoping it meant a lull in his typical, crotchety behavior.
“Has any mail been delivered in my father’s name? If so, I would like it to be given to me so I may continue his correspondence. I apologize if that may be uncomfortable for you, but you need not be concerned; it is expected. The people who write to my father—his readers—are expecting a response, and I do not wish to disappoint them.”
There was a pause as she held the earl’s gaze.
Lord Hart cleared his throat and fidgeted with his neckcloth. “Very well. I will see that they are delivered to your chamber.” He nodded and the steel returned to his eyes. She bowed her head and left the room before racing up the west wing stairs and into her own room where she flopped onto the plush bed. That had been exhilarating.
