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Chapter 7
For Julie, this was the most nerve-racking conversation of her life.
She hadn’t blinked an eye since Robert walked out of her bedroom the night before. She couldn’t think of a single thing she did wrong. She lay there unmoving; her face turned away, careful not to look too distressed by what was happening. She hadn’t made a peep. So, she was surprised when he’d scrambled from her bed as if she’d burned him and left her room. Perhaps her facial expressions had showed her turmoil. But was it enough to hurt him so?
Perhaps she should have been more open with him, told him the truth, that she had no idea what was about to transpire. Of course, she knew what she’d been told by her spinster of a chaperone, but that wasn’t saying much. She’d said he would lift her skirts and do something to her there that was going to hurt, but she’d said nothing about him fondling her while she lay there half-naked.
She hadn’t known he would touch her the way he did. She hadn’t known a strange feeling would shoot through her when he touched her nipple. Julie couldn’t help but recoil, but it seemed to infuriate him. What was she supposed to do? She was afraid he would now call off their deal and go straight to his estate without fetching Mary from the asylum. The thought numbed her to the point of paralysis.
When he reassured her fears with that offended look on his face, Julie instantly felt better. He was obviously a gentleman who kept his word, and that knowledge was like a balm to her battered soul. If nothing else, she’d finally get Mary back. And since she’d gotten her reprieve from a marital bed, she would do anything to be a perfect wife for him.
She would look after his estates and stay out of his way. That’s what wives were supposed to do, wasn’t it? She didn’t want him to think she was unreliable. And later, perhaps, if they were better acquainted, maybe the marriage bed wouldn’t feel as terrible. If they both felt more comfortable in each other’s company, he might tell her what to do.
The thought came, unbidden, of John’s tender kisses, his gentle touch. Would she feel that self-conscious half-naked in front of him? If he was the one touching her in bed? She shook those thoughts out of her head. There was no point in dwelling on John. Not anymore. She was a married woman, and her only hope for John now was that he came home safe and found his happiness with someone else. Her heart was gripped in a cold, harsh vise of envy for the unknown woman who’d eventually become his wife. She swallowed through the lump in her throat. She had no right to him anymore. And he had no right to her.
The rest of the journey was quiet and uneventful. They stopped several times throughout the trip but hadn’t dined in private since that first night. She didn’t know if private dining rooms weren’t available or if her husband had no wish to converse with her privately, and she didn’t press the issue. She was a nervous wreck and couldn’t hold on to the thread of a conversation anyhow. The closer they got to York, the more jittery she became. Her stomach was tied in knots, and aside from hard bread and some wine, she didn’t seem able to digest anything.
On the fourth day of the journey, they finally reached York. When they rode into the city limits, Robert cantered next to the carriage and knocked on the window. She unlatched it and looked at him questioningly.
“Do you wish to have a quick stop at the inn before we go to the asylum? Freshen up a bit?” he asked loudly through the sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels.
“No.” Julie shook her head for emphasis. “Mary won’t care what I look like. I’d rather get to her as quickly as I can.”
Robert gave a jerky nod and rode ahead. With every jolt of the carriage, they were getting closer to Mary. Her heart was ready to sing with joy. At the same time, her head was filled with worry. What did Mary look like now? Would she even remember Julie? What if she was sick?
Julie covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t face this turmoil anymore. She needed to see Mary as soon as she could.
They stopped next to a large, old mansion. The gray building seemed dark and forbidding, with the windows all shuttered and draped. Robert opened the door of the carriage for Julie and helped her descend. They walked together to the front doors and waited as their servant knocked.
They waited for a long time before the door finally opened. A thin, middle-aged, gray-haired woman regarded them curiously from the doorway.
“No visitors are allowed,” she said harshly and was about to shut the door in their faces when Robert placed his boot between the door and doorjamb.
“We are not visitors,” he said harshly. “We are here to retrieve a patient. Mary Weston. I’ve communicated through my solicitor about her release.”
“Right.” The woman grimaced unpleasantly. “You’ll have to wait—”
“We’ll wait inside.” Robert pushed the door open and led Julie in by the arm.
“In that case, follow me.”
The woman led them through the dark, damp corridor. There were cracks in the walls, and strange sounds echoed from behind the closed doors along the hall. The floors were dirty, ceilings were leaking, and overall, the place looked hideous. Julie clutched frantically at Robert’s arm, and he placed a calming hand over hers. She looked around in horror. She remembered reading an article about the York asylum earlier that year. It was lauded for its humane practices and excellent keeping. Somehow, looking at the place now, she doubted the article had done the place justice.
The woman led them to a door at the farthest corner of the hall and knocked patiently. “I’ll see if the chairman is in,” she said as she turned to them. “He is the only one who may discharge the patients,” she clarified at their dubious looks.
“Enter,” a man called from the other side of the door. The woman went in and quickly closed the door behind her. Robert’s nostrils flared in anger in response, and Julie looked at him with undisguised worry.
“Let’s go in.” Robert nodded at her and opened the door.
The contrast between the room they entered and the hall they were just in was so drastic that Julie had to look out of the room one more time to make certain they were still in the asylum. The chamber was spacious and richly decorated. At the wall farthest from the door stood an enormous mahogany desk, with a huge, well-fed, middle-aged man behind it. The wall on the left was filled with books with expensive leather bindings, and plush Turkish carpet decorated the floor. Julie scanned the rest of the room and confirmed there were no cracks in this room’s walls or ceilings.
The thin woman turned and looked at them in distaste.
“It’s all right, Matilda. Go and get Miss Mary,” the man said.
“Lady Mary,” Julie corrected him loudly.
“Right, Lady Mary.” The man nodded to the woman he called Matilda and turned back to Robert and Julie. “Lord Clydesdale, I presume?” he said with a curt bow.
