Page 31 of Forget Me Not

The space was perfectly round. Windows and a set of french doors filled the exterior wall, affording a view of the back gardens. A fireplace sat cozily in the interior wall. An ornate medallion adorned the ceiling, a brass chandelier hanging from the center, six unlit candles sitting in place, awaiting the opportunity to light the space after sundown.

A generously proportioned wingback chair sat beside an end table, perfect for holding one’s sewing or—her heart fluttered a bit—a mathematics text and notebook. A little sofa sat a bit apart from it, near enough the fire to be quite comfortable even in the cold of the approaching winter.

She pushed the french doors open and stepped out onto a bay-shaped balcony. Her breath caught at the beauty of the scene before her—the vast expanse of a valley, a town nestled there, and majestic mountains farther afield.

Julia turned back to look again at the small circular room. She loved it, adored it to the point of fighting back an unexpected surge of emotion. This room held something that had been eluding her for far too long... peace. “I could live here,” she whispered. “With this haven to retreat to, I could live here.”

She stepped back inside, then crossed to and through the door leading back to her bedchamber. In time, this space might feel less foreign. Of course, Lucas sitting on the bench at the end of her bed likely added to the oddity of it all. Not only had he been absent from her life for years, but she had also never had a gentleman other than her brother and father in her bedchamber.

“Brier Hill isn’t as fine an estate as Farland Meadows,” he said, “but I’ve discovered in the past years that it is grand in its own way. Not a terrible place to pass the winter.”

Julia took a breath, pushing out a bit of the tension clutching at her heart. She crossed to the bench and sat beside him. She rested her hands on her lap and looked up at him. They couldn’t change that this was their reality now, but she could attempt to make the best of it. “You have a lovely home, Lucas.”

He watched her with drawn brow. “It’s your home now as much as mine.”

She smiled a little. “Perhaps in time it will feel that way.”

“Do you like Brier Hill?”

She watched him a moment. “Does it matter so much what I think of it?”

He turned his gaze away, looking out over her room. “You were the most opinionated child who ever lived. When everyone else, out of habit, would tell me, ‘You’re doing well’ or ‘You’ll do better soon enough,’ you had no qualms saying, ‘Lucas, you’re a dunderhead,’ or alternately, ‘Lucas, you didn’t entirely muck everything up.’”

That was too accurate to not be amusing. “I always thought Charlotte was the one you should have called sweeting. She was actually sweet.”

“Charlotte was a dear.” Lucas set his hand atop hers. For the first time since his return from the Continent, she didn’t feel the need to immediately pull away. “But Stanley and I adored your fieriness. You insisted on joining in our adventures around the estates. The significant difference in our ages would have made that an utter annoyance if not for your fierceness and adventurous spirit. You weren’t afraid to climb trees or wade into streams. You hadn’t the least misgivings telling us in no uncertain terms what terrible people we were if ever we tried to prevent your participation.”

“You didn’t always let me,” she reminded him.

“We were quite a bit older than you,” he said. “Most in our situation would have refused all the time, would have resented a little tag-along playmate. But we adored you. We loved Charlotte, of course. But her softheartedness didn’t make her abetterperson than you.”

They sat like that, side by side, his hand on hers, neither one talking and neither one pulling away. He used to hold her hand when they sat on their rock by the Trent. That was a long time ago. She’d missed that. She’d missed him.

After a moment, a footman came inside with her small traveling trunk.

Lucas stood, letting her hand slip free. “One of the maids will likely be along soon, wanting to begin unpacking your things once the rest are brought in.”

“This is all she has, Lord Jonquil,” the footman said.

Lucas turned to her, confused. “Only the one trunk? This couldn’t hold anything beyond your clothing.”

“I didn’t wish to bring anything else,” she said.

The footman slipped out.

“Why not? Did you not wish for trinkets and baubles and things to make your room your own? The space will hardly feel as though it belongs to you if there’s nothing familiar in it.”

“And it would hardly feel welcoming filled with reminders of the home in which I no longer felt valued or wanted.” She folded her hands on her lap.

Lucas walked to the door that led to the little antechamber linking their rooms but stopped and turned back to face her. “I do hope you will be happy here, Julia.”

“Ours is not a circumstance which lends itself to happiness,” she said. “But I’m hopeful I can at least feel content.”

A tense breath escaped his lips on a frustrated sigh, and he turned and left.

Julia climbed from the bench onto the bed and curled up in a ball, burying her head in the soft pillows. She was so very lost, so entirely alone. She had tried to be honest and up-front with Lucas, and that had only made him frustrated with her.

She wanted to be happy; she truly did. But life had been so full of pain the past years that she wasn’t even certain she remembered what happiness felt like.

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