Page 89 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
…
A couple of days later…
Jules took a deep breath, opened the door to the drawing room, and stepped across the threshold. The letter she had sent her father a few days ago was still clutched within his grip, showing her he had read those words over and over. Words which had reassured him though he would have seen the notice of her death in the papers, she was very much alive and would provide an explanation upon her return to Hertfordshire.
“Papa,” she said softly.
He surged to his feet and took a step toward her, only to falter into profound stillness. Jules held herself still as her father ran his gaze over the lady before him. He paled, then swayed, reaching out to grip the armchair.
Her mother entered the room and closed the door with a softsnick.
“My God,” her father said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Your mother…your mother told me only yesterday. I have been trying to come to terms with it but I…seeing you before me like this…I do not know what to say.”
“I am the same person, Papa,” Jules said, a tight lump in her throat.
“I know you are but…” He sat down heavily in his chair resting his face in his hand.
Shock darted through her when she realized he sobbed. She took a few steps over, but a light touch at her elbow arrested her movements. Jules glanced at her mother to see tears also coursed down her cheeks, and her eyes were so reddened it informed Jules her mother had spent hours weeping.
“Your father and I have many things to work out between us,” she said softly. “My revelation has been a shock to him and…and he will need some time to…”
Her mother looked away.
Jules lifted her chin, tightly guarding herself against his rejection. “Do you wish for me to leave, Father?”
He snapped his head up and shoved himself out of the chair. “No. I…it was my lack of understanding that caused your mother to even think of such a scheme. If there is someone to blame for this it would be me, but Jules, I do not wish to blame anyone. You are a wonderful person…my son…” He took a deep breath. “My daughter. You are clever and beautiful and resourceful. But why did you…whydid you announce your passing in the papers?”
“I am going to be the Duchess of Wulverton,” she said, meeting his regard unflinchingly. “Mr. Jules Southby cannot exist anymore, Father, but I am still here, and I will continue assisting you should you wish it and will not be ashamed to have me with you.”
Those words had her parents staring at her with varying degrees of shock.
“What?” her father said.
“Aduchess,” her mother gasped, a hand fluttering to her throat.
“Of course,” her father said faintly, “now I understand what I observed.”
Jules flushed and lifted her chin. “It will be a great shock to the family, and we will have to inform Uncle Albert and Sarah of everything…”
Her father walked around his desk, held out his arms, and Jules hugged him. As she squeezed him, she started to cry. Her mother came over, and her father enfolded them in his arms. Jules knew everything would take months for a sense of normalcy to find them once more, but knowing they were at the beginning of their acceptance filled her with peace and contentment.
…
A year and a few months later…
“James, James!” Jules cried, running from the library on the second floor along the hallway and down the grand staircase without any of the etiquette lessons she had absorbed over the past year.
She’d only started going through the correspondences their butler had delivered to her this morning because she had been too busy hosting a small garden party with only their close family as guests. It had been wonderful spending time with their family, and Sarah who was with her second child and gloriously happy. Her heart pounding with jubilation, she hurried down the hallway and shoved open the door to the library. “My research paper has been accepted for publication!”
Her duke was not in the room. A cool breeze wafted inside from the open windows, and a few sheets of paper fluttered over the desk to cascade to the carpet. Walking over to the desk, she lowered the letter received from the British Medical Association which had lauded the paper she wrote on the biological necessity of touch and how crucial it was from infancy. That they would also publish that paper as being written by Julianna St. Leo, the Duchess of Wulverton would cause a small ripple through those from thehaut tonwho might read it, but certainly a great uproar from those in the psychology field.
Jules padded to the open window, peering outside into the darkness. A sigh of pleasure left her when she saw James, walking half naked across the lawns. That he was outside at this hour meant he’d felt the walls closing in on him and had responded to the need to be outdoors.
Toeing off her shoes, then removing her stockings, Jules slung her foot over the very windowsill her love had escaped through and shimmied outside. She curled her toes into the wet grass, inhaling the varied scents around her. The earth smelled of moss and water, the air of roses, lavender, and gardenias. James had taught her so much about isolating all other senses and letting the sense of smell dominate. Heat curled through her as she recalled the carnal ways he had touched and showed her to appreciate the power of fragrances.
She sauntered over to him, smiling when his lips curved into a smile. He had smelled her already. James turned and watched as she approached. When he opened his arms, Jules laughed, ran the rest of the way, and jumped into his arms. Of course, he effortlessly caught her, and she easily wrapped her legs around his hips for she did not conform to the notion of wearing a bustle beneath her gowns, especially in the comfort of her home. Her hair, which she had not cut in over a year, rippled over her shoulders and settled around them in soft waves.
“You’ve been running,” she murmured, cupping the underside of his jaw.
