Page 62 of Somewhere I'll Find You
“Before she departed, she came to me. She didn't ask for money or any kind of help…only my reassurance that I still loved her. And I couldn't give it to her. I turned my back on her. I wouldn't even speak to her. And when she persisted in calling my name and trying to put her arms around me, I…called her a whore and walked away.”
Edward began to weep openly, the tears seeming to drain what strength he had left. “That was the last time I saw her. Anna went to France to stay with a distant cousin. Later we learned that she had died in childbirth. I managed to put her out of my mind for several years—it was either that or go mad thinking about her. Just when I had almost forgotten that she had ever existed, you were born.”
He blotted his face with a handkerchief, the stream of moisture from his eyes refusing to abate. “You looked so much like her that it shocked me every time I looked at you. I thought it a cruel twist of fate to see her in your face, your eyes…you were a constant reminder of my cruelty to Anna. And worse, you had her spirit, her way of looking at things. You were my sister reborn. I didn't want to lose you as I did her. I thought if I could make you more like me…sensible, serious, completely without imagination…then you would never leave me. But the more I tried to mold you, the more you resisted…the more likeheryou became. Everything I thought I was doing for your good was a mistake.”
Julia wiped a trickle of tears from her own cheeks. “Including the marriage to Lord Savage.”
“Especially that,” Edward agreed in a choked voice. “I thought it would leave you no choice except to become exactly what I wanted you to be. But you rebelled just as Anna did. You discarded your name and took to the stage, and worse, you became successful. I tried to punish you by disinheriting you…but that didn't seem to matter.”
“You're right, the money didn't matter,” Julia said, her voice unsteady. “All I wanted was for you to love me.”
Her father shook his head, the movement resembling the wobble of a broken toy. “I didn't want to love you if I couldn't change you. I couldn't bear the risk.”
And now? Julia longed to ask, questions hovering on her lips. Was it too late for them? Why had he brought himself to tell her all this? She was afraid to hope that he would want her back in his life, that he might try to accept her as he hadn't been able to in the past. But it was too soon for questions. For now, understanding was enough.
She stared at her father, seeing the exhaustion in every line of his face. His eyelids drooped, his chin dipping toward his chest. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered, and leaned over him to arrange his pillows. “Sleep now—you're tired.”
“You'll…stay?” he managed to ask.
She nodded and smiled tenderly. “I'll stay until you're better, Father.”
Although her father's confidences had left her too stunned to be hungry, Julia mechanically consumed a small plate of chicken and boiled vegetables from a tray sent to her room. She had told Eva all that had been said, and her mother had reacted without much surprise. “I knew about poor Anna,” Eva had admitted, “but none of the Hargates were inclined to talk about her. Your father never told me that you reminded him so strongly of his sister. I suppose I should have guessed. It explains so many things…”
“Why did he tell me now?” Julia had wondered aloud. “What did he mean to accomplish?”
“He was trying to tell you that he is sorry,” her mother replied softly.
It was strange to be sleeping beneath her parents' roof once more, listening to the subtle creaks of the house, the sound of the wind whipping against the windows, the night noises of the countryside beyond. All of it was acutely familiar. Julia could almost believe she was a little girl again, and that she would wake in the morning to spend the day studying her lessons and seeking private places to read piles of books.
Staring open-eyed into the darkness, Julia saw images of her childhood pass before her in a slow parade…her father's iron-fisted rule of the house, her mother's timid presence, her own elaborately wrought fantasies…and as always, the shadow of Damon. Throughout her adolescence he had been the focus of her curiosity, fear, and resentment. He had been an invisible burden she had yearned to cast off. And when she had met him, she discovered that he was not so much torment as temptation, luring her dangerously close to a betrayal of her hard-won freedom.
Damon had shown her what she would miss if she spent her life merely interpreting roles on the stage, going home each night to an empty house and a solitary bed. She loved him now in spite of her will to resist; how much more she could love him if she let herself! She wanted him even despite his entanglement with Lady Ashton. Beneath his controlled exterior Damon was a passionate flesh-and-blood man, one who struggled with questions of desire and honor and responsibility. She admired his relentless pursuit of his goals, his efforts to shape the world to his will. If she had met him before she became an actress, how might it have changed her life?
When she finally slept, there was no respite in her dreams. Images of Damon and the sound of his voice filled her mind, tormenting her sweetly. She awoke several times during the night, reshaping her pillow, constantly changing positions in the effort to get comfortable. “Will you send for him?” her mother had asked earlier in the evening. The question still plagued Julia. She couldn't help wanting him…she ached to feel his arms around her. However, she would not send for him. She would not depend on anyone but herself.
For the next three days, Julia spent endless hours at her father's bedside, helping to care for him, entertaining him by reading aloud from novels. Edward listened with rapt attention, his gaze locked on her face. “I'm certain you must be an accomplished actress,” he said at one point, surprising her into silence. For a man who was so bitterly opposed to her career, it must have been a difficult admission. “When you read, you make the printed word come alive.”
“You might come to see me at the Capital someday,” Julia said, her tone more wistful than she had intended. “That is, if you could bear the idea of watching your daughter on stage.”
“Perhaps,” came Edward's dubious reply.
Julia smiled. Merely allowing for the possibility was more than she ever would have expected from her father. “It's possible you would enjoy it,” she said. “I'm known as a fairly proficient player.”
“You're known as a great actress,” he corrected. “I can't seem to avoid every mention of you in the papers. It seems that you are a favorite subject of the gossips—most of it highly discomforting for a father to hear, I might add.”
“Oh, gossip,” Julia replied airily, enjoying the experience of actually conversing with him. “Almost all of it is false, I assure you. I lead a very quiet life in London—no affairs or scandals to boast of.”
“You're often mentioned in the same breath as your theater manager.”
“Mr. Scott is a friend, nothing more.” Julia met his gaze directly. “The theater is his only true love, and no other passion could come close to it.”
“What of Lord Savage? Your mother seems to think you may have some feelings for him.”
Julia looked away, her brow wrinkling. “I do,” she admitted reluctantly. “But nothing can come of it. He's too…uncompromising.”
Edward seemed to understand the wealth of implications in the word. He regarded her silently, his gaze reflective.
“No doubt you would still like me to take my place as his wife and become a duchess someday,” Julia said.
