The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page

want to marry you. I must marry you.”

      Oh heavens. She did not love this man. She’d known him since he was a boy and he had only ever been interested in one thing—himself. And if she were his wife, she could never do anything unless he gave her permission. That was the kind of marriage that existed decades ago. It was one she would never accept.

      Grandmama would faint when she learned what her granddaughter was going to do. Gently Julia said, “James, I am so very flattered by your proposal. I am so sorry you’ve waited for so long—”

      “Don’t go on,” he said brusquely. “There is no need.” He released her hand and stepped back. His face became a hard, emotionless mask. “But I would like to know why.”

      “It is not you. Truly, it isn’t. I just—I just am filled with thoughts of Anthony still.” But there had been Dougal, so she knew her heart could be touched. Just not by this man.

      “Even after this long? Julia, I would treat you like a queen. You would reign over my four estates. I still have a considerable income. My God, Julia, I dream of you every night.”

      He grasped her wrist again, this time hard enough that she winced.

      “James, you are hurting me.”

      “I’m sorry.” He released her. “I’ve been a damned fool, haven’t I?” he said harshly. “Hoping you might realize how much I want you to be my duchess.”

      He looked at her with such hurt she felt guilty. But she’d never asked him to hope or wait. Never once had she been anything beyond polite and proper.

      But this was going to turn messy and emotional and unpleasant, and all her training leaped to the fore. “Dear James, any woman would jump at your proposal. But you deserve a woman who can give you her entire heart. I can’t.”

      “But if you could—” He left the sentence hanging.

      What did she do? Lie? It was the ladylike thing to do. One simple statement had her facing the most stunning truth—did she want to be a lady and lie, or did she want to be bold and brave and tell the truth? “If I could...well, things would be quite different, I assure you.”

      That was a lady’s response. It didn’t insult and it said absolutely nothing. She felt rather guilty giving it. But her heart told her it was for the best.

      “Julia, I can’t wait any longer.”

      “I don’t want you to wait, James. Please, do find someone else and be happy.”

      He straightened his dinner jacket. “I bid you good-night then.”

      He was gone.

      Julia let out a deep, relieved breath.

      Then she heard a soft movement. Smoke drifted out from the doorway of the music room. She suspected Cal was in there. He must have come in from the terrace and heard everything. She stalked to the door. Cal was leaning against the fireplace mantel.

      He looked up as she walked in. “Why did you refuse him?”

      Julia felt her cheeks get hot. “That is none of your business.”

      “He’s a duke, isn’t it? Your family’s gonna be disappointed.”

      “My family accepts that I will marry only for love.”

      “That’s what you want? Love? Love can destroy you, you know. It can hurt you like nothing else can.”

      And he had been hurt. Very badly. By the loss of his parents? Or by something else? “I know that,” she said softly. “I lost my fiancé. I know how much it can hurt to love someone and lose them.”

      “Do you think it’s worth it?” he said suddenly.

      “Of course it is.”

      “I disagree.”

      “Tell me why your heart is so badly broken,” she said impulsively.

      But he only grinned. “Angel, I have no heart to break.” He threw the stub of his cigarette into the fireplace grate and, this time, he walked away from her.

      Of course, it was because he was running away from her question.

      * * *

      In the kitchen of Worthington Park, early in the morning, Hannah Talbot let out a huffing breath as she lifted the porridge dish. This was the plain one, the one used for the servants’ dinners and not one of the large gleaming silver dishes that was kept under lock and key. That one she never had to clean. As kitchen maid, she was too lowly. The butler, Mr. Wiggins, and the footmen tended to the silver.

      With Tansy, the new girl, pretending to be sick this morning, Hannah had done the work of two maids. Her arms ached from polishing the range until it shone like a mirror. She’d had to lay the fires in all the rooms, make the morning tea, as well as stir three pots of sauce at once, since Tansy wasn’t there to do any of it.

      And she’d had to do it perfectly. With the new earl arriving, Mrs. Feathers, the cook, was in a state. She’d snapped at Hannah for making mistakes when Hannah had been doing the work of two women at once!

      Then, while rushing through laying the fires, Hannah had gone to check on Tansy, only to find their room empty!

      Tansy wasn’t sick at all. She’d gone sneaking off somewhere.

      Hannah could have told Mrs. Feathers. But maybe there had been an emergency and Tansy had been too afraid to ask if she could have the morning off. Tansy had a large family and there was always someone sick or having a baby. Hannah had no family anymore. While Tansy complained about having a huge family who were always telling her what to do, Hannah envied her.

      The other servants were already seated at the table as she hefted the pot into the servants’ dining hall and set it on the table. Mrs. Feathers waited with the ladle and porcelain bowls. “What were you doing, girl? Harvesting the grain yourself?”

      “I’m sorry,” Hannah set the pot down as carefully as she could.

      The maids and footmen, the valet, her ladyship’s lady’s maid, the daughters’ lady’s maid, the housekeeper and Mr. Wiggins sat around the table with their tea or coffee before them. Hannah always had to make tea for everyone else—it was hours after she awoke that she got anything. She was dying for a cuppa, but she had to fetch the other food first.

      Finally she was able to slip into the only empty chair with a cup of tea for herself, just as Amy, the new parlor maid who came from London, asked, “What did ye think of him?”

      “Who?” Stephen, the senior footman asked.

      Hannah’s heart gave a little flip-flop in her chest. Stephen had a delicious voice. And he was handsome enough to be a film star, she was sure.

      “Rudolph Valentino,” Amy said pertly. “His lordship, of course. The new earl.”

      “He’s handsome,” Miss White said. Pale and red-haired, she was lady’s maid to Ladies Diana, Cassia and Thalia.

      “Did you see what he was wearing when he arrived last night? My brother works on a farm and he’s better dressed.”

      “That will be enough, Amy,” warned Mrs. Rumpole, Worthington’s housekeeper. She always wore a long black dress, and her graying hair was pulled back severely. The maids were terrified of her; Hannah was terrified of Mrs. Feathers, the cook.

      “He’s got no man of his own,” said Mr. St. Germaine, the valet. “So it looks like I’ll be dressing him. It’s like trying to mold a diamond out of an unformed lump of coal.”

      Amy giggled at that, flashing her dark eyes at the valet, who was dapper and good-looking, but was apparently quite old because he never looked at the women, not even the young and pretty ones like Amy.

      All the maids started talking about the new earl and what they thought of him. Then one asked her, “What do you think of him,