Deborah Hale - My Lord Protector

“Understand, my dear, that you will never be so used in this house. I will likely be a less than perfect husband, having so little previous experience with matrimony. However, I do hold myself a cut above any cowardly swine who would raise his hand to a woman. This is your home now. You will always be safe here.”

Some beacon of compassion in the depths of those inscrutable eyes, together with the reassuring gentleness of his hand and voice, touched her. Julianna’s tightly bound emotions broke free, overwhelming her. Before she had time to think what she was doing, she found herself cradled against Sir Edmund’s shoulder, weeping her heart out in the sanctuary of his arms.

The fine linen of his shirt drank in her tears. She could feel the warmth of his chest against her cheek. He smelled of pipe tobacco and shaving soap, and a faint spicy aroma she could not identify. She loved Crispin with all her heart, but Crispin was lost to her. She was alone in a hostile world, with only one possible haven of safety and solace. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Julianna raised her face to Sir Edmund’s. Her lips brushed his sharp jawline, coming to rest with tremulous delicacy against his. For a moment he seemed to yield, the firm set of his mouth softening in response to the timid invitation of her kiss.

Then, without a twitch of warning, he pushed her back and leapt up from the chaise as if the upholstery had caught fire. “Have you lost your mind, woman? What is the meaning of this?”

What had she done wrong? Had she behaved in too forward a manner? “I thought...that is, Jerome told me...you wanted to breed an heir to your fortune.”

“I had to tell him something.” Sir Edmund made an obvious effort to regain his composure. “I couldn’t very well approach a fellow in the midst of a respectable coffeehouse and casually inquire if he had a sister for sale. Besides, I have a perfectly suitable heir, as you well know, and I have no interest in supplanting him.”

Now who had lost his senses?

“But, if you don’t...I mean... Well, look here, exactly why did you offer to marry me?”

He gazed down at her with a vexing mixture of amazement and amusement. “You don’t know who I am,” he said, in the hushed, reverent tone of one suddenly enlightened.

“I know very well who you are,” Julianna snapped. “However, I do not know what you are talking about.”

“You don’t know who I am,” Sir Edmund repeated, appearing pleasantly relieved by the knowledge. “That explains it all—the way you looked during the wedding. Why, I’ve seen cheerier faces bound for the gallows.”

A guilty blush smarted in Julianna’s cheeks. She hung her head. “I meant nothing personal regarding you, Sir Edmund.”

“I should hope not. After all, I am undoubtedly the answer to any maiden’s prayer.” The dryly ironic tone of his voice made Julianna glance up. She saw his brows arched and his shoulders raised in a droll, self-deprecating gesture. This arid humor caught her so much by surprise, she could not stifle a volley of nervous laughter. Sir Edmund’s features relaxed from their comic aspect into something approaching a smile.

“I thought your woeful expression might be playacting for your stepbrother. I am sorry you had to suffer such distress, but it may have been worth it to convince Skeldon of your reluctance to marry me. Perhaps that was Underhill’s intent.”

“Cousin Francis? So he did come to you. I should have known better than to trust him with such a commission. He is the most kindhearted creature in the world, but...”

“But he is a very modest man, with ample reason to be so.” A fleeting smile warmed Sir Edmund’s features. “You could have found no fault with his mission on your behalf. Young Underhill argued your case with the utmost conviction. I’ll own, I took some convincing. I prize my solitude, you see.” Casting her a wary look, he reclaimed his seat on the chaise.

“I take your point, Sir Edmund. Neither of us came eagerly to this marriage. But what is this other business you alluded to, about your identity?”

“At luncheon, I made an awkward attempt to reassure you when I spoke of my family history. For centuries the name Crispin, like Edmund, has often been bestowed on hapless Fitzhugh infants. My father was the Reverend Crispin Fitzhugh. I also have a nephew, my sister Alice’s son—Crispin Bayard.”

Her Crispin, the nephew of Sir Edmund Fitzhugh? Julianna mulled this single fact over and over in her mind, that it might take hold. “Then you must be Crispin’s ‘quoting uncle’!”

“So he would often call me. And I would reply, ‘A word fitly spoken is like—’”

“‘—is like apples of gold.”’ Julianna laughed with delighted surprise. “It is you! I can’t believe it. How, for all the times we spoke of you, could Crispin not have told me your name?”

“My nephew is gentleman enough to know that talk of an aging uncle is no way to woo one’s ladylove.”

“Crispin did once tell me that everything he learned about being a gentleman came from your example.”

Sir Edmund shook his head. “He missed the mark there. I believe we both benefited from our upbringing by my dear Alice.”

Suddenly, as if conjured by their eager exchange, Julianna had the warmest, most palpable sense of Crispin’s presence. Grasping Sir Edmund’s hand, she wrung it heartily. “It is such a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Then Julianna recalled that not only had she met Crispin’s uncle, she had wed him. Abruptly, she dropped his hand.

Perhaps to reassure her, Sir Edmund continued. “Crispin talked much of you before his departure. I know he would want me do everything in my power to aid you. He need never have made this expedition to the South Seas, you know. As my heir, if he’d chosen to remain in England and marry you, I would have made him a handsome settlement. He is a true Fitzhugh, however. Pride is our besetting sin, so I can hardly grudge him his measure of it. Neither can I quarrel with his taste for adventure, as I was also smitten with it in my youth. He is a good lad, and I know he’ll fare well. He has been my ward since his mother died, and like a son to me in every way. Though perhaps we share a closer bond than most fathers and sons, who often grow at odds as time passes. My nephew is all the world to me.”

“And to me.” She had not intended to say this. Whatever the circumstances, it could hardly be polite, professing to a new husband one’s undying love for another man. “What I mean to say is... and you to him. He spoke of you with great affection.”

Sir Edmund graciously ignored Julianna’s gaffe, and her equally unsubtle attempt at recovery. “Affection is far too pale a term for the fervor with which Crispin recounted your charms, my dear. Most of our conversations in the past months lapsed into a catalog of your beauty, your wit, your understanding.” He ticked each off on a finger. “I once chided him with Shakespeare’s words. ‘My mistress’ eyes—’”

“‘—are nothing like the sun...’” countered Julianna. “Crispin told me of it.”

“He insisted that one day I would retract those words, and so I do. Whenever you speak his name, your eyes are lambent with June sunshine.”

In response to Sir Edmund’s courtly homage, the warmth of that sunshine spread from Julianna’s eyes to her smile. Though she suspected it must look rather ghoulish on her battered face.

“I see where Crispin acquired his gift for poetic flattery.” Rather than pleasing him, her compliment turned a man of mature years into a stammering schoolboy intent upon making his escape. “Well...hardly...in any case...now that you know...that is to say, understand...the facts...” Jumping from the chaise once again, he made a curt bow. “I trust you will sleep well.”