Never Land the First Fish

Chapter Thirty-Two, Part 1

Gills secured a room at the inn in Brickdale's village before he did anything else and sent a note by courier to give Julia fair warning of his visit, in case she wanted to avoid him for some reason. He wrote across the sheet of paper provided by the innkeeper, in the bold hand he'd taken to once he found himself managing a going concern.

I'll come for tea, if you'll receive me. – Gildeforte

He didn't ask the courier to wait for a response, for he intended to show himself at teatime no matter what her intent. It was only that she might choose to be Not at Home to him. He didn't think it too terribly likely, but neither did he think the possibility remote, and the very last thing he wished to do was coerce this particular lady. There were any number of reasons she might show him a cold shoulder, not least he had given her an ultimatum.

After his courier returned to say Lady Julia's London butler had taken the note and shooed the messenger away, he drank a glass of ale until tea time, listening to the gossip about Lady Julia. He wasn't known here, because his time at Brickdale had been confined to the house. But it was clear everyone at the inn knew she'd lived there with her lover and armed guards, they all assumed he was the gentleman in question, assuredly in the area to see Lady Julia, and everyone had things they wanted him to overhear about her.

No better than she should be.

Been given a bloody fortune, hasn't she? And got off scot-free in the murder of her husband.

Lived with two men in New York City, they say.

What did happen to her husband, after all? Does anyone know?

So, Julia would be having a hard time of it living in the country, her face known far and wide thanks to the newspapers. She had plenty of money, which could dull the impact but not absorb it. He knew she had intended to send to London for staff only if she couldn't hire people from the village. The way most of them talked about her and her staff—there were a few more measured comments—said enough about whether they'd be letting their daughters go into service in her house.

But still, when he got to her house, two grooms appeared to take control of his horses and a footman opened the door to his carriage. A London butler—heaven only knew how he could tell such a thing, but he could—met Gills at the door and didn't deny him entrance, but didn't invite him in, only asked if he might convey His Lordship's card to his mistress and ascertain whether she might be at home.

Bloody butler left him standing on the doorstep. If it weren't Julia's house, he'd be offended.

"Do come in, my lord." The butler very politely took his coat and hat, asked if there was anything in the carriage that needed seeing to, which there was not. Gills hadn't been so bold as to bring luggage.

"Her Ladyship will see you in the blue parlour." The butler led him around as though Gills didn't know exactly where the blue parlour was, from the time he lived in this house, a few weeks ago. But, he had to remember, now Julia owned Brickdale. Last time he was here, they were both guests of the duke and the magistrate. Now, she was mistress here, with or without Gills, and the butler took orders from her.

And it appeared she was finally enjoying life as a wealthy widow, accustoming herself to the luxuries of her childhood: servants and pretty clothes and enough food to eat. The evidence of just how much she didn't need him in her life was everywhere. His stomach was in knots at five minutes to four.

He hadn't relaxed until he walked into the room with her, both windblown, as though she'd just come in from a ride, and as beautiful as ever. He had forgotten how lovely she was. It was a wonder a man like him had a chance with a woman like her. He looked at her with hunger in his eyes and was gratified to see it left her a bit breathless. He made her a respectful bow—somehow more respectful than ever before—and kissed her hand.

"My dearest, you look so beautiful, you take my breath."

"Don't be silly. No one is making anyone breathless."

"I'm a grown man; I am not 'silly,' and I do make you breathless." With that, he stole a proper kiss, leaving her blushing and smiling. Fortunately, he had stepped back by the time her new butler appeared with tea. Once they had both been settled with tea and sandwiches and the servants had left the room, she started:

"Have you found a place to lay your head?"

"I have. A small manor house about a day's carriage ride from here. It is but half the size of Brickdale, but respectable enough, room for a family. I haven't yet taken possession; I will do that when I leave here. It will need to be staffed and cleaned. Until then, I will muddle through in London."

And here, if he had his way, but no need to get her back up.

"I am so pleased you found a property to your liking." Julia grasped the nettle implied even in his presence: "I needn't ask how bad the talk is in London."

Gills had taken it upon himself to determine the depth and breadth of the case against them in the court of public opinion and set out to keep the newspapers turned their way. He'd been courting High Society at the same time he ruthlessly manipulated the papers that wrote about them. He would give them gossip about anyone, including himself, in trade for a favorable story about Julia. And he called in every favour he was owed from anyone who would still speak to him.

A surprising number still did; some because he had been exonerated, others because they thought him guilty, and found murder in some way romantic. Gills had played up the story of their chaste romance and his proposal in the papers—but never her agreement—to counter the narrative that she was his mistress, precisely to appeal to the romantic. But that wasn't something he would say to Julia just yet.

He poured himself a brandy and answered slowly; she would know he was about to equivocate. "It was... not so bad as one might think."

Julia snorted. "You needn't lie to me, Joseph Gildeforte."