It came out in a rush, and he turned his head away from her. He rarely spoke of Emma. It was difficult to take a steady breath.
Katrina fell back against the plush upholstery, her properly erect posture forgotten. ‘You were married?’ It came out as a whisper. ‘We spent all that time together and you never told me.’
‘I assumed you knew. Everyone in London is aware that I was married.’
‘Well, no one told me.’ She appeared to wait for him to continue.
He never intentionally discussed Emma. The subject of her death was too personal and much too painful. He tried to scrub the image of her lying dead out of his mind. It had haunted him most nights—at least until he’d met Katrina. That hadn’t occurred to him until now.
He looked into her expectant eyes. An unwelcome lump was forming in his throat. ‘My wife’s name was Emma. She was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Beaumont. Our fathers arranged our marriage while I was away at Cambridge. She died while giving birth to our stillborn son.’
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. It was easier to move away from Katrina than to continue to look into her eyes.
‘To this day I am sorry for her loss and the loss of my child.’ But his regret would never bring them back.
She brushed the hair by his temple in a comforting gesture. ‘I am sorry for your loss too.’
Not knowing what else to say, Julian gave a quick nod.
Katrina continued to stroke his temple. ‘My mother died shortly after giving birth to me. My father feels her loss even to this day.’
Julian squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed his hand across his face. There was comfort in the closed confines of the gently rocking carriage and muted light. It felt...safe.
‘I never held him.’ The statement left his lips before the thought had fully formed in his head.
The soft pressure of her hand on his back was an unexpected gesture. ‘Did anyone ask if you wanted to?’
He shook his head and bit his lip. The lump in his throat was making it difficult to swallow. ‘They only asked if I wanted to see him.’
‘Did you?’
He nodded as tears that had never been shed rimmed his eyes. The physician and Emma’s maid had been so focused on tending to her, they hadn’t had time to clean his son. He’d been so small—and so still.
‘I should have held him. No one held him.’
She rested her head lightly against his shoulder and a hot tear began to trickle down his face.
‘A father should hold his son,’ he choked out, ‘even if just once. I named him John, after Emma’s brother. They had been close, and it seemed only right. I had them buried together. My mother tried to insist John should have his own coffin in the family crypt, but I thought it best for them to be together. She said it was unseemly and that she was certain my father would have felt the same.’ He finally looked over at Katrina and saw the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. ‘What would you have done?’
She slid her fingers through his. ‘I think Emma would have wanted to be with John.’
He’d thought so too. The crushing weight of indecision that had plagued him since her burial eased for the first time. He had needed to know he had made the right decision in honouring their memories. He’d needed someone he respected to say it to him. It had eaten away at his conscience for too long. And he knew Katrina would always be honest with him.
She rested her head on his shoulder again. ‘I believe deep down we know what the right course of action is. We just need to listen to what our heart tells us. I’m sorry to have caused you to relive such painful memories. I should have realised.’
He kissed the top of her head and took a deep breath. The lump in his throat was dissolving. ‘Do not apologise. I needed to hear that you believe they were laid to rest in a proper fashion.’
A comforting silence stretched between them as the carriage rocked them gently through the streets of London. The distant sound of voices and the rolling of the carriage wheels on cobblestones felt oddly comforting.
‘I’m certain you’re grateful you accepted my invitation today,’ he said dryly after some time.
She lifted her head up and offered him a reassuring smile. ‘There is no place I would rather be.’ She tugged off a white kidskin glove and wiped the wetness from his cheek with the pad of her thumb.
His heart gave an odd flip.
‘It’s never easy to lose someone we love,’ she said, running her thumb along his forehead.
It took him a few moments before he realised she was referring to Emma. ‘I did not love her,’ he said. ‘I liked her enough, but I didn’t love her.’
Love was something he knew nothing of. He had not been born to fall in love. He wasn’t even certain he would know what love felt like. And yet... How would he define his feelings for the woman next to him? It wasn’t love, but what was it?
‘I believe I have taken you on a melancholy journey away from our original conversation.’
‘I’ve forgotten what we were discussing,’ she said, sitting up.
‘We were discussing fidelity. And I think for all your notions about people prejudging you because you are American you are no better.’
‘How so?’ she asked indignantly.
‘You’ve tarred and feathered the entire male population of the ton, accusing us all of infidelity. You believe my title leaves me incapable of devoting myself to one woman. I am informing you that you are wrong in your assessment of me.’
She crossed her arms over those enticing breasts.
‘Do not look chastised.’ He sat back and rested his head on the cushion behind them. Their conversation today had been far too grim. ‘Have I told you how much I have come to appreciate the smell of lemons?’ he commented casually.
Even in the muted light of the carriage he could see her faint smile. ‘You might have mentioned it a time or two.’
The smile fell from his lips. ‘I fear one day I will miss that smell.’
Silence stretched between them, and his heart sank in his chest.
Katrina was in excellent spirits when Sarah and Mrs Forrester asked her to join them on their shopping excursion along Bond Street two days later. The sun was out and the temperature pleasant, making it an ideal day to meander through the shops. Turning a corner, they noticed a small crowd gathered around the large mullioned window of one particular building. Ever the curious one, Sarah tugged Katrina along to see what was so interesting.
‘Oh, it’s a print shop,’ Sarah said, eyeing the cartoons in each pane of the large window.
‘Perhaps we will see someone we know,’ Katrina mused as she studied a caricature of the Prince Regent attempting to squeeze his rather large body into a very small corset.
Next to her, an amused Sarah methodically studied each print one by one, letting out a giggle at a few in particular. Suddenly she gave a quick gasp and pulled Katrina out through the crowd. Dragging Katrina to the milliner next door, Sarah pulled Katrina to a stop next to where Mrs Forrester was waiting for them.
‘We have a problem,’ she announced rather breathlessly.
Mrs Forrester turned a questioning eye to her daughter. ‘The two of you have been away from me for only a few moments. What could possibly