The Romantic
The first draft of The Romantic had more flashbacks in which we saw the youthful relationship between Julian and Penelope. My editor recommended that I trim some of those, because they slowed the story and interfered with the story being told in the "present." She was right, and a number got cut. This is a special one, that shows Julian learning of Pen’s engagement. It also gives an insight into Milton, Pen’s deceased older brother.
"Julian, there you are. Do you know what is happening?"
Pen skipped across the terrace, her tendrils flying and her face flushed with joy.
He watched her come to him. He battled to quell the thick ache in his chest. She appeared so excited that he had to smile, but it was an unnatural, harlequin effort.
"Whatever is happening must be good news, Pen. I have never seen you so happy."
She could not stand still. She all but danced. "He is talking to Papa right now. Glasbury is. Can you believe it? An earl! My friend Margaret is very envious. She said I’d at best get a younger son and might even have to step down below that. An earl! Mama says he is very influential at court and in Parliament. He is sought after by the best hostesses. Look what he gave me."
She extended her arm. A diamond bracelet, one fit for a duchess at a ball, glittered on her wrist.
"I am very happy for you, Pen."
She hopped around, first to one side of him near the terrace wall, then to the other. "I hope that Papa will approve."
"I think you are safe there."
"Mama told me about all his properties. So many I cannot remember them. I wasn’t listening closely, I was too excited."
He kept smiling. He tried like the devil to truly be excited with her, but lacerations kept burning his heart and a numbing melancholy had taken over his mind.
She stretched up and gave him a tiny kiss on the cheek. "I must go back to Mama. I wanted to find my brothers to tell them. And you, of course. I wanted the whole family to know."
She skipped away, her pink slippers flying over the stones, her skirt swinging around her legs. The dark of the drawing room absorbed her.
He stood there like a man who had been punched senseless.
Of course she was getting married. She was of age. She had come out. The whole point of the parties and balls had been to find her a husband. This London house had not been fully used in years, but this season the entire household had moved here just for her debut.
He had thought it would be next season, however. He had thought that she did not really favor Glasbury. He had thought—
"Join me."
The voice startled Julian. So did the hand offering a glass of spirits.
He had not even noticed Milton coming out another set of doors.
He took the brandy and swallowed a deep gulp. Milton sipped silently, his attention on the gardens beyond the stairs. Servants had pruned and planted for two weeks, finding some order within the disarray that had long claimed this spot of nature in London.
Milton’s presence was unusually companionable. The last few years Milton had retreated from everyone, including his brothers. He spent his time with books or in town. He had become a stranger.
Today, however, something of the old bond resurrected as they drank together.
"It is mother’s doing," Milton said. "I suggested it was too fast, but she is always very sure she is right about such things. No doubt father’s health is a factor. His heart is bad. She does not think he will live out the year."
Julian had not known the viscount was sick, but then the viscount was such a recluse that one rarely saw him. "She just seems very young, that is all."
"She is the normal age, Julian. They are all too young. Children, really. We send them into these marriages with unformed minds and souls, at an age when all that matters are balls and gowns and bonnets. Most never mature as a result. Just as well, I suppose."
"Well, she seems happy with the engagement, so we should be happy too, I suppose," Julian said half-heartedly.
"You might as well be, since you always knew you could not have her yourself."
Julian’s jaw tightened. He stared at the brandy.
"No one else knows. Least of all her," Milton said. "I wasn’t even sure until I saw you standing out here before she came. You looked like a man who could use strong drink."
Julian had to laugh. He swirled the liquid and gulped more. "Are you saying I should get good and drunk, then move on?"
"She wasn’t for you, Julian. It happens every day."
Yes, every day, all over the world. There were probably thousands of men in England who had loved a woman too far above them, and gone on to love another who was appropriate. He would too, he expected. He would conquer this, or outgrow it, or maybe it would simply fade away. Eternal love was for poems and epics, not real life.
He lifted his glass to Milton, in part to salute the advice this old friend had given, in part to thank him for bothering to notice at all that someone needed some strong drink.
Milton raised his in turn. "To growing up, and learning the truth about ourselves and the world."
"To surviving hopeless loves."
A small, odd smile formed on Milton’s mouth. "Oh, yes. By all mean, to surviving hopeless loves. They are the worst torture, aren’t they?" He threw back his drink, then headed inside.
Copyright © Madeline Hunter