But it was what she’d agreed to when she married him. That she wouldn’t ask him about his time before the war. And that she’d never enter his study. They weren’t unreasonable restrictions. Not any more than the restrictions Bluebeard imposed on his newest wife.

A disturbing thought. And an unjust one, too.

Jasper wasn’t Bluebeard, surely. And she’d promised him. One couldn’t start a marriage by breaking one’s word.

She gave a reluctant nod. “Very well.”

He stood. “Would you like to lie down? There’s plenty of time before dinner.”

“Perhaps I shall.” She was rather fatigued from the journey. Troubles always seemed worse when one was battling exhaustion. In times like this, bed and a good book were generally the best prescription for her own peace of mind.

She rose from the window seat, smoothing her skirts with an anxious hand. Her unfinished Marshland novel, The Hero’s Return, beckoned to her from the bedside table.

“Do you need help undressing?” Jasper asked as she walked past him to the bed.

She moved out of his reach. “No, thank you,” she said quickly. “I-I can manage.”

His manner was instantly formal. “Of course.” He bowed to her. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He was gone before Julia could say anything more. She was left standing beside the gruesomely carved four-poster bed, painfully aware that a chasm had opened up between her and her new husband.

It would be up to her to bridge the gap. Jasper was too decent a man to force the issue.

Decent. Honorable. Heroic.

Nothing like the Captain Blunt of six years ago.

Could war really change a person to that degree? Could it truly turn a man from a villain into a hero?

She wanted to believe it.

She had to believe it.

Twenty-Four

Jasper spent the next several hours going over the accounts with Beecham. A depressing activity at the best of times. It wasn’t how he’d envisioned spending his first day home. He’d thought he would pass the time in Julia’s company. But it wasn’t to be. Not now she knew the truth about Dolly and the children.

It wasn’t the whole truth, naturally, but enough of it to paint Jasper in a thoroughly despicable light. He wasn’t only a whoremonger who had sired three children on his mistress; he was a villain who had left those children to starve. An unconscionable monster who, through his base neglect, had allowed them to be relegated to the workhouse.

They were unpardonable crimes. Jasper had known Julia would eventually hear of them. With the children in residence, it was inevitable. What he hadn’t expected was that he’d be constrained, on the very day of their arrival, to lay the sordid details out for her himself.

No matter how long he lived, he’d never forget the expression of horrified disappointment on her face. As if every romantic daydream she’d cherished about him had been crushed underfoot, replaced by something akin to disgust.