The River of No Return

trembling. Was that rage he was suppressing? Or laughter?
    In any case he was clearly finished speaking to her. Julia sank into an absurdly deep curtsy. “Thank you, cousin. That was illuminating.”
    He inclined his head. “I am always pleased to enlighten you, Julia.”
    She watched as he strutted into the study and slammed the door shut behind him. Grandfather had died three days ago. This was the longest conversation she had yet had with the new earl.
    * * *
    Julia knew that life in Castle Dar would be unbearable after Grandfather died and Eamon acceded to the title. And it was—but differently than she had imagined. Before Grandfather’s death, when Eamon had visited from time to time, he had always taken a cruel delight in teasing her, pestering her relentlessly until she lost her temper. Now that he was living here, he barely spoke to her. Not only that, but he had shut her off from the outside world. Her days were silent, enclosed, stifling.
    After breakfast that first morning following Grandfather’s death, Eamon had given orders to the servants that no one was to be admitted to the house until further notice. When Julia protested that the neighborhood would be coming by to offer their condolences, Eamon turned his pale eyes on her. “Pray do not speak unless spoken to, Julia,” he had said. Then he had talked over her head to Pringle. “Castle Dar is not accepting visitors. I will not receive them, and neither will Miss Percy. See that it is so.” He stood, brushed the crumbs from his jacket, and disappeared into the study.
    This became the pattern of his days. A morning spent eating breakfast with—but not talking to—Julia, then a long day in the study, then a dinner as silent as breakfast had been. Mrs. Cooper, the housekeeper, told Julia that Eamon spent hour after hour going through every drawer, every paper, every book in the study, sometimes cursing out loud. When he emerged each evening his mood was worse than it had been the night before.
    The silent meals were excruciating. And not silent enough. Julia could hear each noise Eamon made, clinking his silverware against the china, chewing, swallowing. As the days went by she grew attuned to more sounds. His sleeves shushing against his jacket as he reached for the salt. His stubble—he was a man who shaved only once a week—scratching against his badly tied cravat. The night after the funeral he managed to extract a truly swampy squelch from the blancmange as he dug his spoon into it. Julia had to stifle the urge to scream. For the two nights following, she claimed a headache and kept to her room.
    Dinners with Grandfather had always been wonderfully loud. He had talked with his mouth full, exhorting her to argue with him about everything and nothing. He had waved his food around as he talked, and once he even inadvertently launched a duck leg down the table. It was Julia’s moment of greatest triumph. She reached up and caught the drumstick midflight, then she ate it with ladylike dignity. The servants cheered, and Grandfather leapt to his feet and made her a toast right then and there.
    Well, those days were over, and Julia would have to learn to be deaf to Eamon’s vile table manners. But she suspected that his campaign of slobbering silence had some purpose. It wasn’t that she didn’t interest him. She interested him enormously. She could sense him watching her, and when she glanced up his eyes were always just sliding away from her. She felt sure that all of his energies were directed toward her, even as he affected boredom. When, after her two-night desertion of the dinner table, she received word through Mrs. Cooper that she was not to miss dinner ever again, she was certain.
    Eamon was trying to drive her mad.
    * * *
    Finally, a full week after Grandfather’s death, Eamon looked up from his breakfast and spoke. “Julia.”
    She froze, her cup half lifted to her lips. “Yes, Cousin?”
    “When you have finished eating you will attend me in my study.”
    “Very well.”
    He stood, sketched her a mocking bow, then stalked past her and out of the room.
    Julia set her teacup down, her hand shaking so badly that the cup clattered in the saucer.
    “Miss?”
    Julia looked up. It was Rob, the footman. “Yes?”
    He came forward quickly. “Miss, I know it is not my place to speak to you, but I wish you to know—we all wish you to know—that we are in your corner, should you need us.”
    Julia twisted her napkin in her