by Regina Darcy
Lord Mowbray nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the lady. “I understand.”
“I must ask you to keep this to yourself, my friend,” Charles insisted, as Lord Mowbray nodded again. “You cannot tell anyone of the truth of this, for fear of what her uncle might do should he find out.”
“But of course,” Lord Mowbray replied, stepping aside to let Charles open the carriage door in order to climb inside. “Might I call upon her, do you think?”
Charles found himself hesitating, although he could not say why. Of course, Lord Mowbray could call upon Miss Wade! That was what he wanted, was it not? That was why he had taken Miss Wade to London in the first place, why, unbeknownst to her, he had spent money purchasing her the gowns she would need for a successful Christmas season. “Certainly,” he replied, wondering at the slowness of his words. “Mayhap tomorrow, or the day after. I think Miss Wade will need to rest this afternoon.”
Something flickered in Lord Mowbray’s expression, which Charles made out to be something like mirth. He did not quite understand it, choosing to climb back into the carriage and close the door without commenting on it further.
“I will write,” Lord Mowbray called, as Charles rapped on the roof. “Where is she staying?”
“With Lady Christiana,” Charles replied, through the carriage window. “Lady Christiana Thayne, wife of Mr Aaron Thayne.”
Lord Mowbray grinned, now looking a good deal better than when Charles had first spotted him. “Thank you, Charles. I shall see you both again very soon.”
Charles did not reply, lifting a hand in farewell before turning towards Miss Wade, who still lay quietly with her eyes closed.
“Julianna?” he whispered softly, as though speaking aloud might hurt her further. “I apologise for taking such liberties,” he continued.
She waved away his concern. On a day like today, whether or not someone used her Christian name or a title mattered little to her.
“I am so terribly sorry for neglecting you. I did not think that…”
“You need not apologise,” she replied, her eyes flickering open to fasten upon his. “You did everything perfectly, Mr Ingraham. I thank you.”
He did not smile, seeing the agony lined in her face. “Lord Featherstone is not the gentlest of men, I think.”
A wry smile touched one corner of her mouth. “He insisted on keeping one hand on my back whenever I curtsied,” she whispered, her eyes now closing again. “It was as though he wanted to make it quite apparent to the other gentlemen I was introduced to that he intended to call upon me. Not that he asked to do so, however. And no.” She opened one eye to fix it on him. “No, he was not the gentlest of gentlemen, Mr Ingraham. But then again, I cannot expect everyone to be as tender as you.”
His breath caught as Miss Wade closed her eyes again, feeling heat rising in his chest. He did not know why nor what to make of his own reaction, confused over what he felt. Unable to prevent himself, he reached forward and took her hand in his. Seeing it lying quietly in his own, his heart began to pound as he pressed her hand between his, thinking that Miss Julianna Wade was the most beautiful and the most wonderful young lady he had ever had the opportunity to meet.
So why was he so reluctant to allow even Lord Mowbray the chance to greet her and call upon her? Why had he hesitated when his friend had asked such a thing? It made very little sense, given that the reason he had come to London was to find her a suitable husband. Lord Mowbray would be exactly that, Charles was quite sure of it, for he knew his friend well. Whilst Lord Mowbray had once enjoyed a good deal of gambling and the like, he now appeared to have resigned himself to settling down, and Charles could think of no better lady than Miss Julianna Wade.
“I believe Lord Mowbray – the gentleman who helped you into the carriage – is eager to call upon you, Julianna,” he stammered, wondering why he felt such awkwardness in speaking so. “I think he will write later this afternoon, if not tomorrow, in order to arrange it.”
Slowly, Miss Wade opened her eyes and pushed herself up into a better sitting position, removing her hand from his.
Charles felt the loss of her hand in his almost at once. He was surprised at the stab of pain in his heart.
“Lord Mowbray is a friend of yours?”
“A good man,” he assured her, seeing the way her blue eyes were slightly shrouded. “He is not a gentleman who will ever treat you unkindly, Julianna. He has only just taken the title and has come to London in search of a wife.”
To his surprise, Julianna did not appear to be as delighted with this news as he had expected. “I will not be keeping my promise to my mother,” she sighed to herself, looking out of the carriage window. “But perhaps in these circumstances that cannot be helped. Perhaps that will come in time.”
Confused, he sat back in his seat and regarded her carefully. “Your promise?” he asked, seeing how her eyes flashed towards his, a faint rosiness darkening her cheeks.
“You have never told me of this before.”
She shook her head, looking a little abashed. “It is nothing,” she said, evidently trying to persuade him to forget it. “Something that I promised my mother before she died, but it cannot be helped I suppose.” Pain rushed across her expression like a wave but was gone in a moment.
“If Lord Mowbray is a good man in your estimation, Mr Ingraham, then I shall, of course, consider him. When did you say he would call?”
“Tomorrow,” Charles replied, with a dull weight settling over his heart. “If not the next day. I do think you should give him a good amount of consideration, Miss Wade. He may be the perfect match for you.”
Miss Wade’s smile was tight, her gaze drifting away from him. “I shall,” she promised, leaving Charles wondering why this development, instead of happiness and relief, seemed to bring him only pain.
SEVEN
“Lord Mowbray, how very good to meet you again.” Julianna put a bright smile on her face as Lord Mowbray walked into Lady Christiana’s drawing room, aware that Mr Ingraham had also risen to his feet.
Last evening, after ensuring that she was quite well, he had insisted that she refer to him as Ingraham, telling her that there was already such a strong acquaintance between the two of them that it would not be in any way overfamiliar – as well as the fact that, as cousins, as they were pretending to be, it might be more believable to those that they met should there be that obvious familiarity.
Julianna had wanted to inform Mr Ingraham that he was also to call her Julianna but had realised that he had done that of his own accord, although she was quite sure he had done so without realising it. She did not mind. In fact, she rather welcomed it, feeling it warm her heart and bring to mind just how close she and Ingraham had become these last few days.
Greeting one another, Julianna quickly retook her seat, her back still recovering from yesterday’s unfortunate incident with Lord Featherstone. Lady Thayne greeted everyone and then excused herself, citing the fact that she was to go out walking with her husband, although she was quite sure that Julianna would do marvellously in ensuring the gentlemen were both well taken care of. Her maid, Florence, was sitting in the corner already, as additional propriety measures, although Julianna felt as though she did not need it given that Ingraham was, by appearances at least, something of a chaperone.
“I am sorry we did not get to make the proper introductions the last time we met,” Lord Mowbray said, with a warm smile in her direction.
A little embarrassed, she glanced away from him, her hands tightening in her lap. “You need not apologise, Lord Mowbray. I’m afraid I was not feeling quite myself yesterday afternoon.”
Mr Ingraham rose to his feet and walked to ring the bell for tea, as though he were the master of the house. “You are recovered today, I hope?” he asked, sitting back down and fixing his intense gaze upon her, sending her heart into a quickening rush.
“Yes,” she murmured, aware of the sudden flurry of emotions that swam through her from just a loo
k. “I am much recovered, thank you, Ingraham. My maid, Florence, has been most attentive.” She could see that he understood, given the approving nod in Florence’s direction as she sat in the corner of the room darning.
Lord Mowbray cleared his throat, drawing her attention again. “Ingraham has, as I am sure you are aware, informed me of the reason for your weakness.”
It felt like a bolt of lightning flew from Lord Mowbray mouth and hit her hard, freezing her into her seat. Ingraham had spoken to his friend about her injuries, about what she had been forced to endure? And he had not once asked her whether he could do so? Her stomach twisted painfully, her wounds suddenly burning with a deep fierceness that she could not easily push away.
“I’m afraid I had very little choice,” she heard Ingraham say, perhaps aware of her sudden, cold silence. “You see, Miss Wade, Lord Mowbray saw your pallor yesterday and became concerned over it.”
“And this negates the need to pretend that you are Ingraham’s cousin,” Lord Mowbray added, in something of an apologetic voice. “I know the man very well, and I would have found it very suspicious if he had not mentioned such a thing to me before. After all, a lady of your beauty would have surely been mentioned by Ingraham before now, for he would have, most likely, wanted to have you on his arm by way of garnering certain attentions from other ladies of the beau monde.”
The smile on Lord Mowbray’s face did nothing to remove the frustration and upset from Julianna’s heart. “I quite understand,” she managed to say smoothly, glancing towards Ingraham for just a moment. “You are very kind to say so, Lord Mowbray.”
“I do hope that you will allow me a dance with you this evening, Miss Wade?” Lord Mowbray asked, after a moment of silence. “You are to attend Lady Thorndike’s ball, are you not?”
“I am,” she replied, a trifle hesitantly. “However, I cannot say that I will be able to dance, Lord Mowbray. However, I may, perhaps, try one of the quieter dances.”
“That would be wonderful,” Lord Mowbray murmured, his grey eyes seeming to linger on her for just a fraction too long before he turned to Ingraham. “I am quite sure you will be in attendance too, Ingraham, although most likely at the card table?”
Ingraham muttered something under his breath, although his lips curved ruefully. Julianna, a little surprised, watched this exchange closely, suddenly realising that Ingraham was not at all inclined towards finding himself a wife if what Lord Mowbray had said was to be believed. The gentleman must, therefore, simply live his life playing cards and attempting to either lose or procure more funds for himself. Her stomach dropped another notch.
There could be no hope of a future with Ingraham, even though she found her heart continually inclined to search for him. She ought to set her sights on someone who was, at the very least, pursuing the thought of a wife. Someone like Lord Mowbray.
Carefully, she studied Lord Mowbray again, taking in his thick, dark hair that was, if she was not mistaken, a little curled. He had grey eyes and a look of intelligence about him. He was taller than Ingraham but not broad shouldered. In fact, she would say he was rather thin compared to Ingraham. His face was kind, however, and she could tell that if Ingraham had been so open as to tell Lord Mowbray the truth about her situation, then he was obviously a man who could be trusted. A man of integrity, she decided. Yes, even though she was not attracted or drawn to him in any way, she could easily allow herself to be courted by him, should he ask.
She tried not to recall the promise she had made to her mother, recalling how she had once believed that she would find such a happy and wonderful marriage as her parents had done. That could not be so. Now, she would have to be content with marrying a gentleman who was merely suitable, albeit considerate and respectful of her. That was not at all something to be disdained, given that a good many of the eligible young ladies who married in any given Season were not at all guaranteed to marry a good man. Forcing her thoughts away from Ingraham, she smiled delicately towards Lord Mowbray, seeing him lean forward in his seat a little more, as though he wanted to catch every word.
The tea tray arrived only a few minutes later, but that did not stop the conversation between Julianna and Lord Mowbray. Julianna found that Lord Mowbray was very amiable indeed, being careful not to ask her anything that might embarrass her or force her to remember more painful times. He spoke of general things such as books, music, and his fondness for being out in the gardens back on his estate. She asked him about his family and when he had come to take the title, only to discover that he had lost a brother. A little mortified to have asked him something so personal, she soon felt at ease again when Lord Mowbray smiled at her and waved away her concern for his sadness.
“It has been almost two years now,” he said calmly. “I do miss my brother and my father, of course, but it is not a daily weight of sadness that I must carry with me.”
“I quite understand,” Julianna replied truthfully. “I lost my own dear mother some time ago, and whilst I miss her terribly, it does not bear heavily on my mind any longer. Although, I confess, my father’s absence has been particularly hard.”
Lord Mowbray lifted a brow, his expression sympathetic. “Your father is gone also?”
A little surprised that Ingraham had not explained this too, Julianna shot him a quick glance, only to see that Ingraham’s gaze was fixed forward, a brooding look on his face. A little disconcerted, she turned back to Lord Mowbray with a sad smile. “My father was on the continent, looking over his holdings there,” she explained quickly, feeling the tearing pain of loss grab at her heart again. “They have not been able to find him, and therefore, he is presumed to be… gone.” She could not bring herself to say much more, her eyes burning with a sudden wave of unshed tears.
“And this is why your uncle now bears the title,” Lord Mowbray murmured, as though he had only just come to understand the significance of what that meant. “My dear lady, you have endured a trial indeed! Would that I could ease your suffering somewhat.”
The compassion in his gaze warmed her heart, making her sadness ebb away. “You are very kind, Lord Mowbray,” she replied quietly. “I have already been taken from my nightmare by the goodness of Mr Ingraham, although I do appreciate your kind words.”
Lord Mowbray smiled at her, and their gazes held for just a fraction too long, making Julianna a little uncomfortable with the intensity of their connection. It was not that she did not like Lord Mowbray but more that there was no pull towards him such as she felt for Ingraham. But that does not matter, she reminded herself, as she served a little more tea, with both gentlemen refusing another cup. There is no opportunity to wed Ingraham, which means you must consider Lord Mowbray.
“You do not think that your uncle or Lord Faversham – if that was his name – will come to London to pursue you?” Lord Mowbray asked, casting a quick glance towards Ingraham. “What shall you do if that situation arises?”
Julianna hesitated, not knowing precisely what to say. Then, as she let her gaze drift towards Ingraham, the answer came to her. “I will trust that Ingraham will continue to assist me in the way he has done thus far,” she said slowly, seeing the way that Ingraham’s eyes slowly lifted from whatever it was he had been staring at in order to fix themselves on her face. “Ingraham has been my saviour, Lord Mowbray, and I do not expect him to let me down now. He has shown me more kindness and generosity than any other and all from the goodness of his heart, for he did not so much as know my name when he first came to my side.” Her heart blossomed with affection and gratitude as she saw Ingraham smile, although his eyes remained a little dark. “I could not ask for a better man by my side.”
Lord Mowbray made a noise of agreement but said nothing. Instead, he simply watched Julianna, who, unaware of it, did not turn her head to look at him. She held Ingraham’s gaze for as long as she could, feeling their friendship grow stronger with each passing moment. She knew then that she longed for more, that she was desperate to make Ingraham her husband, her
protector, her confidante and friend. She did not feel as though, in marrying him, she would be breaking her promise to her mother. Rather, she would be fulfilling it.
Utter wretchedness filled her soul as Ingraham looked away, clearing his throat so as to displace the heightened atmosphere in the room. She continued to let herself hope despite the knowledge that she would not succeed in this matter. If there had been any chance of such a thing happening, then Ingraham would not have been making such efforts to introduce her to other gentlemen nor encouraging her when it came to Lord Mowbray. Why did it take her such an effort to remove all hope from her heart, even though only a few minutes ago, she had been quite determined to forget him?
“I had best take my leave,” Lord Mowbray murmured, getting to his feet. “No, please, Miss Wade, remain where you are. I would not want to trouble your back, especially if we are to attempt to dance this evening!”
Managing a smile, she held out her hand to him which he took at once, bowing over it. “I look forward to it, Lord Mowbray.”
He returned her smile with one of his own, his eyes glinting warmly. “Until tonight then, Miss Wade.”
She watched as he walked to the door accompanied by Ingraham. She could not quite overhear what was said between them but saw Ingraham drop his head, shaking it fervently for a moment. Lord Mowbray chuckled, slapped Ingraham hard on the shoulder, and then walked from the room, leaving Ingraham standing in the doorway.
It was a minute or so before he closed it again, coming back towards her to retake his seat. “So,” he murmured, not quite managing to look into her face. “The ball this evening then, Julianna? Lord Mowbray will take good care of you during your dance, although you need not dance more than one if you do not wish it.”
“It will look very odd if I only dance one and with one gentleman,” she retorted, unable to account for her strange flood of anger. “You shall have to take me to the floor also, Ingraham.”