Season for Temptation

by Theresa Romain

  “No plum pudding?” Julia’s disappointed question slipped out before she thought.

  Oh, dear. She’d done it again.

  She met Louisa’s dismayed gaze, stricken at her carelessness, and then bravely turned her eyes to the viscountess.

  Lady Matheson looked her over coolly for a long moment, then returned her attention to the selection of sweets. “Pudding is vulgar,” she informed Julia.

  Julia flushed, but raised her chin. “Really? I was unaware that such a popular tradition was vulgar. I must be dreadfully common, if so.”

  “I find that very possible,” the elder viscountess replied matter-of-factly.

  A shocked silence fell over the table. After a moment, James broke it. “Really, Mother; that’s very impolite.”

  “So is a guest who questions the spread laid before her by her hosts,” her ladyship replied, unperturbed.

  “That’s utter nonsense, Augusta.” Lady Irving verbally shoved her way into the conversation with the familiarity of a long-lost girlhood friendship. “If you don’t have a pudding when you invite guests over on Christmas Eve, you’re positively un-English. And if you insult your guests, you’re positively rude. Now, shall we try this exchange again? I am sure you’re eager to welcome us, seeing as how your summons was so urgent that we left family Christmas in the country in order to spend time with you instead.”

  Her voice was calm, but her eyes were steely. Julia felt a whirl of excitement in her nervous stomach. Her aunt was often irritable, always opinionated, but rarely angry. She was a force to behold at this moment, tall and stately in her chair, the inevitable ostrich plumes adorning her crown of hair, sherry-brown eyes boring into those of her old acquaintance as she awaited a response.

  Lady Matheson stared back at her, mouth slightly agape. Her eyes, as green as James’s, goggled a bit. Lady Irving had, quite simply, flayed all the arrogance off her, and all that was left was surprise.

  She wasn’t an aristocrat for nothing, though; after a minute she recovered her composure. She drew herself up in her chair and ignored everything that had just passed. Almost.

  Her stony face almost seemed to crack as she said in a carefully neutral tone, “I believe we’ve been at our dining long enough. If you would care for some dessert, I will have sweetmeats brought into the drawing room. Miss Oliver, you and your aunt may join me for some cards. Gloria, you will make up the fourth.”

  It wasn’t a question. Lady Matheson rose at once and made her way back upstairs to the drawing room. The others dutifully followed her, though Julia hung back to whisper to Louisa, “That’s a good sign, right? To join her at cards?”

  Louisa threw a skeptical look back at her. “Who knows?” she whispered back. “At least we know Aunt Estella can control her.” Her mouth twisted. “James obviously can’t.”

  “Since when did any mother, even a kind one, ever pay the least heed to what her son said?” Julia defended him in a furious whisper that made Lady Irving turn to look back at her expectantly.

  Louisa nudged her. “You and your loud whisper! Come along; we have to join them. At least we’ll be able to go home soon.”

  The card table was set up for the four players in front of that lovely, luxurious fire, and the players prepared for a rubber of whist. James was at first occupied with settling Louisa and mediating between the two elder women. Lady Irving considered playing for Lady Matheson’s suggested low stakes sadly flat; it was hardly even worth playing at all on those terms. Gently, James reminded her ladyship that they were at his mother’s home, not in a gaming hell, and perhaps a family card game on Christmas Eve need not involve the exchange of large sums of money.

  Idling nearby beside the fire, Julia overheard this, as well as Lady Irving’s subsequent bark of laughter and her capitulation. Notice that, Louisa; she thought. Maybe James tries to ignore his own mother’s rudeness, but he won’t let our aunt test him.

  Temporarily left alone, she meandered around the large room, but found it chilly at the edges. She soon returned to the fire and sat as far away from the card players as she was able while still remaining warm. In her chair, she absently folded up her legs and wrapped her arms around them as was her wont at home.

  She idly watched the two older women, partnered at whist, chatter spiritedly and with increasing warmth as they sipped at sherry. They clutched at James’s sleeves to keep him with them—Lady Irving for Louisa’s sake, Lady Matheson for her own. Louisa and Gloria, also partnered, played mechanically and with little spirit and even less conversation.

  Julia was content to sit alone, but to tell the truth, she was growing a bit bored. She was relieved when a governess hesitantly entered the room with two young girls who appeared to be around eight and six years old.

  She hopped up at once, interested in the young arrivals. The group at the card table took longer to notice them, but Gloria instantly rose when she did see them. With real, warm affection, she went over to the children and led them forward to meet the rest of the party.

  “These are my darling girls,” she said with unmistakable pride in her voice. “Anne and Sophia.”

  She introduced each of the other members of the party to her daughters in turn. Julia, last to meet them, watched in amazement to see the frosty widow thaw into eager life in the company of her children. Gloria, dowager Viscountess Roseborough, was positively transformed. Freed from her willful silence, she appeared a young and beautiful woman. Her daughters, in turn, clung excitedly to her as if they loved to be at her side.

  Julia crouched to their level when they came to greet her. “Hello,” she said warmly. “I’m so glad to meet you both. I have sisters almost exactly your age, and I’ve been missing them very much today.”

  The children were instantly fascinated by this adult who bent to speak to them from their own height. They asked her who her sisters were, and where they lived, and if they were in London now, and seemed disappointed to learn they were far away in the country. Anne, the elder, was very gratified to learn that one of the sisters in question shared a name with her, and both girls expressed so much eagerness to meet the Oliver children that Julia suspected they were starving for friendship.

  “I would love to have you come visit us in the country sometime,” Julia offered, looking questioningly at Gloria to see her reaction. To her surprise, the young widow gave her a small smile and unbent a bit toward her.

  “That’s a very kind offer,” she murmured. “Thank you. Now, come, girls; you mustn’t bother Miss Herington. Back to the nursery with you.”

  “Oh, no, please,” Julia blurted before she could stop herself. “Could they stay? I . . . I really do miss my young sisters, and I’d be happy to play with them if you’d like to return to your card game.”

  Gloria looked doubtfully at her, but then nodded and agreed. Before she stepped away, while the girls were still distracted and capering about in glee at getting to remain with the adults, Julia asked her if she might give the girls each a coin. “For their Christmas boxes,” she explained.

  This time Gloria’s smile was real and warm. “Thank you, Miss Herington,” she said. “I think they would be delighted.”

  She bit her lip and looked anxiously at her mother. Lady Matheson was consulting her cards and looking impatient for the game to resume. “Thank you for thinking of my girls,” she added in a rush, and with a nod, returned to the table.

  Julia grinned back at her, pleasantly surprised. James had once said he had little in common with his sister, describing her as excessively proper. Julia had expected her to be reserved and haughty, and so she had seemed throughout dinner. But she clearly had a heart to be touched; she loved her children so much. Her chill manner, Julia thought, had probably been made worse by the recent loss of her husband, and by having to live with her terrible mother—who, so far, seemed to have no such warm heart as her daughter.

  Julia dug into her reticule to find half crowns for each girl. Naturally, they shrieked with delight and thanked her
eagerly, over and over, as she wished them both a happy Christmas.

  In the flurry of movement, James broke away from the card table and came over to join Julia. He crouched with her to greet his small nieces.

  “Well, so these rascals are staying with us for a bit?” he teased, ruffling the hair of the adoring young girls. They clutched at his coat and clamored to be hoisted into the air, and he at once obliged them.

  Julia watched, wonderingly, at his comfort and happiness with the girls, so like his sister’s own joy in them. “So this is how you knew so well how to play with the children at Stonemeadows,” she reasoned.

  “Hmm?” James said, distracted by small fists pounding him in the shoulder as Sophia begged to be lifted up again. “Oh, well, maybe so. Your four there were a bit much for me to keep up with sometimes, but I like children. And I do love these young ladies,” he said, lowering his voice. “They lost their father very suddenly, and they had to leave the country for London, so they lost their home, too. No dower house for them on the Roseborough estate.”

  He swooped Sophia in a wide circle as she shrieked with laughter, drawing an irked stare from Lady Matheson that James and Julia both ignored.

  “London’s no place for children, not year-round. I can say that from my own experience. I’d like to get them back to the country someday. That’s part of the reason why I’m interested in restoring Nicholls,” he explained. “I hope my sister will send them to live with me.”

  Julia’s heart warmed at his affectionate words. It was so like him to be warm and welcoming—and like him, too, to be a bit impractical. He seemed not to have thought of the one major flaw in his plan. She hated to say it, but it needed to be said. “James, I don’t think your sister would part with her children. She loves them so.”

  He looked surprised. He opened his mouth to speak, but first laid the giggling Sophia over his shoulder, and picked up Anne with his now-free arms.

  “Oof.” He pretended to have trouble lifting the older girl as she collapsed bonelessly into giggles. “You’ve grown so much, you must weigh eighteen stone.”

  Nieces momentarily assuaged, he returned his attention to Julia. “What do you mean? Gloria never cared for the country.”

  “Maybe not,” Julia replied, “but she cares for her girls. Why, she lit up like a, a”—she searched for an appropriate simile, and finished—“like a Franklin stove when they came into the room.”

  “Very poetic,” James congratulated her with mock gravity.

  “I’m serious,” Julia insisted. Then, recollecting herself, she continued quickly in a hushed voice pitched low for his ears, “I’ve only met her this once, and you’ve known her your whole life, so of course I don’t know her as well as you do. But she wasn’t all that welcoming at first. I mean, she was welcoming, but not really welcoming, if you know what I mean? But then when her daughters came in, she was much more comfortable and she was actually quite kind and lovely.”

  James blinked at her and set down his nieces one by one. He sent them off to their governess and bedtime with one last hug apiece, then looked back at Julia.

  “I see. Ah . . . well . . . thank you for letting me know what you think.”

  Julia flushed. “James, I’m sorry,” she assured him in a rush. “It’s not my place to say anything about your family. What I meant was, I think they’re lovely children, and your sister obviously cares about them very much.”

  “I’m not at all offended,” he replied mildly. “I suppose I’d better invite them all.”

  He darted a glance over at the card table, and, once assured that the four players were all occupied in their game, confided, “My sister and I have never been particularly close, and our parents led us toward very different lives. She married very young, and I . . .”

  He trailed off, then admitted, “Well, I never had to do very much with my time, so I ran in, er, some different circles from those in which I was raised. Anyway, it’s been quite a while since Gloria and I have dealt much together. Perhaps it’s time I get to know her again.” He smiled and rested an encouraging hand on Julia’s shoulder.

  Julia smiled back, relishing the feeling of his hand. She wished she had just a bit more courage—with only a bit more, she would touch his hand with her own; she’d entwine her fingers with his.

  She felt lucky to be a party to his plans, to be standing here with him, enjoying his company. The last time she’d felt so happy was . . . well, probably when she’d seen him earlier today. And before that, not for quite some time.

  But here, in this moment, with him, there was nowhere else she would have wanted to be, and she was glad, glad, that she’d come to London for Christmas.

  The intimate moment lengthened, and as so often happened, she spoke without thinking. “What happened to her husband? He must have been very young when he passed on.”

  James’s mouth tightened, and he dropped his hand from her shoulder. Julia realized she must have blundered terribly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.” She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, wishing she had a fan to flap around to occupy her hands, which felt awkward and heavy.

  James sighed and rubbed a hand across weary eyes. “It’s all right,” he replied, dropping his voice even lower.

  “Your aunt would probably tell you eventually, though it’s not really fit for the ears of a young woman.”

  Julia bit her tongue, hard, to keep from hurrying James along. This promised to be quite interesting. She had long been convinced that some of the things most worth hearing were those deemed unfit for the ears of young women.

  “How much Latin do you know?” James asked, fixing her with a piercing gaze. His green eyes were hard and tired.

  She didn’t know the right answer, but suddenly this didn’t seem amusing anymore. She wanted to lift that terrible look from his face. She’d say anything to ease it; she’d caress the furrows from his forehead and kiss the sorrow from his mouth.

  But all she said was, “Not much, I’m afraid. No more than most women.”

  James nodded, as if this was the answer he expected. “Do you happen to know the phrase in flagrante delicto?”

  Julia’s mouth fell open. That was one phrase she did know, though she’d never have admitted it to her mother.

  “I see that you do,” James continued in his grim near whisper. “That’s how the rat died, with a mistress my sister didn’t know he had. A mistress who ran out into the street, screaming for help, wrapped in only a bedsheet, for all the ton to see and hear.”

  “Good God.” Julia forced her mouth closed, but she couldn’t think of what to say next. Poor Gloria, to suffer a loss and betrayal at once, and then be sent to live in this cold pile of a house with her even colder mother.

  “God had nothing to do with it,” James said. His mouth tightened into a hard line she’d never seen before. “Her fool of a husband all but made her a laughingstock, and our family by extension. I wish . . .”

  He trailed off, and looked over at Louisa, who sat unawares next to a woman who, Julia now knew, hid a great wound with her haughty expression. “I had hoped to marry soon, and thereby be in a position to help undo the damage. With a wife at my side, and Nicholls restored, I could offer them respectability and a real home in the country, away from all of this.”

  He closed his eyes for a long moment, but Julia could have sworn she saw bright unshed tears in them before he did. He gestured to the stairway up which his nieces had vanished. “For their sakes, you know. For all of us, but especially for those girls, I hoped to marry as quickly as possible and give our family a chance to be decent and happy again.”

  The reminder of his upcoming marriage affected Julia with the physical force of a horse kick to the stomach. She nearly choked on the sudden shock of it.

  “Yes, of course,” she managed to say.

  What was she doing, heating herself up with thoughts about James? She was such a fool. He might enjoy her friendship, but there was another lady here with a muc
h greater claim on his attention. Why, his very expression became wistful as he looked from her to Louisa. He wished to be with Louisa now.

  Of course he did; that only made sense. But she still ached to think of it, and she was relieved when the party broke up soon afterward.

  They all wished each other a happy Christmas again, and Lady Matheson was as glacial as ever in her farewells. But when Julia spoke with Gloria, the widow clasped her hands with genuine warmth.

  “Thank you again for your kindness to my daughters,” she offered. “I’m so very glad to have met you.”

  “And I you,” Julia replied with equal candor, stammering under the weight of her too-deep understanding. “You have lovely daughters. I’m . . . I’m delighted to have met you all.”

  She took her leave from James with a friendly handshake, then turned away in order not to see whether he kissed Louisa good evening. All the way home, she remembered his wounded eyes, and she could swear she still felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder.

  Chapter 12

  In Which Her Ladyship Recarpets the Morning Room

  Julia didn’t really want to think or speak about the evening once they all got home, but Louisa sought her out in her bedchamber later that night as she was completing her preparations for sleep. She had already changed into her nightdress, and the knock on the door sounded just as she was splashing her face with water.

  “Go away,” she grumbled, and Louisa immediately walked in.

  “Sorry, what did you say?” Louisa asked. She seemed nervous and distracted, so Julia took pity on her.

  “Nothing, nothing. What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  The tall girl sat carefully on the edge of the bed to avoid creasing her dinner gown. “How do you think it went?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Oh, it was fantastic,” Julia replied at once with her brightest smile.

  Louisa’s dark eyes bored into her. “You’re a terrible liar. Was it disastrous, or just merely bad?”