Damn it all, there were only so many competing ideas a man could hold in his mind at once.
Luckily, the earl’s daughter was oblivious to most things outside of her own well-coiffed head. She rolled her eyes affectionately and linked her arm in Julia’s. “Sweet girl, she has barely gotten a start on learning where everything is. Someone has given her the flattest idea of what there is to do in London! Hookham’s; honestly, I declare I’ve never been there before in my life. But I knew where it was; it’s close to the most stunning jeweler’s. Right here, you see?”
She gestured at the shop window James had just been lurking in front of. Julia’s eyes widened as she took in the gemstones on display, and she nodded in acknowledgment of the truth of her friend’s words.
James thought he heard a faint, faint whisper of “Hell’s bells” as Julia’s amazed eyes roved over the jewels.
“Anyway,” Charissa concluded, oblivious to any epithets that may or may not have been spoken, “we are just coming from Hookham’s now.” She gave a tiny shudder, but added kindly, “I’m very glad I went to see it. It really is quite a lovely place, and it has the most interesting smell.”
“It did have an unusual smell,” Julia confirmed, wrinkling her nose thoughtfully. “I suppose it was all the bindings. You know, James, your library had rather a similar smell, now I come to think of it.”
“It did?” James was taken aback to have his home drawn into the discussion of odors. “I’m sorry to hear it. I hope it wasn’t unpleasant.”
“No, there’s nothing at all wrong with it,” Julia hastened to explain. “It’s the smell of bindings, some of them old, some well handled and in need of care. For a library, it’s a lovely scent. It shows that you care about your books, that they have a history.”
Lady Charissa seemed surprised at the intellectual bent of this speech, then discarded it from her notice and reacted only to the kernel of information that interested her.
“You’ve seen his library? At his country house, I suppose? He hadn’t been there in, oh, years and years, but then all of a sudden it caught his fancy again. Last summer, I declare, we hardly saw him at all, he was so in love with the place!”
At the word “love,” she darted another of her roguish looks at him, and James began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. What if Julia should think he was flirting with this young woman, right in front of her? That would be discourteous to Louisa. And, well, he also didn’t want Julia to have that impression of him for her own sake. He might have sown a few wild oats in the past, but he’d never been much of a flirt.
He changed the subject again. “Where are you heading now? May I accompany you somewhere?”
“Oh, yes, let’s walk together,” Julia said. “It’s a little too cold to be standing still outdoors. Charissa, where do you want to go next?”
The young lady seemed undecided at first, but when James offered her an arm, she was perfectly willing to walk with him and Julia. They decided to head in the direction of St. James’s Square, where the town residence of the Earl and Countess of Alleyneham was located.
As they walked, much conversation flowed on the topic of Lord Xavier’s planned masquerade, most of it from the mouth of Lady Charissa Bradleigh, who was cheerfully dropping name after name of the people who might possibly be there, if they were in town, and Julia would simply have to get to know them; they were the dearest creatures. Julia, unable to contribute to this speculation about people she had never met, simply bobbed her head agreeably in response to Charissa’s words. She looked rather like a child’s nodding toy, James thought, deriving great amusement from the sight but trying not to display it.
As an older acquaintance, Charissa inevitably directed much of her conversation to James as well as to Julia. By the time they finally reached the door of Alleyneham House, the earl’s daughter had extracted from James a promise that yes, he would be at the masquerade, and yes, he would certainly be honored to dance with her then. After this last promise, he looked with some small degree of anxiety at Julia for her reaction, but she only smiled and pressed his hand in farewell.
“I’ll see you at Lord Xavier’s, then,” she assured him. “I’m really looking forward to it.” Her voice grew confidential. “I’ve never been to a masquerade before. It sounds very exciting. Will there be secret identities, and intrigue in dark corners?”
He laughed hollowly. Intrigue in dark corners. She’d never have dared speak the words to him if she could read his thoughts.
He forced his voice into a light, joking tone. “Secrets at Xavier’s? They’d better not, if they don’t want it in the Ton Bon-bons scandal sheet. The man can’t keep a thing to himself.”
“Oh.” Julia sounded disappointed. “Are you going to wear a costume?”
This was too much for Charissa, who, through giggles, entreated him eagerly to wear something historical. “Perhaps something with tights, like Henry the Eighth! Oh, wait; he’s rather too fat. Although you could wear padding.”
“No,” James said firmly, quashing that idea at once. “I’m sorry to disappoint a lady, but I will not wear a costume. That’s never required,” he explained to Julia. “There are always masks for those who come in ordinary evening wear. I’ll probably just wear a cape or something simple like that.”
“A cape? He’s going to go as a coachman!” Charissa exploded with laughter.
She bobbed a farewell curtsy to James, and with a waggle of her fingers, headed into her house. Julia gave James a helpless smile, and followed her friend, looking, James thought, a bit overwhelmed.
Yes, Charissa Bradleigh could do that to a person. He wondered, as he absently strolled in the direction of his own residence, how she and Julia had become friends so quickly. He rather had the feeling that the young noblewoman had seized upon Julia as a novelty and was now running the life out of her. Julia had formidable energy, but she wasn’t used to town hours, town manners, and the intense but fleeting nature of many town friendships.
He wondered, too, how it was affecting Louisa to have her sister seized from her all the time. He thought with a pang that he ought to call on her and see if she needed any cheering up.
And that was when he realized, standing a good half mile from where he’d started, that he’d taken his carriage out today and had left it behind him in Bond Street. And that he never had chosen a gift for Louisa.
Chapter 15
In Which Both Dinner and a Husband Are on the Menu
“This Twelfth Night masquerade is scarcely worth the trouble of getting gussied up,” Lady Irving opined, “except for the fact that the three of us will all rip each other’s throats out if we stay home any longer. It’s a shame that London is so shockingly thin of company still, but that’s the way it always is in winter. Ah, well. We’ll still get our last little gasp of holiday revelry.”
A mischievous smile slid across her face. “I am very glad the Bradleighs are here now. What are the chances I could persuade Lord Xavier to notify all of his other guests to come in formal dress, but tell Sylvia to come in a costume?”
She snorted. “Imagine her coming as a shepherdess, and everyone else in their lovely evening dress,” she hooted. “Why, she wouldn’t know where to stick her crook, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m very glad that I do not know what you mean,” Louisa said firmly. “And I think it would be unkind of you to play such a trick on your old friend.”
“She’d love it,” Lady Irving insisted, then relented. “All right, fine, fine, I’m the one who would love it. It would be hilarious. But I won’t say anything to Xavier.”
“He probably wouldn’t do it anyway,” Julia chimed in. “James said there probably wouldn’t be any scandals at the masquerade. I was disappointed,” she admitted. “I’d love to see a real scandal taking place, wouldn’t you?”
Lady Irving shook her head. “They’re not as much fun as you think, my girl. Now, which of you wants to be Helen of Troy, and which wants to be the fortuneteller?�
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In the end, Louisa got the gracefully draped Classical costume, and Julia garbed herself as the fortuneteller in Lady Irving’s brightest red silk gown, matching turban, and heavy gold jewelry. Her aunt had been somewhat offended by the idea of having her finest clothing used as a costume, but Julia had won her over by explaining that she had no idea what a fortuneteller actually looked like, and if anyone couldn’t guess who she was and had to ask, she could just say she was going as a countess.
“Make it a duchess,” Lady Irving had corrected her. “That’s one of my best gold sets you’re wearing.”
As for the countess’s own costume, she covered her green gown in a black silk domino and called it complete. “Costumes are for ninnies,” she scoffed, then, seeing her nieces’ crestfallen faces, corrected herself. “Ninnies, and the young.”
James was to dine with them before the masquerade, then escort them to Lord Xavier’s home for the event. As the time for his arrival drew near, Julia found herself growing unaccountably excited. Well, not really unaccountably—it was her first real ton event, after all. Her aunt could belittle it for being small and informal, but to Julia, this was her real debut into London society.
When she thought of it like that, it was actually a bit nerve-wracking. She was glad she already knew all of the Bradleigh daughters and had made a friend in Charissa. And, of course, she would gain courage from walking in with her aunt, her sister, and James.
James. She hadn’t seen him since they’d crossed paths in Bond Street several days earlier. It had been so good to see him, better even than she had expected, though she had been a bit dismayed to be able to talk so little with him. She’d felt self-conscious speaking to him in front of Charissa, afraid that her friend’s sharp gray eyes would see things they shouldn’t, or that she herself would say something she ought not. It was getting harder and harder to keep that proper friendly tone with James; to keep everything light and casual and show him no hint of what she was really feeling. Which she knew she shouldn’t be feeling anyway.
She actually had been thankful that Charissa had dominated the conversation with James. That was often the way when she was around Charissa, actually. On the positive side, you never had to think of anything to say, which might come in very handy tonight if she was faced with an intimidating crowd of the wealthy and titled. But when Julia was with James, she always had something she wanted to say. Often too many things.
Her mind was jittery and full, returning always to Christmas. She had thought so often of his hand on her shoulder, his deep green eyes heavy with the weight of his family’s good name, that the memories had become threadbare. Since then, he’d given her no other sign that she was special to him. He’d happily listened while Charissa nattered away about nothing. He’d never tried again to speak to her alone, to return to the confidence they’d shared while their relatives played whist by the firelight.
But why should he? And why should she continue to hope and wish?
Trying desperately to turn her mind to a different topic, she paced around the house. Perhaps if her feet moved fast enough, her thoughts would stand still. She must have stomped through every room in her gaudy red gown, but if anything she only felt more agitated. She finally wound up in the library, where she sat in a chair opposite Louisa.
Louisa looked wonderful, as always. The clean lines of her belted toga emphasized her long, lean form, and her carefully coiled Classical hairstyle was only a few curls away from her usual stylish coiffure. Next to her, Julia felt like a tomato.
They were going to the masquerade as Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in the world, and a little puffy red tomato.
“I’m a tomato,” she grumbled.
“Sorry?” Louisa looked up from her book, puzzled.
“I said, I’m a tomato,” Julia repeated. “You look beautiful. I look terrible. And I’m the one who’s supposed to find a husband.” Her stomach churned at the very idea.
“You don’t look terrible,” Louisa assured her, laying aside her book at once. “You look lovely. I’ve never seen you in red before, but it actually suits you quite well. The turban’s not my favorite,” she admitted, “but it’s a costume, after all.”
“I just want everything to go well tonight,” Julia replied, swinging her feet with nervous energy.
“It will, I promise. Please try to relax and not worry too much about this evening. It’s really not a big event.”
“But it is,” Julia said anxiously. “What if my future husband is there tonight, and he thinks I look like a tomato, so he doesn’t even try to obtain an introduction?”
Louisa raised a skeptical eyebrow at Julia and fixed her with a what-on-earth-are-you-going-on-about expression. So Julia tried to explain. It was difficult, since she couldn’t tell Louisa the truth about her feelings, and she could barely make sense of her own thoughts anymore these days.
“It’s just . . . I’ve seen how well things worked out for you, and how you met this wonderful man and you’re going to get married, and that’s why you came to London. And I came to London to make that happen, too. We didn’t expect to come so early, and most people aren’t here yet, but some people are, and you never know who the right person will be. And I sort of think I would just know when I saw my future husband, but he might not know me, and I just feel like I really ought to be looking my best and having everything go well tonight. And looking like a tomato is not the way to do it,” she finished breathlessly.
Louisa considered her words. “All right, I can understand what you’re worried about. But I think you’re romanticizing this far too much.”
“How can I romanticize courtship too much?” Julia asked, incredulous.
“Courtship?” Louisa said with a dry laugh. “Is that what you’d call it? I suppose technically that’s what it is, when a gentleman determines a young woman is the appropriate combination of brains, beauty, and money—not necessarily in that order. I suppose it’s technically courtship when he then pays several rigorously supervised visits, brings suitable gifts, and eventually, after an appropriate amount of time has elapsed so that he is no longer a total stranger, makes an offer. But there is really not very much of romance in the process at all.”
Julia stared at Louisa, thunderstruck. She felt as if Louisa had slapped her; she’d never heard such acid in her sister’s voice. “Is that really what it was like for you?” Her voice came out in a choked whisper.
Louisa immediately looked contrite. “No, no. Of course not. I mean, James and I weren’t a love match, but we certainly were able to make our own decision. I agreed to marry James because it’s what I wanted to do at the time.”
The full import of these words took a moment to sink in, and Julia’s skin prickled as if touched by ice. “You mean, you don’t love him?”
Louisa sighed, her lovely face shuttered. “I doubt very much if most ton marriages involve love at the time they’re contracted. But I do like him very much, and I respect and admire him. I believe I will come to love him someday. And even if I don’t, we’ll deal together well enough.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry if I said too much. I shouldn’t have dampened your excitement. Believe it or not, I meant to be reassuring.”
Julia was still reeling, trying to take in all of Louisa’s admissions at once. “Reassuring?” she repeated in disbelief. How was she supposed to feel reassured, when Louisa and James—positively the best woman and man in the world—were engaged to one another, and Louisa’s heart was no more touched than if she were buying a horse?
Louisa nodded. “Yes; you know, to tell you that there’s some logic behind the process as well. It isn’t all passion and thunderbolts. There’s careful thought involved. Which means, if your future husband’s there tonight, he’ll want you even if you look like a tomato.” She smiled. “Which you don’t.”
Julia nodded back to show her acceptance of her sister’s explanation, but disappointment weighed on her even more than her dratted turban had
been weighing on her head. “I suppose that makes sense. I just . . . was hoping for some passion and thunderbolts, that’s all.”
Louisa stood and hugged Julia where she sat in her chair. “There may well be for you. I hope you’ll have it all.”
She seemed suddenly struck by an idea and sat back down with uncharacteristic haste. “What would you like in a husband, Julia? Maybe we can be logical about it, too, rather than just waiting to see which men come your way. Think of the qualities you’d like, and James and I can help to sort possible suitors for you.”
Julia shook her head furiously, heedless of her carefully placed turban. “I don’t think I’d feel comfortable having James know what I want in a husband.”
All the qualities she wanted instantly came to mind—kind heart, clever eyes, ready laugh, sandy hair, loving with children—and she clamped her lips together tight in case any of the treacherous words should try to leak out.
“Nonsense; who better?” Louisa insisted. “He knows everyone in London, he knows you, and he likes you and will have an eye out for your best interests. Now, what would you like?”
“You make it sound as if I’m ordering dinner from the cook,” Julia muttered, but settled back in her chair to think. She supposed she could at least humor her sister for a few minutes. Otherwise Louisa might wonder why Julia was being so obstinate.
“Well,” she began slowly, choosing her words with great care, “I’d want him to be kind, of course. He must be kind. And financially solvent. I don’t mean wealthy; just not in debt, and not with any rakish habits like gambling problems. And I’d like him to have a sense of humor, and be good-looking, and like children. Oh, and be punctual.”
“Punctual?” Louisa teased. “Up with the chickens every morning?”
“No, not exactly that. I guess I mean reliable. I want him to be there for me when he says he will. Literally as well as figuratively.”
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