by Splendid You
“I hope Miss Archer will feel better tomorrow.”
“Oh, poor Lucy. She’s so...” Mrs. Archer sighed. “She was never a giddy child, but she’d always been biddable. Then this sad disappointment. It’s doubly awkward, living where we do. I wanted to move back to the country, but there are so many advantages for the girls in living in London.”
“What disappointment? I beg your pardon; I don’t mean to pry,” She wished she liked embroidery so that she should have something to occupy her hands.
Mrs. Archer glanced swiftly at her two younger daughters. Jane, whose chords had been spaced with longer and longer pauses, suddenly began strumming again. Amanda, who had been absorbed in one page for the longest time, turned it over.
Mrs. Archer leaned closer to Julia. “It’s the young man across the street, Major Winslow. We all thought he meant to propose to Lucy—his attentions were most marked. Then he went away without a word to me or to Simon. Or was Simon in Egypt at the time? I can’t entirely recall....”
“Oh, he was ... !” Jane showed her teeth in an open-mouthed smile and broke into song. “Oh, what a man he was, he was. Oh, what a man he was!”
“What song is that, dear? Nothing vulgar, I trust.”
“I don’t believe so, Mother. It said ‘traditional’ on the music.”
Amanda giggled. Looking up guiltily, she said, “Most amusing character in Self-control.”
“Amanda loves to read,” Mrs. Archer said, like one telling a deep secret.
Returning to the subject of Lucy, Julia asked, “The young man didn’t address his proposal to Lucy herself, did he?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think so! He’s a most correct young man and had often expressed himself just as he ought on so many subjects, not least of all the duty of a child to its parents. And I’m certain Lucy would have told me if anything of that sort had passed between them.”
“But she didn’t tell you what the trouble was between them?”
“Not a word. Of course, I never intrude. To force a secret from one of my girls would spoil the beautiful confidence we all share.”
In half an hour, Julia excused herself and went to join Simon in his retreat. “Your mother is a wonderful woman,” she announced.
“In her way, I suppose she is.” He closed the black-bound book he’d been reading, placing it with some care on his desk. “But to what do you refer specifically?”
“Well, if I had a daughter and she’d spent two years moping over some young man, I would feel compelled to meddle.”
“You refer to Lucy, I imagine.”
“Yes. Isn’t your mother even curious as to what caused the rift between them?”
“She was, in the beginning. Now I believe she has convinced herself that Robert Winslow is solely responsible for Lucy’s misery.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not. No one could remain this unhappy for this long without something preying on their conscience.”
He stood up and went to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he looked out into the street, or perhaps he was only looking at his reflection. “You see, I like Winslow. He’s a steady fellow and a brave soldier, whereas my sister has always lived by her emotions. If I had been here, I might have been able to direct each of them to find someone else. By the time I came home, however, the damage had been done.”
“Damage? Because they loved one another?”
“Damage because they are each romantic fools. He is playing the suffering Lancelot while she pictures herself the grieving Elaine. Any sensible person would have solved the coldness between them without all this woe.” He let the curtain fall. “You should have seen Winslow this afternoon. Pitiful. Gazing up the stairs, praying for a glimpse of Lucy. And her in her room, trying on every gown she owned, hoping one would give her the courage to face him.”
“I doubt he wanted to be gone so long. Your mother tells me that he was decorated for bravery in the Punjab.”
“Mother would very much like a war hero for a son-in-law.” He crossed the floor to stand in front of Julia. With one finger, he tilted up her chin so that she had to look in his eyes. “She’d also like an heiress for a daughter-in-law.”
Passionately, Julia prayed that he would not propose. She’d decided not to marry him after all because it wouldn’t be fair to him. Purely to forestall him she said, “It’s always a shame to disappoint one’s mother, but in this instance, she will have to settle for the war hero.”
“So you’ve definitely decided not to pursue me?”
‘That’s correct. I’m sure you’re relieved?”
“Absolutely.” His hand dropped to his side. “Get your hat and mantle. We’re going to see a man about a cat.”
Prompted by what she called freedom from the burden of her embarrassment, Julia said wickedly, “Shouldn’t we arrange to send Lucy? If they met once again, they would assuredly work out their differences. Wedding bells might yet ring out.”
Simon shook his head, grimacing. “Unlikely. Lucy didn’t even seem interested when I told her he’d called.”
“No? You would think that she’d at least be interested, no matter how badly they’ve hurt each other. Oh, I hate such mysteries! People should talk more to each other about the true nature of their feelings.”
“You will never find an Englishman to agree with you, Julia. We have been trained from childhood not to have any feelings.”
“You’re not like that.”
“We’re all like that. Public school training. Mustn’t let the side down, and all that rot.”
Half an hour later, as they left the Winslow’s, Julia said, “What a shame!”
“You mean that the cat didn’t speak to you?”
“Partly that.”
“How do you explain the events you claim to have participated in yesterday, Julia? You must have come to some conclusions.”
She stopped in the middle of the deserted street. “I’ve been waiting for you to bring this up, Simon. As it happens, I have determined what caused the things I saw and heard.”
“Shock? As I suggested?”
“Magic.” Her smile held the mysterious remoteness of La Gioconda. “But that’s not what caused my comment. I think it’s a great shame that Major Winslow and your sister are not married. She would care for the general like her own father, and anyone can see he badly needs such care.”
“Would you have her marry a man merely to be of service?”
“Isn’t that why most women marry, Simon? It’s better to wear out than to rust, as my aunt says. In one’s own family, such attentions are taken for granted. One grows old, dwindling into a mere maiden aunt who is valued only for her usefulness. But a devoted daughter-in-law is praised to the skies.”
“I know Lucy was fond of the old man. She loved to sit with him by the hour and listen to his stories. You wouldn’t think it now, seeing him sitting there with that cat on his knee, but he was a real ‘death or glory’ man.”
“I think he’s adopted that cat because he’s lonely. It’s a stroke of good fortune for the little thing. She’ll be queen of the house in another week; anyone could see that the general is spoiling it. That should have been Lucy’s role.”
“I doubt my sister would sit on the general’s knee.”
Julia slapped her hand lightly on his arm. “Lucy and the general would have each other for comfort when the major returns to his duties. As it is now, I fear he’ll grow more and more lonely with only servants and a cat for company. One cannot be satisfied for long with the companionship of subordinates.”
“I wonder how many of the people who go to a fraud like Dr. Mystery do so seeking a way out of loneliness.” He unlocked the door and stood back for her to enter first. “One can hardly blame the poor devils. I shouldn’t do it, but then I’m never lonely so long as I have my work.”
“Yes,” Julia said. “I feel that myself.” She knew she lied. Perhaps she’d felt that way at home, but not here. Not when she saw
what it was like to put forward a theory on the authorship of a biblical book and have it considered intelligent instead of eccentric. If she spent too much time in Simon’s company, she would be spoiled for anything less.
Simon’s hands rested on her shoulders a moment as he assisted her to take off her mantle. She’d worn a semi-evening gown for her first dinner at the Archers’. While not nearly as low-cut as the one she would wear to their party, it did leave the tops of her shoulders bare, gleaming in the gaslight. The skirt rustled intriguingly when she moved, possibly making a man wonder what exactly she wore under there. Her hair was upswept, springy tendrils falling about her ears and the back of her white neck.
Both Major Winslow and his father, still gallant despite trouble or age, had paid her several compliments. She wasn’t vain enough to believe them entirely sincere, as sometimes men unused to a woman’s society pay compliments merely to make conversation. Yet she did feel she looked well.
Simon said, after clearing his throat, “You should change out of that.”
“Should I?”
“You don’t want to get excelsior all over it. We are going to open that box tonight, aren’t we?”
“I’d love to!” Then she hesitated. “But I promised Jane I’d help her with the invitations.”
“You’re a guest here, Julia. You needn’t slave like an overworked secretary.”
Flattening the fabric at her waist where she had detected a wrinkle in the tarlatan, Julia said, “I don’t mind taking some of the burden off her shoulders. She told me she is starting a blister on her middle finger from all the writing.”
“She should have been doing that instead of strumming that infernal guitar.”
“Your mother suggested half an hour of rational enjoyment to aid our digestions.” She glanced up at him. His eyes were dark in the lower light of the hall. “And it’s a mandolin.”
“Was it?” He reached out and smoothed his hand over her exposed shoulder. “I am always confused ‘twixt the two.”
His hand was not soft like an easy-living gentleman’s, but hardened by labor. The contrast between her pampered silken skin and his hand sent her senses reeling. He followed the line of her collarbone to her throat and stroked the tender curve of her throat with the edge of his thumb.
Julia saw that his eyes traveled with his hand almost absently. As if he hardly realized yet that he was touching her at all, let alone caressing her so that her heart raced and her mouth burned.
“Don’t work too hard....”
“I—I won’t.”
His gaze went to her face and his hand stilled. In a mild, conversational tone, he said, “Oh, God. Oh, hell.”
He yanked his hand away as though she’d turned to flame. “Julia, you should slap me now.”
“In outrage?”
“You should be outraged. And I... I should go to my club while you are here.”
“Why?”
“Can’t you see? I have no intentions of marriage. One can’t go about stroking girl’s necks ...” He ran out of words.
“Aren’t your mother and sisters chaperons enough?”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, leaving it to fall over his eyes. “Apparently not. At least, I don’t see any of them at the moment.”
“No, neither do I. I should go find them.”
“Julia...” He crossed his arms, more for her protection, she felt, than because he felt annoyed. “That’s a very pretty dress.”
She beamed at him as though he’d given her a gift. A bubble of delight rested near her heart, a feeling she’d only had when she’d drunk a trifle too much champagne at her last birthday party. “It wasn’t my favorite until just now. Simon ... I’ll help Jane for a while. Then may I be there when you open the crate?”
“Yes, of course. But change first, please.”
Her smile, if anything, grew more shy. But she said merrily enough, “I’ll assume the habit of a nun if you like.”
“No, thank you. I have enough troubles without dragging in a mortal sin.”
Simon saw her puzzling over that comment until she realized his meaning. Then her uncertain smile returned and she frankly fled away. Simon retreated to his study where he had another drink while he waited for her. Only after it was gone did he remember that if they were going to open the box, he would have to bring it into his study. After all, that was the nominal reason why she’d be coming back to him tonight. Simon also thought it would be safer on the whole for the both of them to have something to focus on besides each other.
The crate was the usual sort of thing he’d often received in the off-season. Safir had a good eye for the genuine antiquities that still floated about Cairo’s bazaars and backstreets. Though Simon hated the trade in Egypt’s history, which belonged properly to the people of that country, he would sometimes buy things to prevent them falling into the hands of dilettantes and tourists. Though they’d lost half their scientific value by being wrenched from the ground without method, there was still much to learn from the pieces and papyrus Safir had found.
Usually he would dive into a box like a little boy on Christmas morning. Tonight he found little enthusiasm for the task. It wasn’t just that he promised to wait for Julia. Handling things of reed and stone held no appeal after touching the living silk of Julia’s skin.
Though he knew less of modem women’s clothing than he did about the pleated linen of ancient Egypt, he knew enough to see that Julia’s day dresses were marked by quiet good taste and a severity of line that boded well for her seriousness of mind. But when he’d turned to see her enter the drawing room this evening, pranked out in a dinner gown, his mouth had gone dry.
She wore white well, better than his sisters. Her skirt had been of some floating material, layer upon layer of it, with none of the overlarge fabric flowers or swags of contrasting fabric that Jane and Amanda loaded onto their gowns. He’d looked at Julia and a vision of her as Venus rising from the foaming waves of the sea sprang into his mind. Her round, white shoulders emerging from the material fed his fantasy as though that had been the dressmaker’s intention.
Simon was afraid he’d been nearly incoherent during dinner, thanking God for his mother’s ceaseless flow of chatter. He’d hardly ever turned to look directly at Julia, for every time he did, he was sure he saw more than there was to see. The neckline of the gown stopped well about the swell of her breasts, but dipped the merest trifle in the front. After such ceaseless efforts not to look, he could have drawn a picture of her with his eyes shut.
Objectively, he knew it was a modest gown so far as such things went. Ballgowns were almost indecently low-cut this season; he’d heard his mother complaining about it after taking the girls for a fitting. He stifled a groan as he recalled that Julia would undoubtedly be attending the party in his honor on Friday. He remembered his determination to dance with her only once, and didn’t bother to stifle the second groan.
He had another drink, feeling that his head wasn’t swimming from the alcohol so much as from the violent reordering of his thoughts. He hoped Julia’s humor would not lead her to appear dressed as a nun after all. One erotic fantasy a night was more than enough to cope with.
His impatience to see her again grew as the hands on the clock went ‘round. He promised himself that he’d be patient and not go looking for her. He’d given quite enough of his feelings away already. But when an hour had passed, his resolution failed.
Chapter Seventeen
Though Simon thought he entered the drawing room with a step that thundered like Jove’s, his entrance hardly disturbed the women. Julia, he saw, to his dismay, was entrenched on the sofa, one of his sisters seated on either side. She had a sheaf of papers in her hand, which she was thumbing through while a counterpoint duet went on in her ears. She was nodding and dropping a word in whenever she could.
She met his eyes and made a face of helplessness. Obviously she was trapped for some time yet to come. She had changed from her awe-inspiring
dinner dress into a simple morning gown scattered with a print of violets. Instead of Venus, she looked as fresh and approachable as a milkmaid. Even her hair was more casual, tumbling down from the too-severe style she’d affected earlier. He wished he didn’t feel quite so pleased about that.
His mother saw him and stood up, bundling her silk and hoop into the chair. “Miss Hanson is being such a help! It seems she often plays hostess for her father, so a party even as large as ours is child’s play to her. She’s already organized our plans and made such a savings in the budget! It seems we may have duplicated some of the orders. A case of ‘too many cooks’ I’m afraid.”
As he had reminded Jane, he repeated, “Mother, Miss Hanson is our guest. We shouldn’t make her slave for us.”
Julia shook her head at him, and went on lending an ear to Amanda, saying something about the orchestra.
“Oh, but she volunteered to take the whole affair off my hands. I’m only too glad to give it up. You know, I attended many such affairs in my girlhood but I was never responsible for the details. Your grandmother managed it all so beautifully without my having to help—except to arrange a few flowers.”
His mother put her hand on his arm, and crooked her other forefinger, beckoning him to follow her. As he did so, he glanced back at Julia. Though she raised one eyebrow to indicate curiosity, she also flashed five fingers at him. He nodded in relief. Five more minutes ...
He followed his mother into the dining room where Apple was sweeping the floor. “That’ll do, Apple.”
“Yes, madam.”
Mrs. Archer waited until the maid was out of earshot. “Simon, when you first brought Miss Hanson to this house in such a hole-and-corner way, I freely confess that I thought you had lost your mind. I want to apologize to you for being so unjust.”
“Mother?” he said. She certainly resembled his mother in every detail, but she sounded nothing like herself.
“Yes, I apologize, and for more than you may know. Son, as dear Julia has been so rash as to come to town without her father, I feel that I must stand in his stead. What are your intentions toward her?”