The result was that Caroline and Julia were standing about in the front hallway while the countess made a hasty toilette. Sebastian had already taken himself off, apparently confident enough of whatever he had said to his mother that he did not feel the need to remain to make certain that his wishes were carried out.
Julia hated being such a bone of contention between Sebastian and his mother. The evening, which had seemed so exciting as she had donned a lustrous blue silk gown trimmed with yards of creamy lace, had already gone sadly flat. But the Countess was just one of the many obstacles that she would have to overcome to get to Sebastian, she reminded herself. Looked at in that light, the silent hostility that the older woman radiated could be tolerated if not ignored. The rest of the haute ton—at least those whom she had met—had seemed perfectly ready to take her at face value, as the widow of the dowager’s nephew.
On the first occasion when she had sat in the front salon with Caroline and the countess waiting for afternoon callers, she had been so nervous of betraying herself that her knees were shaking. But when the countess had explained with a tight little smile that “dear Julia” was newly come up from the country, where she had met and married Timothy and where she had stayed during the obligatory year of mourning, there had been polite expressions of regret at Timothy’s passing but that was all. No one had stood to denounce her as an upstart foisted upon the ton; no one had seemed shocked or horrified by her speech or behavior. She had been accepted, rather to her amazement, without question. As if she were truly the lady she pretended to be.
Caroline had been surprisingly friendly. Wary at first of the other’s seeming readiness to accept her, Julia had gradually come to believe that there was no meanness in Caroline. She was something of an airhead—witness the way she treated Sebastian’s every word as though it had come down from on high—but she was sweet-natured and Julia thought she might come to like her very much. Although Caroline was some twelve years older than Julia, she was still very lovely in the blonde, blue-eyed fashion that was so much in vogue. Julia had come to believe that one reason that Caroline was so ready to take her about with her was that they were excellent foils for one another: Caroline tall and reed slim, dressed in the soft pastels that were so becoming to her fair coloration, with Julia smaller and curvier, her ebony hair and ivory skin set off by jewel tones. Indeed, the two were a study in contrasts, as Caroline had remarked in a pensive tone one time when she had caught a glimpse of them side by side in a mirror. But whatever the reason, Caroline’s friendship was very welcome. It was a pleasant antidote to Sebastian’s cold politeness and his mother’s outright hostility.
The countess’ descent of the stairs put an end to Julia’s mental wanderings. The older woman was wearing shimmering silver silk, Julia saw as she looked up, and looked wonderful despite the irritable frown that marred her still beautiful face. Sebastian would age well, too, she thought irrelevantly, and then the countess reached the bottom of the steps and swept by them without a word.
Smathers leapt to open the door before she reached it. Caroline threw an apologetic look at Julia, then the two younger women followed the countess out. Tense silence reigned in the carriage during the short drive to Lady Frayne’s residence, where the soiree was to be held. Julia, growing more and more apprehensive as she sat squashed into a corner in the silent carriage, wished ridiculously for Sebastian’s presence. Icily angry with her or not, she knew she could have counted on his support whatever happened. Now, when she felt like Daniel about to be thrown into the lion’s den, she had only Caroline, who was sweet but weak, and the countess, who actively despised her.
Then the carriage was rocking to a halt, and before she knew it she was being ushered into Lady Frayne’s salon. As the countess had made them late, a heavyset lady was already sitting before the company with her harp, ready to sing and play. Besides a smiling welcome from their hostess, and amiable nods from those among the company who were one or the other of the ladies’ particular friends, they were scarcely noticed as they took their seats.
By the time the singing had ceased—the lady sang opera, which Julia found herself totally unable to appreciate—she felt considerably more comfortable. Julia was almost relaxed as she rose with the rest of the guests and adjourned to the refreshment tables. The countess and Caroline were mingling with the other guests, and Julia knew that she should join one or the other of them. But for just this moment she wanted to stand back and observe.
It was a small party by the ton’s standards, with perhaps fifty people in attendance. But those who were invited were the crÈme de la crÈme, and as Julia watched all these splendid people laugh and flirt and chatter she felt a sudden sensation of being caught up in a dream. In her days as a homeless street waif she would never even have been able to imagine such a gathering. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought to find herself dressed in silk and lace, with hunger the farthest thing from her mind as she stood amongst a crowd of the sort of people whose purses she had used to lift. She blinked, bringing herself back to the present with determination. That part of her life was over, forgotten. She had been a different person then, one who no longer existed. Now she was Julia Stratham, and this glittering extravaganza was her world.
Julia swallowed the last crumb of a sugary macaroon without tasting it. She saw Caroline, chatting happily in a foursome that included a plump blonde in pink whom Julia vaguely remembered being introduced to during one of their at-home afternoons, a small slender gentleman with a lively laugh, and a tall older gentleman with dark hair and a kind smile. But before she could move to join them Caroline was detaching the older gentleman from the group and bringing him over to Julia.
“Julia, Lord Carlyle has asked me to make him known to you, so here you see me performing my duty as chaperone. Lord Carlyle, this is my cousin by marriage, Mrs. Julia Stratham.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Stratham?”
Julia held out her hand, smiling up at him. Lord Carlyle took it, bowing over it with a slow smile that she immediately liked. Then he turned that slow smile on Caroline.
“You are far too young and lovely to be a chaperone, Mrs. Peyton. In fact, it is my wager that the two loveliest ladies in the ton this year will be widows instead of debutantes.”
“You flatter me, sir.” Julia offered a shy smile to this big bear of a man whom she liked immediately.
“Oh, and me!” Caroline was being excessively gay, Julia thought, noting the two bright spots of color in her cheeks and hearing the arch note in her voice. “Julia quite outshines me, you know. She is such a sweet young thing, while I—I fear I must appear old in comparison.”
“You could never appear old, Mrs. Peyton,” Lord Carlyle assured her gallantly, and Caroline giggled. Julia looked at her in surprise. In the two weeks she had been accompanying her so-called cousin about, she had never seen her show any interest in a man. Now here she was practically flirting with Lord Carlyle.
“I fear we should resume our seats. It appears as though the second half of the evening’s entertainment is about to begin.” Julia thought her own voice sounded quite wooden next to Caroline’s, but then she was not trying to attract Lord Carlyle.
But that gentleman turned grave gray eyes on her, listening to her few words as if they were pearls of wisdom. Why, he is attracted to me, she thought, and felt a little frisson of pleasure. If she could attract the interest of a gentleman like Lord Carlyle, perhaps she was closer to her goal than she had thought.
“Isn’t Madame Crieza in fabulous voice?” Caroline remarked in a hushed voice as they moved to resume their seats. Lord Carlyle smilingly agreed. And Julia thought again of how far she had to go to become a lady in fact as well as in name. To her the fabulous diva’s singing was about as pleasing as the caterwauling of a scalded cat. But apparently the truly well-born enjoyed it.
By the time the evening was finally over, Julia had a headache. She said a civil farewell to her hostess, and those of the other guests to whom she h
ad had occasion to speak, and a smiling one to Lord Carlyle. He was really a very nice man, she thought, then dismissed him from her mind as she followed the countess and Caroline into the carriage. One good thing about the countess’ displeasure, she thought, was that at least the drive home would be silent, so her aching head could recover in peace.
But it was not to be. Caroline was full of chatter, and what was not in praise of the performance was spent extolling the virtues of Lord Carlyle.
“He is so handsome, do you not agree?” she trilled. “So truly distinguished looking, and very much the man. Exactly how I like a gentleman to be, do you not agree, Julia?”
“He seemed very nice,” Julia responded in a small voice, wishing that Caroline would hush and that the carriage wheels would not bounce so lustily over the cobblestones.
“Very nice!” Caroline sounded scandalized. “Why, he is considered quite a catch, you know. He has been on the ton for years, ever since his wife died. But I’ve never heard of him asking for an introduction to a lady before. You must have made quite an impression on him, Julia.”
“Julia does seem to make an … impression on widowers, does she not?” The cool voice belonged to the countess. It was devoid of any real expression, but the look in the older woman’s eyes was malicious in the extreme. She could mean only one thing, of course. Just as Julia’s person had attracted Lord Carlyle’s notice, it had also attracted Sebastian’s. Julia, feeling her cheeks begin to burn at the silent accusation, found herself suddenly grateful for Caroline’s inane chatter.
“His wife was dark, like you. He must like dark women. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he should be interested in you? He would be quite a catch, you know. Besides being Lord Carlyle, which title has been in existence since practically the Norman Conquest, and being a very handsome gentleman, his purse is as deep as anyone’s and he never stinted his late wife. Of course there are the children—he has three, you know—but then Sebastian mentioned that you had spent some time with Chloe, so you must be fond of children. Poor little girl, Chloe, I mean, she—”
“Would you hush your senseless chatter, Caroline?” The dowager didn’t frown, but the look she bent on Caroline was taut with displeasure. Then those blue eyes, so like Sebastian’s, shifted to Julia again. “Of course Julia made a show of being interested in Chloe. She would be a fool if she didn’t. But you’ll catch cold at trying to catch Sebastian through his daughter, my girl. Like myself, he is a most un-fond parent. It must be in the blood.”
“You and Sebastian are very much alike,” Caroline agreed, then appeared horrified at what she had said. “Of course, not that I mean to imply that he is not fond of Chloe, because I am sure he is, or that you are not fond of him, because you know you are, Margaret, underneath everything—”
“You are a fool, Caroline,” the countess said with chilling precision, her attention focusing on her daughter-in-law again. “I despise Sebastian, just as he despises that chit of his. Edward was the son of my heart. If Sebastian did not look so like me, I would swear that the midwife had slipped a changeling into my bed. He is everything that is displeasing to me: cold, arrogant, cruel.…”
“Very much like yourself in fact, ma’am?” Julia had not been able to listen to that icy denunciation in silence. Sebastian was not here to take his own part against this heartless woman. Therefore, she would take his part for him. She could not bear to hear him abused, and especially not by one who should love him.
Those icy eyes met Julia’s heated golden ones. “You do have a tendre for him, don’t you? You are more foolish than I thought. Sebastian feels nothing similar for you. It is not in his nature. I have never seen him display a fondness toward anyone. Me, his mother, he despises. He disliked his only brother, and felt contemptuous of his father, who I must admit was deserving of it. I felt the same way myself. That poor stick of a wife of his he was civil to, but no more. And as for his daughter, I laugh when I think of that wretched little mite. Sebastian married for a son, a son to carry on our name, and what he got was a girl who is not even normal but a freak! She—”
“Stop it!” Julia could not listen to any more of this woman’s poison. “How dare you call her that? Chloe is not a freak, but a lovely little girl! And if Sebastian cannot show affection, whose fault is that? Yours, you nasty old woman, for never showing him any. You should be ashamed!” The faces of Chloe and Sebastian rose in her mind. Chloe, just a child who desperately needed love. Sebastian, a man grown, who needed the same thing. That this woman, who was mother to one and grandmother to the other, could say such things, could deny them the affection that was theirs by right and custom, infuriated her. Sebastian might be too armored against emotion to denounce his mother as she deserved. But Julia had no hesitation about doing it for him.
The countess was looking at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads. Apparently she was not used to being shouted at, or spoken to as Julia had spoken to her. Sebastian was invariably icily polite to his mother, Julia recalled, even when he was threatening her. But she did not feel an instant’s regret about what she had said or the manner in which she had said it. She looked the countess right in her soulless eyes and ignored Caroline’s horrified sputters as she attempted to smooth over the ghastly scene.
“Stop clearing your throat, Caroline, you sound like a chicken whose neck is being wrung,” the countess said coldly. Her gaze had never left Julia. Those blue eyes no longer reminded her of Sebastian’s, Julia realized as she met them without an outward sign of a qualm. Sebastian’s eyes had been many things in the time she had known them, but never this, never evil.
“You will regret speaking to me in such a fashion,” the countess said finally.
Julia felt a shiver feather its way down her spine as the carriage thankfully rolled to a stop in front of the house.
XXIV
The following morning a nosegay of purple and gold pansies was delivered for Julia, along with a charming note from Lord Carlyle. As she accepted the tribute from Smathers and pressed it to her nose, breathing deeply of the soft fragrance of the flowers, Sebastian came in through the front door.
He was dressed for riding in a severe black coat that emphasized the silver-gold of his hair, buff breeches, and a pair of highly polished boots. A silver-topped riding crop was in his hand, and he surrendered this and his hat to the footman who opened the door. From the disordered waves of his hair and the healthy flush of color in his cheeks, he had obviously just returned from an early morning gallop.
His eyes narrowed as they found Julia, who looked back at him with a pleasure she could not quite disguise; even frowning as he was at the moment, he was handsome enough to stop her breath. Her eyes traced the flawless lines of his forehead and chin, the straight, high-bridged nose, the stern mouth with its slightly fuller lower lip, the broad shoulders and lean hips and long muscular legs, returning to meet the celestial blue eyes. They were anything but celestial now as the dark brows met above them in a frown of irritation.
“Tributes from an admirer already?” The smoothness of his voice did not quite conceal the hint of a sneer. “I would scarcely have thought you would have had time to make any conquests as yet. You do work fast, don’t you?”
“Lord Carlyle sent them. I met him last night.” She sniffed the velvety blooms again, pretending not to notice his annoyance, then held them out for his inspection. “Aren’t they lovely?”
“Lovely.” If anything, his voice was even more curt than before. His eyes ran over her, lingering on the white swell of her flesh above the low round neckline of her pale lilac morning gown with its trimming of deeper lilac ribbons. There was a restlessness in his eyes that was not like him, and Julia rejoiced as she saw it. She disturbed him, she knew. She also knew that the fact angered him extremely.
“Have you breakfasted yet? If not, you might join me. I want to talk to you, and now seems as good a time as any.” Even in issuing an invitation, his tone was clipped.
“I’ve had chocolate,
but I can always manage to eat a little more.” She twinkled at him, not one whit disturbed by his sour mood. If anything, she welcomed it. It was not like Sebastian to display anything so human as irritability.
“If you don’t stop eating like you expect a famine to strike tomorrow, you’ll get fat,” he warned in a jaundiced tone as he gestured to her to precede him up the stairs to the breakfast room. A jaunty swishing of her full skirts in his direction was the only reply he received.
Breakfast was strictly a serve oneself affair, and the array of dishes on the sideboard was truly astonishing, especially considering the fact that Sebastian was the only member of the household who habitually rose early enough to partake of it.
The countess and Caroline always remained in their rooms until noon, and Julia usually breakfasted in her chamber on the sweet chocolate and rolls for which she had developed a passion. But (strictly to be sociable, mind!) she helped herself to toast points and preserves, and a rasher of bacon. That, along with a cup of tea, and on top of the chocolate and rolls she had already consumed, would make for quite an adequate second breakfast.
“Will you have a kidney?” Sebastian asked with a hint of sarcasm, eyeing her filling plate.
Julia declined with an airy smile, watching as he helped himself to several kidneys, a substantial serving of eggs and bacon, and some toast. Julia, eyeing his meal, rather thought that, if anyone was going to grow fat, it would be Sebastian instead of herself. He could really put away an incredible amount. Strangely enough, the idea of Sebastian with jowls and a pot belly appealed to her. He was so very handsome she sometimes felt she was in love with a figment of her imagination rather than a man.
“What are you smiling at?” He looked up from his meal just in time to catch that glimmering amusement on her face.
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