He touched his manicured hand to his breast, still approaching. His well-cut doublet was a most hideous lemon yellow and lime green. "That time of year thou mayst in me behold when yellow leaves, or none or few, do hang upon those boughs which shake against the cold."
She turned as he passed her. "Shakespeare, a sonnet, I think."
He met her gaze, a flicker of surprise on his face. "A woman who reads? Gads." He struck his chest again. "Another wonder of the modern world?"
Julia lifted one eyebrow and lowered her hand to her hip. "I beg your pardon, sir, but of course I can read."
He raised his palm to her. "No offense meant—?"
"Julia," she offered, too intrigued to be insulted. "Lady Julia Thomas."
He struck a leg and bowed, sweeping his hat off his bewigged head. "My profuse apologies, Lady Julia. You are, of course, his lordship's intended."
She dipped a curtsy. Lizzy just stood behind her and stared.
"Baron Archer, cousin to the Earl of St. Martin, at your service. Griffin, I am called to friend and foe." He straightened and replaced his hat.
"Oh, and this is my sister, Lizzy." Julia sidestepped to present her.
He bowed again. "Lady Lizzy."
Lizzy giggled and curtsied. "My, sir, that is an ugly hat you wear. I hope you did not pay a great deal for it."
Julia sucked in her breath, shocked that her sister would dare say such a thing. "Lizzy!"
But instead of being offended, the baron threw back his head and laughed. He whipped off his hat and stared at it. "God rot my bowels, it is ugly, isn't it?"
Lizzy nodded, wide-eyed and frank. "Ugly, indeed. The ugliest I believe I've ever seen."
Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Julia saw a dark-skinned man approach. She had only seen a blackamoor once before, and had to force herself not to stare.
"Jabar! Where did I get this atrocious hat?" the baron called.
"Paris, my master." The exotic man with chocolate brown skin spoke in a liquid-soft voice that was mesmerizing.
"And why did I buy such an unsightly beast?"
"Because you liked it, my lord." Jabar's English was impeccable.
"Well, Lady Lizzy doesn't like it." With that, Griffin sailed the hat into the air, over Julia's and Lizzy's heads.
Lizzy burst into another fit of giggles.
"Good morn to you, ladies." The cousin to St. Martin bowed again and before Julia could think of anything reasonable to say, he and his blackamoor were out the door.
"Funny man." Lizzy picked up the discarded hat and placed it on her head. She blew at the feathers that dangled over her face and watched them flutter with amusement. "Do you think he lives here with the dark man?"
Julia stared at the empty doorway, utterly perplexed by the exchange that had just taken place. Lizzy was right, the man was funny, and utterly ridiculous, and yet there, was something about him . . . something . . .
Julia wrapped one arm around her sister's waist and led her down the hall. "I don't know if he lives here, but it wouldn't surprise me." She glanced over her shoulder. "Nothing would surprise me at this moment."
That evening Julia dressed carefully in one of the gowns her betrothed had presented to her upon her arrival. She tried not to feel hurt that his lordship did not find her own country gowns appropriate for her to wear when she served as his hostess. Instead, she wrestled down her pride and donned the gown he requested she wear. She would have preferred the green velvet, but he had been specific in the note he sent by way of his secretary.
The dress was a magnificent piece of work, far finer than anything her mother had been able to provide for her. The underskirts were a heavy azure brocade trimmed in fur, the bodice and overskirt sewn of the same azure in silk. The neckline of the bodice was fur-trimmed and scooped low over Julia's breasts. Her hair was dressed from the center, parting into wide side ringlets and a single shoulder ringlet on which Drusilla, with the aid of her trusty iron curling rod, had worked long and hard.
Julia stared at herself in an oval free-standing mirror framed in gold gilt. Her grandmother's pearl earrings swung in her ears. She smoothed the bodice of the gown, feeling a little uncomfortable with the way it revealed her breasts. "I suppose I'm ready."
"'Bout time," Drusilla, the woman who had been her nursemaid since birth, complained. After all these years Julia had grown used to Drusilla's grumpiness. In fact, here at Bassett Hall, it was a comfortable reminder of home.
Before pushing out the door of her apartment, Drusilla rubbed rouge on Julia's lips and pinched her cheeks hard.
"Ouch!"
"Try not to look like you're bound for yer hangin', eh?" Drusilla warned.
In the doorway, Julia glanced over Drusilla's hunched shoulder to wave goodbye to Lizzy. Although Julia's mother Susanne had been invited to sup with the earl's guests, Lizzy had not.
Lizzy grinned and waved, not understanding that she was being snubbed by her new male guardian.
Julia gathered her courage and took the hallway toward the grand staircase and her awaiting betrothed.
Halfway down the stairs that were wide enough to ride a coach and four, Julia heard footsteps behind her. "Lady Julia . . ." someone called, then softer, "Lady Julia."
The voice was familiar.
She halted and turned, her crackling skirts bunched in her fists. It was Baron Archer . . . Griffin. He was dressed in another ludicrous outfit, this one of pastel blue and pink silk.
"Lady Julia." He fluttered a long pink handkerchief. "Do allow me to escort you below."
Julia watched with fascination as the man tottered down the staircase in his heeled shoes. The height of the platforms added to his own tall stature, making him a rather imposing figure.
She smiled and curtsied as best she could on the stair tread. "Good even', my lord."
"S'death, please, call me Griffin." He took her hand.
"Then call me Julia."
He nodded, his gaze meeting hers. "Julia," he said softly in a voice that didn't quite seem his own.
They paused for the briefest moment, then broke the mutual gaze and started down the steps again.
"I wanted to apologize for my comment in the entry this morning. Anyone will tell you my mouth runs day and night, but I mean nothing by it." It was Griffin's slightly effeminate voice, and yet it wasn't. "I never meant to infer you lacked intelligence."
His arm was warm beneath her grasp. Comforting. "No offense taken. I swear it. In truth few country girls are educated beyond household responsibilities and needlework. As luck, or God's intervention, would have it, my father was a man who believed learning was for all noble families, even the inferior females."
He chuckled, seeming not only to catch the tone in her voice when she said inferior, but to agree with her sarcasm.
"Well, I wanted to welcome you to Bassett Hall and tell you that if you need anything, I offer my services."
She dared a sideways glance at Griffin. His offer was of course nothing but a formality, and yet there was something in his tone that made her believe he was entirely sincere.
"This hall, London, and my cousin, for certain, can be intimidating." Griffin halted at the bottom of the grand stairs. "I wouldn't wish to see you frightened or unhappy."
Their gazes met a final time, and Julia was amazed to see not the man in the ridiculous clothing, but the man beneath—the genuine smile and sparkling eyes similar to her own shade of blue. Her grandfather had always said that a person should not judge a man by his cloak, and she was beginning to understand the wisdom of his warning.
"Ah! There she is, my prize," the Earl of St. Martin called from the nearest chamber. "Come, my dearest, and meet our guests."
Julia's gaze flickered from St. Martin back to the man who still held her tightly on his arm.
"Your servant, my lord," she bid formally as she pulled away from Griffin and curtsied to him.
"Your servant, madame . . ." Griffin bowed deeply. ". . . Forever."
&nb
sp; Julia lowered her lashes and turned away. The warmth of Griffin's touch still burned her fingertips as she greeted her husband-to-be.
Chapter Two
"Julia, my dear." The earl clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips, but did not quite make contact with her bare skin. She noted that he was wearing white silk gloves, which was odd for a man inside his own house.
"Lord St. Martin." She swept a curtsy.
"Please, please. We are to be married. Let us break through these cumbersome matters of decorum and call one another by our Christian names, shall we?"
He studied her so critically that she lowered her gaze to the floor in discomfort. He smelled heavily of garlic; she feared she might gag. Surely such an educated man would not be so superstitious as to wear garlic to ward off the plague. "Yes, my lord."
Her gaze swept over him. He was an attractive man by contemporary standards, not quite six feet tall and slight in build. He had a handsome, aristocratic face, and pleasant enough brown eyes. "I mean Simeon," she corrected herself.
He smiled, seeming to genuinely be pleased with her. "Excellent, Julia. Now come, let us greet our guests. They've been waiting anxiously to make your first acquaintance." He leaned forward. "But do tame that wayward curl, madame." He pointed delicately to a wisp of hair that fell in front of her ear.
Confused because she had thought the curl charming, she licked her finger and pushed it behind her ear.
He flinched when she licked her finger and closed his eyes.
"There, done," she whispered.
With a nod, he offered his arm and led her into a withdrawing room off the great hall. "I see you've already met my cousin, Griffin."
She glanced over her shoulder at the fop who remained behind them. "Yes. He was very kind . . . to um, escort me down."
The earl whispered in her ear. "Pleasant enough knave, but let me warn you to keep your distance. The man is rather indiscreet in his waning from his marriage, if you understand my meaning."
Married? Julia felt a sinking in her chest, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of disappointment. She had no idea why she'd reacted this way. "A man like that, married?" she couldn't resist asking softly.
The earl raised an eyebrow. "Oh, my dear, it is worse than you imagine. I shan't go into detail with a virgin so delicate as yourself, but suffice to say he does not limit his attentions to females." He shuddered. "I cannot attest to where the man's hands have been."
Julia felt her face grow warm with embarrassment, as self-conscious about Simeon's referral to her virginity as to his houseguest's homosexuality. Everyone in London was so forthright in speech, it seemed they would say anything.
Julia watched Griffin drift past them and into the room to mingle with the crowd of laughing men and fan-fluttering women. Several called to him, and he was drawn into a group of two men and a woman whose face was randomly marked with black moleskin patches shaped like cupids.
Griffin, a homosexual? Julia certainly realized such perversions existed, but she had never known a fricatrice. She was as fascinated as she was horrified. How could he have a wife? Was that why he wore such preposterous clothing? And the dark-skinned man, what was his position? Was he . . . ?
She felt her face grow hotter and swallowed against the lump in her throat, pushing away such thoughts. She needed to concentrate on making a good impression with her betrothed and his friends.
Simeon introduced her to a short, jovial gentleman with a splash of sherry on his cravat. Lord Bottletot, in turn, introduced her to his wife who looked nearly identical to him, down to the hanging jowls and spilt refreshment on the bodice of her gown.
Julia sipped at the glass of white rhenish Simeon pushed into her hand and tried to remember the names and faces as she moved through the crowd. Somewhere she could hear her mother's shrill voice as she laughed with exaggeration. As Julia smiled and spoke to Lord Something-A-Rather, she prayed her mother had not indulged too heavily in spirits before she came down to dine.
Though Simeon had told her it was to be a small dinner party, Julia was overwhelmed. At least a hundred men and women were spread out through three withdrawing chambers. After a half an hour, her head was spinning. Her new shoes were too tight, the wine had made her light-headed, and her mother's unceasing laughter grated on her nerves. Her unseen mother, however, did not grate on her as badly as her intended did.
Simeon was the perfect gentleman, introducing her to his friends, complimenting her clothing and choice of hairstyle. She could find no fault in his manners or his treatment of her, and yet, as the evening wore on, she found herself wishing she could escape from him and disappear into the folds of silk and satin that decorated the rooms.
Simeon spoke kindly to his guests, calling for servants to refill their glasses and their tiny plates of sweet bread nibbles and smoked fish, but there was something about his manner that never seemed quite sincere. It was as if he were playing the part of an earl, rather than actually being one.
In the past three days she had also learned that St. Martin had some sort of fixation with cleanliness and order. Not only did he keep his person fastidious, but he expected the same of everyone and everything in his household. Rooms were constantly being scrubbed floor to ceiling, and lye soap was made by the barrelful in the laundry.
"Oh! There is my darling daughter! Have you met her, Lord Argyle?"
Julia glanced up from her place beside Simeon to see her mother approach, a gentleman on each arm. Her mother's face was beet red, despite the heavy layer of rice powder—positive evidence of her imbibing. "Julia!" She fluttered a paper fan. The bodice of her robin's egg blue gown was so tight that her lumpy breasts spilled over the lace edging.
"Mother." Julia forced a smile as Susanne barreled across the room, dragging the gentlemen with her.
"Let me introduce you to my two new acquaintances. Mr. Rupport here is a merchant, and Lord Argyle, why . . . why he's a lord, of course," she twittered.
The two gentlemen, though older than Julia, could have been her mother's sons.
"Please to meet you, my lord, sir." She took a step from Simeon and curtsied to them both.
"Your servant, madame."
"Your servant," echoed the merchant.
"Thank you so much for coming," Julia said, trying to fit into the role of hostess as Simeon expected. "I believe the meal should be served shortly. Could I bring you some more wine, sir, my lord?"
The young merchant appeared relieved to have been rescued from Susanne. "Oh, I should think one more would not harm me."
"Excellent." As if by magic, a young man in green and white livery appeared with a tray of drinks. Julia reached for a fluted glass, but hit the tray instead. "Oh, goodness," she exclaimed as the tray tipped and the glasses tumbled. She tried to catch the glasses, as did the servant, but to no avail.
Glass shattered over the marble floor and instantly every gaze in the room was fixed on her, the room silent.
Before the last glass struck, the servant was on his knees, gathering up shards as quickly as he could.
Mortified, Julia lifted her skirts to help the young man. She had certainly made an impression. Everyone in the room, including her betrothed, would now think her a lumbering country oaf. "How clumsy of me. Let me—"
"You bungling pustule! How dare you!" Simeon exploded. "That was fluted Venetian glass! That was my fluted Venetian glass!"
Julia glanced up, shocked by her intended's reaction. "I only meant to—"
"Not you! Stand up, woman, and find your dignity!" Simeon grabbed her arm none too gently.
The heels of Simeon's boots ground the glass into the floor. "How could you be so idiotic?" he raved at the servant. He hit the broken stem of a glass with the toe of his boot and kicked it at the man. "Mine. Mine. Mine!"
The servant, still on his hands and knees, threw up his hand to guard his face as the piece of glass deflected off his shoulder.
"Simeon!" Julia didn't think before she spoke. "I spilled the tray,
not the footman. I broke your—"
Simeon turned to her, his face puffed and red. "How dare you speak to me that way in front of my guests. Silence!"
Against her will, tears sprang to her eyes. She didn't want the earl angry at her, but nor would she see someone else suffer for her mistake. "My lord—"
"Let it go," a gentle male voice whispered in her ear. "It's not worth the trouble."
Julia looked over her shoulder to see Griffin pass her. In the confusion she doubted anyone realized he had spoken to her.
Griffin threw up both arms in his theatrical manner. "Come, come, let us say to hell with the Venetians and their glass and eat," he declared to the crowd. He grabbed the servant by his collar and lifted him off the floor. He whispered something in the frightened man's ear and released him.
The servant scurried away.
"Let us eat so that we can fortify ourselves for the gaming tables I know our gracious host will surely provide," Griffin continued, leaving Simeon no place to interrupt. As Griffin spoke he threw open double paneled doors to reveal a large banquet hall set up with buffet tables.
"My lordship, will you kindly lead us to yon laden tables?" Griffin begged Simeon.
Simeon glanced at Julia, who still stood stark-still, then at the servant making his escape. His gaze met Griffin's.
"My lord?"
Simeon smoothed his burgundy velvet coat as he fell back into the role of gracious host. "If my guests are hungry then dine we shall . . ." With that, he left Julia's side and swept into the banquet hall.
Julia hurried to catch up, but as she passed Griffin, she breathed, "Thank you."
He winked at her. "Any time, sweet."
"I mean I don't like him. Ouch!" Julia took the brush from her mother's hand. She knew her mother hadn't meant to pull her hair, but it smarted just the same.
It was half past two in the morning, and Julia was tired and frustrated. She tugged the brush through her hair, avoiding her mother's gaze reflected in the mirror.
Her mother had come to her apartments to help her undress, rather than wake Drusilla at this late hour. Julia had removed her gown and the tight shoes and donned a sleeping and dressing gown, the fabric of both pieces worn, but comfortable.
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 2