by Mary Balogh
Men! And Grandpapa too. What a cruel joke!
She could cry, Julia thought. Or scream. Or go galloping off on her horse, Flossie, in a straight line, dealing with hedges and gates and other obstacles as she came to them. The thought was enormously tempting. She might well have given in to it, but someone had found her sanctuary. The door had opened and someone had stepped inside the conservatory.
Julia sat very still for a few moments. But whoever had come in was not going out again in a hurry. She even heard a soft oath, the type of obscenity that Gussie liked to use, though it was not Gussie’s voice. Curiosity got the better of her and she leaned forward to peer cautiously around the edge of the curtain. She sighed.
“I might have known you would be the first to find me,” she said out loud, not even trying to keep the sarcasm and hostility out of her voice. “Well, here 1 am. Deliver your speech.”
Then she flung back the curtain and swung her legs to the floor. She could not hide for a whole month after all. She might as well come out with fists swinging. Figuratively speaking, anyway.
4
The Earl of Beaconswood left his mother in the drawing room. But he would, he knew, run into other family members soon and they would all wish to share their impressions of the will with him. He would prefer to have some time alone. It irked him to know that he was stuck at Primrose Park for a whole month. He could, he supposed, leave and return to London for what remained of the Season. He did not intend to have anything to do with the courting of Julia, and there was nothing physically stopping him from just leaving.
But other factors prevented him from doing it, of course. Although he was not the owner of Primrose Park and never would be, nevertheless in the absence of a real owner he must consider himself the host since he was head of the family. It would not do for him to leave. It would be unmannerly to say the least, and he prided himself on his good manners.
And then, of course, his uncle had requested that they all stay for a month. It was a man's dying wish or dying command. Honor dictated, then, that he stay. Besides, there was Julia. He was under no obligation whatsoever to her. Yet his uncle had accepted her as a responsibility and he was his uncle's successor. He must wait to see that she was settled somehow into a secure and satisfactory future.
Even if he did go back to London, he thought, he would not be able to participate in any of the social events of the Season. He was in mourning. It was all very well for his uncle to command them all to put off their blacks the next day, and doubtless they would do so, improper as it seemed. Again it was a dying man’s wish. But that would apply only within the privacy of Primrose Park. If he returned to London, he would consider it essential both to wear mourning and to curtail his activities as the man who had inherited the deceased earl’s title and fortune.
And so he was stuck. He had thought at first when he had listened to the request that they all stay for one month that perhaps he would invite Blanche and her parents to visit Primrose Park. But the idea had died almost before it had been conceived. How could he invite them to a home that was not his own? How could he invite them to a family gathering that included no other outside guests? If he and Blanche had been betrothed, perhaps it might have been possible. But they were not.
By the time he returned to London, he thought, she would be gone. He would have to find out where she had been taken for the summer and pursue her there if he was prepared to make his intentions so obvious. Or he would have to wait for next year and hope that no one else attached her in the meanwhile.
He was not in a good mood as he sought out a quiet haven, somewhere where he was least likely to be interrupted until everyone had recovered from the initial excitement of hearing the will. The conservatory might be the place, he thought, opening the door gingerly and stepping inside. Yes, he was right. It was unoccupied. He closed the door gratefully behind him. He would give himself the luxury of an hour to himself. An hour that might have been spent with Blanche if he were in London. He swore softly.
Then a voice spoke and he knew that he was not alone after all. And if he could have chosen one occupant of the house whom he least wished to encounter at that particular moment it would have been the very person who spoke.
“I might have known you would be the first to find me,” she said. “Well, here I am. Deliver your speech.”
He could not see her at first. But then one of the partly drawn curtains was pulled aside and she swung her legs down from the window seat, showing a quite indecorous display of ankle and leg as she did so. He felt instant annoyance.
“Meaning?” he asked her.
“I suppose it is quite a carrot,” she said. Her tone was not at all pleasant To be fair, he guessed that she had been as intent on being solitary as he had been. “A beautiful house built less than a century ago, filled with treasures of art and furnishings and draperies and decoration. A large and lovely park. Prosperous farms and healthy rents. It would be quite the jewel in your crown, would it not Daniel? But it comes with me. Inseparable and indivisible. A minor annoyance.”
He should have been amused, he knew, at her presumption. Instead he was unaccountably angry. “Minor?” he said, making an effort to keep his voice controlled and icy. “I might have used another adjective, Julia. Perhaps it is as well that I believe my crown to be sufficiently studded with gems.”
He was proud of the setdown. She sat and glared at him. Julia had never been able to control her emotions. And yet control was an essential quality in a lady, he believed. Or in someone bent on quarreling.
“Your choices are not quite as numerous as you might have imagined,” he said. “But then you may find it easier to choose among four rather than five, Julia. I will not be a contestant.”
She pursed her lips and regarded him through narrowed eyes. “That,” she said, indignation making her voice vibrate, “is one small mercy. Does that mean we will be losing your company, Daniel? I for one will be devastated.”
He was not quite sure why they hated each other so much or when exactly it had started. She had always been one of the children, deplorably noisy and badly behaved. But that alone would not have aroused hatred in him. He did not hate his other younger cousins who had been equally unruly once upon a time—the boys anyway. However, that was not a problem to be considered at this precise moment.
“I could help you narrow the field further,” he said. “If you are willing to listen to advice, of course.”
He expected to be told in no uncertain terms where he could go and what he could do when he got there, but she smiled. Unpleasantly. She set her hands flat on the window seat on either side of her and leaned forward, all apparent eagerness.
“Oh, by all means, Daniel,” she said. “Advise me.”
She was damned pretty when she was angry, the earl thought. Or when she was not angry for that matter. Though pretty was rather a tame word to describe her appeal. It was not just her face or the neatness of her figure. There was something very—well, very attractive about Julia. If she behaved more like a lady, he would not have noticed it. She had no business flaunting her sexuality.
“I would not accept Freddie if I were you,” he said. “He is always in need of funds and would like nothing better than to gain possession of these farms and rents. But he would gamble it all away faster than the rents could come in. Besides, he needs more than one w—” The trouble with someone like Julia, he thought as he stopped himself midword, was that she sometimes made a man forget that he was a gentleman.
She leaned a little farther forward. “The word could not have been wife,” she said. “I have heard that Freddie can be a little wild, but I do not believe that even he would try bigamy. He needs more than one woman, Daniel? My charms would not be enough to hold his interest you believe? How lowering.”
She was toying with him. She was beginning to enjoy herself. His best course would be to leave the room without another word and go find himself another retreat. But he would be damned before he would lea
ve the last word with Julia.
“And Malcolm is too old for you,” he said curtly.
“Is he?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled at him again. “Nine years is too wide an age gap, you think, Daniel? But there are eight between you and me.”
And eleven between him and Blanche. “Another reason why I will not be offering for you,” he said. “I prefer maturity in women.”
If he had hoped to wither her with the setdown he was to be disappointed. Her smile held. “Are we talking about physical maturity?” she asked. “You prefer ripe fruit?”
He willed himself neither to flush nor to lower his eyes from hers. “You are the only lady I know, Julia,” he said, “who can always be relied upon to be vulgar.”
She chose not to take issue with the insult “It will have to be Gussie, then,” she said. “You cannot have any objection to him, can you, Daniel?”
“Gussie is too young for you,” he said.
“We are the same age.” She stared at him blankly. “In fact he is four months and three days older than I. At one time we even knew how many hours, but I have forgotten.”
“He needs time to spread his wings,” he said. “He does not need the ties of matrimony yet.” He was feeling thoroughly annoyed with himself. Why was he giving her this advice, anyway? Sound as it was, it was unlikely that she would pay it any heed. Besides, why should he be interested in protecting her from a poor marriage? What difference did it make to him? Except that he was his uncle’s successor and he had always been damnably burdened with a sense of duty. But perhaps it was not Julia he was protecting, he thought. Perhaps it was his cousins. He would not wish Julia on his worst enemy. But the sheer unreasonableness of the thought made him frown and increased his irritation.
“Especially with me,” she said. “Gussie does not need to be chained for life to me. That was your meaning, was it not? Your low opinion of me as a matrimonial prospect is devastating me, Daniel. That leaves Les. He is three-and-twenty, neither too young nor too old. I would lay odds that he does not gamble—oh, that was a strange turn of words—and I can’t imagine Les needing more than one w—?” She pointedly left the word incomplete. “I believe he would be pleased to own Primrose Park. And he would be kind enough to be pleased to own me too. Yes, Les would be by far the most sensible choice. Thank you, Daniel. Your advice has been most helpful.”
“Les is too sweet,” he said, “and too slow. He would not suit you at all, Julia.”
She sighed. “Because he would be unable to keep a tight enough hand on my reins?” she said.
For exactly that reason. “If you wish,” he said. “The words are yours.”
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Perhaps I should save everyone a month of suspense here and recall Mr. Prudholm tomorrow. I should announce that none of my five male cousins will suit me. Or should that be phrased the other way around, Daniel? I would not suit any of my five male cousins. I could be on my way to my uncle’s without delay.” Her tone was bright and brittle. He sensed that she had perhaps moved a step beyond anger into something else.
“You are eager to go and live with your uncle?” he asked.
She laughed and got to her feet to turn her back on him and gaze out of the window. “Oh, of course,” she said. “I can hardly wait. And I am sure that they cannot wait either. They have only five children of their own.”
“They do not want you?” he asked, frowning. It would be just like Julia to make him feel guilty now, to make him feel that he had been ungracious and ungentlemanly, suggesting to her that she was not wanted in his family either.
“Do you expect me to admit that?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him. “Shall I weep with abject misery and arouse your pity after all, Daniel? Could it be done, I wonder? But it would be mean of me to do so. In reality I am in an enviable position. For five gentlemen I am the key to the possession of a stately and prosperous estate. For the next month I am to have the affections of five men to toy with before I choose one of them and gift him with myself and Primrose Park—not necessarily in order of importance. Oh, pardon me, that is four, is it?”
He felt foolish for the flash of pity he had felt for a moment and angry that he had allowed her to manipulate him. “You will not take my advice, then?” he asked.
"That was no advice, Daniel,” she said scornfully. “If I followed your advice I would be without a husband and without a home at the end of the next month. How foolish you are. I have lived here most of my life and I love this place. I have a chance to make it my home for life. A good chance. I am hardly likely to let it slip through my fingers. I will be betrothed at the end of the month—to Freddie perhaps. Or perhaps to Malcolm. Or to Gussie or Les. Or perhaps even to you.” She chuckled softly. “Perhaps if you see me about to spoil the life of one of your cousins, Daniel, you will decide to behave with extraordinary gallantry and marry me yourself.”
“It would have to snow in hell first,” he said.
She laughed again, “If you will excuse me,” she said, taking a step forward, “I must put an end to this delightful tête-à-tête, Daniel. This room is not large enough to hold two.
He held up a staying hand and bowed stiffly to her. “That at least makes good sense,” he said. “But since you were the first here, I shall leave you to it. Never let it be said that I have no gallantry at all.”
He left the room and resisted the urge to slam the door behind him. He felt uncomfortably hot. Good Lord, he had been scrapping with her like an unruly boy. He had allowed her to drag him down to her level by engaging in a spiteful quarrel with her. And the worst of it was, he did not know why. He did not know why the very sight of her—no, even the thought of her-—could make him bristle.
He left the house by a side door and wandered in the direction of the stables. He had not even seen the woman for six years. Had he disliked her so intensely during those summers when he had always come to Primrose Park? But how could he have? She had been just a girl. The eight-year age difference had been far more significant then than it was now.
He could remember always disapproving of her, of course. At a time when the other girls—his sister and Susan and even the younger Viola and Stella—had been quieting down and realizing that there was a difference between what a growing boy was allowed to do for enjoyment and what was expected of a girl, Julia had played with the boys with as much daring and abandon as ever.
He had always thought that Grandpapa should have spanked her a few times when she was a child and hired a stricter governess for her when she got older—one who would not have spared the rod. He had even told her so a few times. But had she made him burn with anger and even hatred as she did now?
There had been that last summer, of course, when she had been just as wild as ever, riding astride, swimming fully clothed, running foot races—all at a time when she was budding out all over. He could remember feeling furious—oh, yes, there had been some fury even then—when Freddie had witnessed the way he had been staring at her when she had emerged from the lake one time, her light dress plastered to her newly budding curves, and had dug him in the ribs with an elbow and laughed in that way Freddie had of laughing.
He could remember wishing at that moment that it had been in keeping with his twenty-three-year-old dignity to dive into the lake himself, fully clothed, to cool off. But he had been furious with Julia for embarrassing him, for flaunting herself, for being foolishly oblivious to the effect she was having on the twenty-year-old Freddie and even on Gussie.
He had been at a stage of his own development when he had thought that such feelings as he was experiencing were appropriate only in a brothel. It had horrified him to know that he had been aroused by his own cousin—or stepcousin to be more accurate. By Julia. Good God. No real lady would allow a man to feel that way about her. Julia was no lady. She was vulgar.
The earl had reached the stables, but he changed his mind about riding. It would be time to get ready for dinner soon. It would not do to be late f
or dinner in his new capacity as head of the family. He sighed. Sometimes it was a burden to have such responsibilities. He had had them in some form or another since his father’s death when he was only fourteen. Now they were more than doubled; Occasionally it seemed to him that he had missed a youth. He thought of Blanche and sighed again.
And so yes, he could see now that the intense disapproval of Julia had been there even before she had tried to turn him back from her grandfather’s door a little less than two weeks before. He had just forgotten, that was all. But it had not taken him long to remember.
It was going to be a long month, he thought as he turned back reluctantly toward the house.
Julia sat between Camilla and Uncle Paul at dinner and talked cheerfully about anything and nothing. She would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing that she had been rattled by the events of the afternoon, she had decided when she was getting ready to come downstairs. She still wore a black dress, of course, since it had been agreed that mourning would not be left off until the next day. But she had allowed her maid to spend longer than usual brushing her curls until they shone and sat in a decent style.
She did not glance down the table to where Daniel was sitting. He had had the gall to sit at the head of the table, in Grandpapa’s place. He was the new earl, of course, and he was the head of the family. But even so he was not the owner of Primrose Park and never would be. That honor would belong to her and—someone. She was very careful not to catch the eye of any of the male cousins either.
It was all dreadfully mortifying.
The complexion of things had changed, of course, since she had been foolish enough to quarrel with Daniel in the conservatory. She should know from experience that it was never safe to quarrel because she always lost her temper when she did and as like as not ended up saying or doing something rash.