"That is a paradoxical question, my lord," Julia said, casting her eyes back to the fire, where a low flame burned in the grate, "It is not possible to be alone whilst with someone."
"Is it not?" Rob questioned, moving slowly closer, as one might approach a fawn, "Can you say that you have never been surrounded by people, yet still felt completely alone? Rudderless, like a ship on stormy seas."
"Fragile, as a leaf blown on the wind," Julia added, and as she turned to him, Rob saw that she looked just so.
Her blue eyes had a dullness to them. Her skin, which usually resembled polished alabaster, was now a ghostly pale. It was as though someone had dimmed the lights within her soul, and should a strong puff of wind come along, she was liable to blow away.
"What troubles you?" Rob asked, with concern, crossing the distance between them in one step, "Tell me?"
"You do, my lord," she answered, bowing her head as though she could not bear to look at him, "You, and your sweet smile, and your dancing eyes, and your shoulders that fill out a coat so nicely."
Despite his worry, Robert could not help but feel tickled with pleasure at her compliment. There was nothing a man wished to hear more, than that he had a fine pair of shoulders.
"I shall stop smiling," he offered, desperate to make her smile, "And I will forbid my eyes from dancing. As for my shoulders, I am afraid I cannot change much about them, but I shall endeavour to develop a hunch, if their broadness offends you."
"I do not wish you to change that which you cannot," Julia replied, her eyes still dull despite his jests, "But I am afraid that it is what you cannot change that leads me to say that we must end this madness."
"I am too tall?" Robert asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Too handsome?" he suggested again, with a grin, when Julia shook her head.
"You are a Montague," Julia whispered his name as though uttering a curse.
"And you a Cavendish," Rob returned, shrugging his magnificent shoulders, "What of it? We knew who we were from the off."
"I cannot wed a Montague," she protested, her mouth resolute.
"I am not just a Montague," Robert answered hotly, "I am Robert, the man who burns for you. That is my name, and I will hear you say it."
His arms had slipped around her, seemingly of their own volition, and Rob was now pulling her close, as he stared down into those deep, blue eyes.
"Say it," he repeated, his words a rushed breath.
"Robert," she whispered, a protest upon her lips, but Rob did not allow her to continue .
He stole a kiss; as sure as a thief, he stole it. His lips claimed hers, hungry and wanting, and were met with a hunger and want that matched his own. His senses were filled by her; her radiant warmth, her rosewater scent, the softness of her lips, which were like silk under his.
Oh, how he wanted her. How he wanted to claim her as his, so that she might be in his arms forever.
Alas, the need for breath forced their mouths apart, and Julia pulled away from him, her eyes filled with pain.
"I love you," Robert whispered, his voice now harsh with urgency.
"You cannot," she answered, taking a step away from him, "It is not sensible to think you love me after such a short time."
"Love is not sensible," Rob growled, "It is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake—it is everything except what it is. And it is most certainly not sensible. Don't you feel it?"
A silence filled the parlour room, as Julia's eyes flickered between him and the doorway. She was lost to him, he knew it. His impassioned speech had not inspired her, it had frightened her.
"I love you," Rob offered, in one final effort at changing her mind.
"Do not waste your love on somebody who does not value it," she replied, bowing her head once more against the intensity of his gaze.
With that, Lady Julia squared her shoulders and walked past him, her head resolutely high, her every step squashing Rob's bloodied heart which he had thrown on the floor before her.
"Well, that went well," Penrith said cheerfully, as the three men convened at White's for a post-ball night-cap, "Don't you think that went well?"
The duke beamed happily at Orsino and Robert, on such a cloud of love that he failed to notice his two friends looked as though they were about to face the firing line.
Robert said nothing in reply, whilst Orsino merely gave a grunt, and Penrith frowned, as realisation dawned upon him.
"Did something happen?" he asked, glancing between his two friends.
"What makes you think something happened?" Orsino growled, furrowing his brow menacingly.
The tallest of the trio of Upstarts, as well as the broadest, strongest, and most masculine, Orsino was never one to talk about his feelings. In fact, his decade in the military had instilled in him a belief that he should have none. And if by chance a feeling or two was to steal over him, he would deny it, pushing it down until it disappeared.
Which, Robert thought with a frown, must be terribly bad for one's digestion.
"My heart has been smashed to smithereens," Robert offered, always a believer in better out than in.
He waited for his two friends to offer their condolences but was met by bemused glances.
"Again?" Penrith asked, covering his mouth with his hand as he gave a small cough.
"Shall I call for a nostrum, dear boy?" Rob queried dryly, well able to recognise a hidden smile.
"T'was just a tickle," Penrith assured him, having assumed an expression more befitting of a man who thought himself Rob's friend, "My commiserations on your broken heart."
"My thanks," Rob replied, though he felt rather sulky when confronted by his friends' indifference toward his plight.
Were they not concerned? Did they not worry for his soul, which was torn nearly in two?
As though sensing his upset—or perhaps noting his petulant lip—Penrith cleared his throat again.
"My apologies, Montague," he said, "It's just I find it rather difficult to keep up with all the ladies who use your heart as a shuttlecock. Who was it this time?"
Julia's name was on the tip of his lips, but for some reason, Rob held back. He did not mind sharing with the two when a courtesan, actress, or opera singer rebuffed him, but his love for Julia had been more than just a carnal urge. It had been a thing wrapped in dreams of a future, a marriage, children who looked remarkably like him, and someone who might comfort him on his deathbed. Far weightier dreams, than his usual longing for a tup.
"No one," Rob shrugged, turning his eyes toward his drink, "I say, did you happen to see who was running at Newmarket? Lord Purdue said he has a fine stallion in the mix, but I could not see it listed."
Talk turned, as it often did when men and brandy mixed, to horseflesh, and Rob sat back in his chair, as Orsino and Penrith argued over the expected form for next week's races. Penrith was absorbed by their chat, but Rob could not fail to notice that Orsino kept casting him sidelong glances, which were laced with what looked to be concern.
After one drink, Penrith took his leave, most likely to return home to dream of Miss Drew, leaving Robert and Orsino alone to wallow in their misery.
"Well," Orsino said, as the footman materialised with a fresh decanter, "Do you want to spit it out?"
"Spit what out?" Rob asked, all innocence.
"I know the look of a man who is suppressing his feelings."
"Fancy that," Montague commented mildly, "Could it be because you yourself are the master of that particular art?"
"This isn't about me," Orsino groused, irritably, "It's about you. You said you r heart was broken, and you've a look on your face that would make a widow weep for you. What happened?"
"I offered my heart to a lady. A proper lady," Rob clarified, seeing Orsino's raised brow, "And she rebuffed me."
"Why?"
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be so morose," Rob grumbled, but he thought for a second, before continuing, "She said it is because of my family—it
would not work, because her family...er...do not get on so well with mine."
It was to Orsino's credit that he did not say anything in reply this, when it was now blindingly obvious just which lady had stepped all over Rob's heart.
The duke frowned, as he pondered, and not one to be left out, Rob also frowned, allowing his mind to drift, as he awaited sage advice.
"A family is a big thing to rescind, in the name of love," Orsino finally said.
"We would make a family of our own," Rob argued, but Orsino batted his protests away with one enormous hand.
"A lady has to be certain, if she is being asked to give up so much," Orsino continued, before pausing.
The duke looked Rob in the eye, his cheeks a little rosy as he spoke.
"Montague, I—"
Mumble. Mumble. Mumble.
"I beg your pardon?" Rob asked, as he wondered if, perchance, he had wax in his ears.
"I—" Orsino began again, before descending once more into mumbles.
"What?" Rob asked, slightly perplexed.
"I love you," Orsino roared, causing several heads to turn their way.
"Lud, man," Rob grinned, "Keep your voice down, people will talk."
The duke rolled his eyes, his face now puce with embarrassment.
"Robert, I love you," he said, before hastily clarifying, "As a brother. But I cannot help but think that Lady J—I mean, this unnamed lady—might be right in her reservations."
"I beg your pardon?" Rob bristled. He had been rather pleased by Orsino's declaration of fraternal love, given that his friend was so averse to emotive declarations, but now he wasn't so certain it was worth hearing if it was merely to be a precursor to an insult.
"You are a good man," Orsino said, as Rob braced himself for a "but".
"But," Orsino sighed, "You are fickle. You move from one lady to the next, and each affair is documented in depth by the papers. You throw yourself into curricle races, fencing matches, and now—I hear—orphans in an attempt to impress, but you never actually stick at anything. Is it any wonder the lady was uncertain, when you do not lend yourself well to certainty?"
Silence fell between them, as Rob wrestled with his best friend's summary of all his faults. His first reaction was irritation; he had not asked Orsino to be so frank. His second impulse was denial; he was not as fickle as Orsino thought. Until finally, he reached his third emotion, acceptance.
"I'm glad you didn't hold back," Rob said, offering Orsino a quick smile.
The duke's posture, which had been rigid, relaxed as Rob offered an olive branch.
"I suppose I am somewhat fickle," Rob agreed, "Though I object that you have included Reverend Laurence's orphans in that list. I have big plans for them."
"Plans you have followed through with?"
"Er, no," Rob murmured, "They are written on the back of a menu page from Gunter's—but I have seen the light. First thing tomorrow, I am marching to St Giles and asking Laurence what he needs of me to make his school a success."
"You mean it?" Orsino questioned, his brows raised.
"Well, perhaps not first light," Rob admitted with a grin, "More early afternoon, if I am honest. But I will be there; I wish to become a man that people believe they can count on."
"Your friends know they can count on you," Orsino offered, gruffly.
"Yes, but I don't wish to marry my friends," Rob gave a wink, "No matter how much they profess to love me."
"That declaration can be rescinded."
"It cannot! Once uttered, it is said forever. I think I might have Aunt Ethel embroider it on a cushion."
Orsino rolled his eyes, but said nothing in reply, knowing full well that he would only encourage him if he did. The two men sipped their brandy for a while longer, both lost in thought, until the footmen began to move about the drawing room to wick the candles at the empty tables.
"Well, I must be off," Orsino said, and Rob nodded in agreement.
"I have plans to draw up," he muttered, as he pushed back his chair.
"For your orphans, or for your lady?" his friend queried, as he too rose to a stand.
"I feel the orphans are easier to impress than my lady," Robert grumbled cheerfully, as they both began to weave their way through the room, "They merely wish to learn to read, while she wished to learn how to fly. Trust me to choose a lady with impossible dreams."
"Flying is not impossible though, is it?" Orsino asked, coming to a halt, "I have been reading much about France's advances in helium balloons—a devil of a weapon if they are militarised, but thus far they appear to be more for amusement. Mind, you could not pay me to get up in one, but they fly, do they not?"
Lud. Rob swallowed down a curse, as he subconsciously rubbed his posterior—still somewhat sore, after his excursion with Monsieur Blanchard. How could he have been so foolish to forget?
"Orsino," he said, turning to face his friend, "You are a genius. I could kiss you."
"Well, hold off," the duke grumbled back, "At this rate we'll get ourselves blackballed, and poor Penrith would have to drink alone."
"Sometimes I rather think he'd prefer it," Rob quipped.
"He likes us, really."
"Deep down."
"Deep, deep down," Orsino grinned, as they finally reached the door, "But he knows that a man without friends is nothing at all."
"How true."
Chapter Nine
For the past fortnight, love had been in the London air, much to Lady Cavendish's disgust.
"I still cannot believe that those two girls are now duchesses, and you are still a spinster," Lady Cavendish grumbled, as she came to view Julia's new dress, "It's not fair."
"It's not a competition, Mama ," Julia sighed, "Charlotte and Violet did not fall in love simply to spite me."
"Are you sure?" Lady Cavendish muttered, as she straightened the ribbon around Julia's waist, "Lady Havisham is Scottish; I wouldn't put it past a Scot to besmirch the good name of an English family for their own amusement."
"How is my name besmirched?" Julia questioned, throwing her arms up in frustration, "Why can you not be as happy for my friends as I am?"
"I will be happy when you are wed, and people are not muttering about two wallflowers stealing the best husbands from under their friend's nose."
"Neither Penrith nor Orsino were ever under my nose," Julia was abrupt, "So you cannot say that they were stolen from me. I never wanted either one."
"No," Lady Cavendish comforted—though it was difficult to tell if she was soothing Julia's nerves or her own, "You only had eyes for Lord Pariseau, and not even two dashing dukes could distract you from him."
Julia inwardly marvelled at her mother's ability to construct a narrative which suited her. In Lady Cavendish's active imagination, poor Penrith and Orsino had now been snubbed by Julia, in favour of Lord Pariseau, and Julia knew that nothing she might say would dissuade her from her belief.
"How do I look?" Julia asked, desperate to change the subject.
"Ravishing, my dear," Lady Cavendish answered, as she took in Julia's appearance.
Julia wore a promenade dress of jaconet muslin, which though simple, was richly embroidered around the hem and trimmed with hand-stitched lace. It was high at the waist, dropping into a skirt which flowed softly down to her kid-skin boots.
"You shall upstage both duchesses, mark my words," Lady Cavendish continued, a gleam in her eye.
Julia discreetly rolled her own eyes, though the act was caught by Maria.
"Don't think badly of your mother," the lady's maid said, once the marchioness had left the room.
"Why not? She thinks badly of everyone else," Julia retorted.
"She just wants to see you wed," Maria soothed, as she helped Julia into a spencer, composed of cerulean blue satin. Upon Julia's head, Maria tied a bonnet à la Ninon, made of French willow, with a fancifully ornamented crown.
"Perfect," the lady's maid declared, "You will be both warm and fashionable for Vauxhall."
<
br /> "For my spinster's outing, as Mama called it," Julia replied, with a wan smile.
"Not a spinster for long," Maria scolded, "Why, just this evening Madame Lloris sent over your dress for the masquerade. Soon you will be married, just like your friends."
Julia offered Maria a smile, though she could not make it look genuine.
"Oh," the lady's maid reached out to take Julia's hand, "Don't look so sad. Once you are mistress of your own house, you will realise that you made the right choice."
"Will I?" Julia asked lightly, as the memory of Montague filled her mind. She had been cold with the marquess, cruel even, and she regretted her every word. Though a clean break was better than a wound which festered, she reasoned, as she tried to push the dashing lord from her thoughts.
Once ready, Julia traipsed downstairs, and did not have to wait long for Charlotte and Violet.
"Now be sure, should you need to introduce them to anyone, that you say 'My good friend, the duchess'," Lady Cavendish instructed, "You might as well make some use of them, seeing as though they have slighted you terribly."
"Yes, Mama ," Julia replied through gritted teeth, too eager to be gone to argue with her mama any further.
She bid Lady Cavendish goodbye and hared out the door, to the awaiting carriage.
"Lady Julia," Penrith, who had exited the landau to assist her inside, gave a stiff, formal nod of greeting.
"Your Grace," Julia replied faintly, unable to keep the smile which played around her lips at bay.
Only ten days ago, the duke had thrown himself into a pond in Hyde Park, to make a very public proposal to Charlotte, and despite his solemn manners, she knew that a passionate man lurked beneath.
"Julia!"
The Duchess of Penrith was most un-duchess-like, as she greeted Julia with an excited wave. Charlotte slapped the seat beside her, indicating where Julia should sit, and as the carriage took off, she descended into excited chatter.
"Oh, I am so excited about Vauxhall, are you?" Without giving Julia time to answer, Charlotte continued, her eyes dancing. "Grandmama would never let me attend when I was under her care, but now I am a duchess, I might do what I like! I really don't know why I did not marry sooner."
The Rake and Lady Julia (Wilful Wallflowers Book 3) Page 11