splutter, or perhaps more of a warbling, dangerously close to tears.
Mama turned to her. “Chin up, my dear. In spite of the way you’ve gone about it, you’ve done well for yourself. You’ll be a countess before the season is over. Society will flock to you for invitations. See if they don’t.”
With a firm nod, she swept from the room, no doubt convinced her views on domestic happiness were universal.
Julia retrieved the shawl and wrapped it about her shoulders once more. “I do not want to turn out like her.”
“How’s that?” Sophia replied thickly.
“So concerned about her position in society, she setsit above all else. She wants to push me at Ludlowe, and the devil take
your
feelings for him.”
Sophia pressed her fingers to the base of her throat. “Don’t let her hear you use such language.”
Julia shrugged. “She’ll only blame it on Benedict’s influence.”
“And if she forbids your association?”
“She can try.” Julia smiled to herself. Mama had on any number of occasions, but she’d never taken into account the lure that the forbidden held for two inquisitive children. “But she’s never succeeded in the past.”
“Does she know you invited him to dine with us tonight?”
Julia’s smile broadened. “I don’t think she does. I discussed it with Cook directly and swore her to silence. And I’ll arrange it so Ludlowe sits with you. See if I don’t.”
“Oh, Julia, you mustn’t. How would it look at my own betrothal dinner?”
“He certainly will not sit with me. You can be sure of that. Perhaps I shall foist him on Lady Wexford.”
A line formed between Mrs. St. Claire’s brows the moment Billings announced Benedict’s arrival. “Lord Benedict, to what do we owe your presence here this evening?”
Quite a cold greeting coming from a woman he’d known since childhood. Of course, if she’d known about all the scrapes he and Julia had got into during the summers in Kent, she might have reason behind her chill. She couldn’t know of every incident, though, or she’d have taken firmer measures to prohibit their association.
“I invited him.” Julia stood on the staircase, several steps from the bottom. Graceful fingers trailed along the mahogany handrail. Her tumble of honey-colored curls reflected the candlelight. Hazel eyes met his, andshe nodded, her head dipping for a second, while the corners of her mouth tipped upward.
Such quiet beauty, and she didn’t even seem aware of it. A heavy awareness arrowed downward.
To mask the reaction, he placed a gloved hand over his heart and bowed to her in turn. She clutched at a ridiculous drape of silvery fabric and descended the last few steps.
“My dear,” Mrs. St. Claire muttered out of the corner of her mouth, “you do realize we’re expecting guests.”
“Of course I do. I felt Revelstoke ought to join the festivities. He’s known Sophia all his life.”
Mrs. St. Claire pressed her lips together. “And how is the marquess faring these days? A pity your brother could not join us in Town for the season.”
He smiled at the reference to his older brother, who had inherited their father’s title, while Benedict had received the typical second son’s lot of an army commission. “I’m afraid he opted to remain in the country with his wife so close to her confinement.”
“Quite prudent of him, I’m sure.” Mrs. St. Claire lifted her shoulders in a little shrug.
Julia floated down the remaining steps. “Perhaps his fortunes will change, and the marchioness will present him with a son this time.”
“One can only hope,” Benedict replied.
The line between Mrs. St. Claire’s eyebrows, that smallest of flaws, deepened. “You do not aspire to take your brother’s title one day should he suffer the misfortune of not producing an heir?”
“And be required to endure the
ton
on a regular basis? Heaven forbid.”
Julia’s skirts brushed against his leg as she tucked her hand into his elbow. Long,
Mama turned to her. “Chin up, my dear. In spite of the way you’ve gone about it, you’ve done well for yourself. You’ll be a countess before the season is over. Society will flock to you for invitations. See if they don’t.”
With a firm nod, she swept from the room, no doubt convinced her views on domestic happiness were universal.
Julia retrieved the shawl and wrapped it about her shoulders once more. “I do not want to turn out like her.”
“How’s that?” Sophia replied thickly.
“So concerned about her position in society, she setsit above all else. She wants to push me at Ludlowe, and the devil take
your
feelings for him.”
Sophia pressed her fingers to the base of her throat. “Don’t let her hear you use such language.”
Julia shrugged. “She’ll only blame it on Benedict’s influence.”
“And if she forbids your association?”
“She can try.” Julia smiled to herself. Mama had on any number of occasions, but she’d never taken into account the lure that the forbidden held for two inquisitive children. “But she’s never succeeded in the past.”
“Does she know you invited him to dine with us tonight?”
Julia’s smile broadened. “I don’t think she does. I discussed it with Cook directly and swore her to silence. And I’ll arrange it so Ludlowe sits with you. See if I don’t.”
“Oh, Julia, you mustn’t. How would it look at my own betrothal dinner?”
“He certainly will not sit with me. You can be sure of that. Perhaps I shall foist him on Lady Wexford.”
A line formed between Mrs. St. Claire’s brows the moment Billings announced Benedict’s arrival. “Lord Benedict, to what do we owe your presence here this evening?”
Quite a cold greeting coming from a woman he’d known since childhood. Of course, if she’d known about all the scrapes he and Julia had got into during the summers in Kent, she might have reason behind her chill. She couldn’t know of every incident, though, or she’d have taken firmer measures to prohibit their association.
“I invited him.” Julia stood on the staircase, several steps from the bottom. Graceful fingers trailed along the mahogany handrail. Her tumble of honey-colored curls reflected the candlelight. Hazel eyes met his, andshe nodded, her head dipping for a second, while the corners of her mouth tipped upward.
Such quiet beauty, and she didn’t even seem aware of it. A heavy awareness arrowed downward.
To mask the reaction, he placed a gloved hand over his heart and bowed to her in turn. She clutched at a ridiculous drape of silvery fabric and descended the last few steps.
“My dear,” Mrs. St. Claire muttered out of the corner of her mouth, “you do realize we’re expecting guests.”
“Of course I do. I felt Revelstoke ought to join the festivities. He’s known Sophia all his life.”
Mrs. St. Claire pressed her lips together. “And how is the marquess faring these days? A pity your brother could not join us in Town for the season.”
He smiled at the reference to his older brother, who had inherited their father’s title, while Benedict had received the typical second son’s lot of an army commission. “I’m afraid he opted to remain in the country with his wife so close to her confinement.”
“Quite prudent of him, I’m sure.” Mrs. St. Claire lifted her shoulders in a little shrug.
Julia floated down the remaining steps. “Perhaps his fortunes will change, and the marchioness will present him with a son this time.”
“One can only hope,” Benedict replied.
The line between Mrs. St. Claire’s eyebrows, that smallest of flaws, deepened. “You do not aspire to take your brother’s title one day should he suffer the misfortune of not producing an heir?”
“And be required to endure the
ton
on a regular basis? Heaven forbid.”
Julia’s skirts brushed against his leg as she tucked her hand into his elbow. Long,
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