lace fitted into the low, square neckline of Julia’s gown, which did little to conceal her pleasingly ample endowment.
“I hoped I might have the honor of sitting beside you during the concert, Miss Witherington. I am fluent in Italian and could translate the lyrics for you.” He gave her a smile no woman had ever been able to resist.
Her full lips tilted up slightly—he wouldn’t call it a smile, though. “Though I do not speak Italian, I am fluent in Spanish and picked up a little French as a girl. So I can make sense of the Italian lyrics.”
He took a bold risk, lifting her hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow. “Then you must sit beside me, Cousin, and we shall compare our understanding of the words to see if you are correct.”
“Ransome!” Sir Edward’s voice made Julia jump, and she pulled her hand away from Drake’s arm.
Drake ground his teeth. Could he ever have an evening in Julia Witherington’s presence without that man around?
“Good to see you here, lad. Enjoying society while you can?” The admiral shook hands with the man, whose black suit and white waistcoat and cravat could not hide his military bearing.
“Aye, sir.”
Drake bowed and couldn’t help but notice the stiffness of Miss Witherington’s posture and her averted gaze as she made curtsey to the captain. Before any conversation could be entered into, the doors to the concert room opened.
“Miss Witherington, shall we?” Drake extended his arm to his cousin.
Her gaze dropped to his arm as if considering its worth, and then under her long, dark lashes, she glanced toward Ransome. She looked up at Drake with a slight smile and rested her hand on top of his arm with a feather-light touch. “Yes, Sir Drake. Lead on.”
William accepted Admiral Witherington’s invitation to sit with him and ended up directly behind Julia and her cousin. For someone who seemed concerned with the niceties and fashions of society, Pembroke’s long queue of black hair made William wonder just how socially astute the baronet was. After all, not even the oldest of the admirals—men famous for resisting change—wore their hair long anymore. And his cologne! In the two years William had been gone from England, the fashion of bathing often rather than wearing heavy scents to disguise body odor had caught on—but apparently not with everyone.
The featured soloist, a plump soprano with tall ostrich feathers stuck in her auburn hair, held the room in her command with the strength, range, and beauty of her voice. Though he thought her an adequate singer, William’s attention strayed time and again to the curtain of mahogany hair hanging before him and the mother-of-pearl decorations glimmering in the candlelight. With each new song, Pembroke leaned closer to Julia and whispered a rough translation of the Italian lyrics. Even with William’s limited knowledge of the tongue, he comprehended the meaning of the text better than Pembroke. Each time the man leaned toward Julia, her back stiffened, and she leaned farther away until she had moved several inches down the bench.
William wondered at himself for being pleased at her reaction to her escort. He had no right to jealousy; he’d lost that privilege long ago. But something about Pembroke—something other than his boorish behavior at dinner last week—unsettled William’s gullet. Perhaps it was the way the man’s eyes continually strayed to her chest. Or it may have been the overly pleased look in Lady Pembroke’s eyes at the pair of them. If a man had looked at Charlotte the way Pembroke did with Julia, William would have called him out. Yes, the man’s impertinence bothered William most. William had lost a suitor’s right to take exception to Pembroke, but the admiral had become like a father to William, and that made Julia like a sister, did it not? As such, he could allow himself to be concerned on her behalf
The first intermission brought agreeable relief. He assumed the
“I hoped I might have the honor of sitting beside you during the concert, Miss Witherington. I am fluent in Italian and could translate the lyrics for you.” He gave her a smile no woman had ever been able to resist.
Her full lips tilted up slightly—he wouldn’t call it a smile, though. “Though I do not speak Italian, I am fluent in Spanish and picked up a little French as a girl. So I can make sense of the Italian lyrics.”
He took a bold risk, lifting her hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow. “Then you must sit beside me, Cousin, and we shall compare our understanding of the words to see if you are correct.”
“Ransome!” Sir Edward’s voice made Julia jump, and she pulled her hand away from Drake’s arm.
Drake ground his teeth. Could he ever have an evening in Julia Witherington’s presence without that man around?
“Good to see you here, lad. Enjoying society while you can?” The admiral shook hands with the man, whose black suit and white waistcoat and cravat could not hide his military bearing.
“Aye, sir.”
Drake bowed and couldn’t help but notice the stiffness of Miss Witherington’s posture and her averted gaze as she made curtsey to the captain. Before any conversation could be entered into, the doors to the concert room opened.
“Miss Witherington, shall we?” Drake extended his arm to his cousin.
Her gaze dropped to his arm as if considering its worth, and then under her long, dark lashes, she glanced toward Ransome. She looked up at Drake with a slight smile and rested her hand on top of his arm with a feather-light touch. “Yes, Sir Drake. Lead on.”
William accepted Admiral Witherington’s invitation to sit with him and ended up directly behind Julia and her cousin. For someone who seemed concerned with the niceties and fashions of society, Pembroke’s long queue of black hair made William wonder just how socially astute the baronet was. After all, not even the oldest of the admirals—men famous for resisting change—wore their hair long anymore. And his cologne! In the two years William had been gone from England, the fashion of bathing often rather than wearing heavy scents to disguise body odor had caught on—but apparently not with everyone.
The featured soloist, a plump soprano with tall ostrich feathers stuck in her auburn hair, held the room in her command with the strength, range, and beauty of her voice. Though he thought her an adequate singer, William’s attention strayed time and again to the curtain of mahogany hair hanging before him and the mother-of-pearl decorations glimmering in the candlelight. With each new song, Pembroke leaned closer to Julia and whispered a rough translation of the Italian lyrics. Even with William’s limited knowledge of the tongue, he comprehended the meaning of the text better than Pembroke. Each time the man leaned toward Julia, her back stiffened, and she leaned farther away until she had moved several inches down the bench.
William wondered at himself for being pleased at her reaction to her escort. He had no right to jealousy; he’d lost that privilege long ago. But something about Pembroke—something other than his boorish behavior at dinner last week—unsettled William’s gullet. Perhaps it was the way the man’s eyes continually strayed to her chest. Or it may have been the overly pleased look in Lady Pembroke’s eyes at the pair of them. If a man had looked at Charlotte the way Pembroke did with Julia, William would have called him out. Yes, the man’s impertinence bothered William most. William had lost a suitor’s right to take exception to Pembroke, but the admiral had become like a father to William, and that made Julia like a sister, did it not? As such, he could allow himself to be concerned on her behalf
The first intermission brought agreeable relief. He assumed the
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