Slightly Wicked by Mary Balogh Page A

brother’s daughters when Papa had written to her about his straitened circumstances.
    True to her word, Aunt Effingham examined every garment Judith had brought with her and whisked away almost all her dresses in turn. A maid who was clever with her needle let out the side seams so that the garments hung loosely about her, disguising her voluptuously curved figure and making her look simply plump and shapeless. Judith had brought two caps with her, since her mama had always been insistent that she wear one even though Cassandra, one year older than she, still went bareheaded most of the time. Aunt Louisa found her another for wear during the daytime, a matronly bonnet cap that tied beneath her chin and hid every strand of her hair and, together with her altered dresses, made her look thirty years old at the very least.
    Judith made no protest. How could she? She was living at Harewood on her uncle’s charity. Her grandmother protested, and Judith humored her by sometimes removing the cap when they were alone together in Grandmama’s sitting room.
    “It is because you are so beautiful, Judith,” her grandmother said, “and Louisa has always been afraid of your kind of beauty.”
    Judith merely smiled. She knew better.
    Much of the family conversation during the days before the guests arrived was for her edification, she soon realized, even though she was very rarely addressed by name. Some of the expected guests were titled or the offspring of titled gentlemen. All were socially prominent. Most were wealthy and those who were not had birth and breeding to recommend them instead. Most of the gentlemen who were coming were head over ears in love with Julianne and very close to declaring themselves. But Julianne was not at all sure she would have any of them. She thought she might well have someone else instead—if he met with her approval.
    “Lord Rannulf Bedwyn is brother to the Duke of Bewcastle, Mother,” Aunt Louisa explained in the drawing room the second evening. “He is a third son but still the second heir since neither the duke nor Lord Aidan Bedwyn has yet sired a son. Lord Rannulf is the second heir to a dukedom.”
    “I saw the Duke of Bewcastle in London this spring,” Julianne said. “He is dignified and haughty and everything one would expect of a duke. And just imagine! His brother is coming to visit Lady Beamish, his grandmother and our neighbor.”
    Since Aunt Louisa, Uncle George, and Grandmama must have been well aware of the fact that Lady Beamish was their neighbor, Judith gathered that she was the intended recipient of this startling information. Lady Beamish, presumably the maternal grandmother of the Duke of Bewcastle, lived close by.
    “I know she is looking forward to Lord Rannulf’s arrival,” Grandmama said, lifting one sparkling, heavily ringed hand from the arm of her chair. “She told me so when I called on her a few days ago. May I trouble you to pass the cakes again, Judith, my dear? Cook has made them unfortunately small today. You really ought to have a word with her, Louisa. Three bites and they are gone.”
    But Julianne had not finished her recital. “And Lady Beamish particularly wishes to present Lord Rannulf to
me,
” she said. “She eagerly accepted Mama’s suggestion that he participate in the activities of the house party. She has invited me and our houseguests to Grandmaison for a garden party.”
    “Of course she has, my love,” Aunt Effingham said, smirking with pride. “Lord Rannulf Bedwyn is Lady Beamish’s heir as well as being in possession of a sizable fortune of his own. It is natural that she should wish to see him make a good match, and what more suitable choice could she make than a pretty young lady of birth and fortune who is also her neighbor? It will be a splendid match for you, will it not, Effingham?”
    Uncle George, who was reading a book, grunted.
    “And you can see now, Julianne,” her mother continued, “why it was wise of you to take