The Abduction of Julia by Karen Hawkins Page B

cheerful man.”
    “Yes, I heard. He was never the same after your mother died.”
    “Who told you that?” he asked, momentarily diverted by her knowledge. The only time he had ever seen his grandfather show anything resembling emotion was when the old man had gazed on the portrait of his mother that hung in the grand saloon at Bridgeton House.
    “Mrs. Winston told me.” Her lips quivered as if she would burst into tears at any moment. “She said he put fresh flowers on her grave every day until he died.”
    He must have looked as bewildered as he felt, for she bit her lip and added, “Of course you already knew that.”
    Alec didn’t know anything of the sort. The housekeeper’s constant chattering had never inspired him with the desire to listen. “I imagine Mrs. Winston knows quite a bit about the entire family.”
    A sudden dimple raced across Julia’s cheek. “Oh, yes.”
    Fascinated, Alec wondered where the dimple hid when she wasn’t smiling. She was a conundrum, this prim woman whose emotions ran from tearful sympathy to a mischievous twinkle in the space of a moment. “Did she mention the time I shaved the wolfhound?”
    Her smile exploded into a full-blown grin, as enchanting as the dimple. “You wanted to make him into a lion.”
    “I failed miserably. Poor Ferdinand was mortified. He hid under the kitchen table for a week.”
    She laughed, the husky sound more suited to a boudoir than a parlor. “I hope you were properly chastised.”
    “Grandfather made me clean out the kennels every day for a week.”
    “Good for him. It is exactly what I would have recommended.”
    “You are a harsh taskmaster. But Ferdinand didn’t look so horrible. In fact, he reminded me of Vicar Plumb.” She looked uncertain and he added, “He married us.”
    All merriment swept from her face. “Oh. Of course.”
    He winced at the sudden change. That was the problem with trying to talk with a reformer, and a virgin at that. He wasn’t sure what the latter had to do with his irritation, but it did.
    Women like Julia were unreasonable and irrational, and fell to pieces at the slightest provocation, leaving men like him feeling like the biggest beasts on earth. He, for one, did not enjoy being made to feel so low. It was time she understood exactly what he expected of her. “Julia, we need to talk. Your behavior today was inexcusable.”
    She stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns and a tail. “What behavior?”
    Damn her for being so particular. What behavior, indeed. He scowled and pointed a finger. “Today, while we were shopping, you pouted like a child.”
    “I was not pouting.”
    “Yes, you were.” Color stained her cheeks and he relented slightly. “You must get over this hesitation you have about spending money. I know you—”
    “I have decided to establish my own factory.” Enthusiasm bloomed across her face, illuminating the pale angles with vivid color. “One of the major tenets of the Society for Wayward Women is to teach independence and self-reliance. I’ve finally figured out a way to do just that.”
    “I see,” he said faintly. He didn’t, but it was all he could manage at the moment.
    “Most women who have taken up less than honorable professions have done so out of necessity. With the proper funding, we can train them to become productive members of society and—”
    “Wait.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that the entire time we were shopping, you were thinking about
spending
money?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    He opened his eyes. “On
other
women?”
    “Of course.” She waved an airy hand. “But much more money than that paltry amount we dropped in the stores today.”
    “Paltry?” he heard himself echo hollowly. Here he had worried, actually
worried
, that she had been overcome by his generosity. Instead, she thought it paltry. His numb mind refused to calculate how much he had actually spent. It didn’t bear