An Improper Suitor (11 page)

She marched out of the room. The thump of her feet on the floor echoed in his head. Thankfully, she closed the door softly.

Julia knew Grannie would eventually seek her out. Thorwynn would tell them about her refusal. Or the absence of both of them for a long time would provoke a reaction. They would come knocking at the library door, if only to see if the two of them were writhing on the ground in unbridled passion.

So when she barged through the door, Julia was prepared. She sat in a comfortable chair by the window, an open book in her lap. She had not read a word of it, since the words had suddenly turned into jumbled ciphers. But holding a book made the world seem like its usual self.

Her ladyship settled on the bed. Her face indicated that Something Serious was happening.

‘Thorwynn tells us you turned him down,’ she said.

Julia nodded.

‘He seemed very puzzled.’

Julia shrugged. The movement shifted the book in her lap.

‘Can you explain this folly to me?’

Julia said nothing. Was there any point in trying to explain?

‘I’d like to know why you turned him down. I’m sure you have good reasons,’ said her ladyship gently.

Other than that the gentleman in question was a rake, and he was clearly very miserable at the idea of marrying her? That he had a habit of getting so foxed he passed out in his mother’s parlour? Other than she had always planned not to marry, rather than suffer like her mother in a joyless marriage? That she wanted at least a choice in the most important decision of her life?

She gave the only answer she could give. ‘Lord Thorwynn is not the kind of person I envisioned as a husband. Even if you picked him out for me from the start.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said her ladyship, ‘but he’d make a decent kind of husband.’

She thought of him as he had been earlier, his clothes dishevelled after a long night of revelry. ‘What kind of a husband does a rake make?’

‘Youthful indiscretions, nothing more.’ Her tone did not allow for argument.

‘He’s
thirty
. Hardly a boy of twenty.’

‘He has good character. He’ll settle down, once he finds the right person.’ Lady Bullfinch examined her closely. ‘Don’t forget he’s
experienced
a great deal during the War. It takes time for a man to recover.’

‘Three years?’ said Julia. But she felt a guilty pang as she
remembered
his confession in the library.
He never had the chance to sow his wild oats at twenty, as other young men did. Perhaps she was
judging him too harshly.

‘Whether he’s a dissolute rake or not – all that is irrelevant,’ said her grandmother sharply. ‘It’s the
circumstances
that count now. What matters is that he’s willing to do the decent thing.’

‘Why is it all about how decent and honourable he is? Why is it no one is asking how
I
feel?’ She looked at her in appeal. ‘I thought you at least would understand that I can’t just give up my right to choose because of a little gossip. You were always dismissive enough about gossip, and always harping on how easily cowed young girls are these days.’

Her ladyship shook her head. ‘When a girl is ruined,’ she said, gently, ‘she
has
no choice.’

Those words, gently spoken, struck her like a lash.

‘In this case, what you do will affect the whole family. Your cousin Miranda will be coming out next year. She will need to weather the scandal, if you don’t marry. Why should she pay for your foolishness? And, although I will pull through, I am sure, I will be forced to survive the backlash. Something I will hardly relish at my age.’

Down came the whip, again, biting into her conscience.

Conventional words. Yet they had the force of destiny behind them.

All her life she had believed herself separate from convention in some way. Not in any grandiose way, of course. She had learned to be a lady in the finishing school her grandmother had sent her to.

Established by a French
émigrée
, an aristocrat known before the
revolution
for her salons and her intellectual pursuits, it was an unusual school. It gave young ladies a real education, not a smattering of accomplishments that were skin deep. The girls at the school debated philosophy, read from the masters in the original languages, and learned the principles of rational thinking. She learned there that while she could not openly defy society, there were many ways in which women could retain some independence while still being part of it.

But it was not really true. There were too many pressures to
withstand
.

She rose, wearily, allowing the book to fall on the floor, not caring to pick it up.

‘I need some time to think,’ she said. ‘I need to be alone.’

She nodded. Julia could see she would have preferred to stay. But she had to reach her decision by herself. At least she could still hold on to that, in the midst of her crumbling dreams.

She watched her ladyship pace to the doorway, watched the door shut behind her.

She was alone.

Cummings rarely took offence. He was the best valet a gentleman could expect, though a touch too arrogant for his own good. But the fact was, he was the envy of his valet cronies. He had told Lionel so. Because no matter what Lionel wore, he still managed to do his valet credit.

But today Lionel did not like any of his suggestions. The waistcoat he chose was inappropriate to wear for an evening at the theatre. The shirt he gave him had wrinkles, tiny lines that marred the perfection of his coat. And his cravats were not starched enough. They hung limply no matter what he did with them.

Cummings finally abandoned him to his fate. ‘In all the years I’ve dressed you, I’ve never had such difficulty with your clothing,’ he said, testily. ‘If you are
dissatisfied
with my
service
,’ he continued haughtily, ‘perhaps you would like me to seek another position and employ
another
in my place.’ He raised his long nose and looked at the ceiling.

Lionel was in no mood to put up with his hurt sensibilities. ‘Perhaps,’ he drawled. ‘It is of course up to you.’

Cummings’s nose came down quickly enough. ‘I am not desirous of leaving your service, as it so happens,’ he said, ‘though Lord Wrexham has offered me a position in his establishment.’

Lionel ignored him.

‘If you’re all finished, my lord, I will withdraw downstairs.’ He managed to fill the words with wounded pride.

Lionel flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Go, for heaven’s sake!’

Glad to have a few minutes to himself, he examined himself in the mirror. Normally, he liked what he saw. His hair had the perfect tousled look, and was thick and shiny. His lips were well shaped, full and masculine. Women had told him they were very sensuous. His nose perhaps was not perfect, a little crooked from when he slid off the roof of the stables as a child and broke it. His eyes were black, a good strong colour. Overall, he was considered by most to be an attractive man.

Perhaps she did not like darker men. It would account for the dislike she had taken of him from the start.

Someone scratched at the door. Confound it! Could he never have a moment of peace in his own chamber?

It was one of the footmen. He handed Lionel an envelope.

He recognized her writing immediately. He opened the note, read it quickly, and tossed it on to his bed.

She had changed her mind. She had agreed to marry him.

She had given in. Of course no woman in her sane mind could reject such a proposal, under the circumstances. No woman in her sane mind could refuse
him
. He knew she would rethink it. No doubt her contrary nature had provoked her to turn him down immediately, in the library.

But with a little thought, she had come round. She had recognized that marriage to him was an opportunity she would be foolish to pass over.

She wanted him to keep it confidential for the moment. She was nervous about announcing it. She did not want to break the news to Lady Bullfinch or his mother. Perhaps she still had the tiniest seed of doubt.

But she would come round.

He sank down into his armchair and settled his legs on the stool in front of him, cupping his hands behind his head. A big smile settled on his face, reaching from ear to ear.

He was crowing.

Thorwynn waited at the bottom of the stairs, observing his future wife as she headed towards the gilded staircase. She wore a white and blue evening dress made of some shimmering material that glimmered and flowed as she walked. An odd thing, the way she came alive when she moved. If she sat still, one could overlook her, but not when she was in motion. It had a fluidity about it that forced him to follow her with his eyes.

Which was precisely what he did. He watched as she glided down the stairs, took in the gentle curves of her body, the graceful
unfolding
of her arms as she reached for the banister, the confident
sensuality
of her legs as they reached down for the next step.

He had not done so badly for himself, after all.

But then he caught sight of her face. It matched her clothing. The particular shade of blue which ice had when it was very cold.

She looked down upon him from the height of the stairs as if she wished he would just suffer an apoplexy and fall to the ground. It would not do at all. They were supposed to be betrothed, for heaven’s sake, even if it was a secret at the moment. Weren’t they supposed to enjoy each other’s company, at least until they were married? Well, he had melted much harder ice than this. No reason why he should not succeed in this situation.

But meanwhile, the easiest way to bring her off her high horse was to shock her.

He grinned at her as she reached that last step, and took her hand. His eyes gleamed. ‘So you thought better of your rejection,’ he said,
with a deliberate drawl, allowing some of his gloating to seep through.

Her eyes flashed. She started to say something, then thought better of it. ‘The circumstances demanded it,’ she said, tonelessly.

She stepped down on to the ground. He tugged at her hand to bring her closer, then leaned forward and whispered in her ear. ‘I can’t say this aloud, since we have not yet announced the engagement. But I can’t help noticing that you look different tonight. Perhaps more
feminine?’
he said.

She pulled her hand away from his angrily and whirled around. But not before he was able to glimpse the pink flush that stained her cheeks. He was rubbing her nose in the dirt. Hardly a gentlemanly thing to do. But at least the frozen expression was gone.

Which was just as well. If they were to go to the Theatre Royal to face the gossip-mongers, then she could not afford to seem too high in the instep. It would only alienate whatever few friends she had.

The next step was to get her to look as if she liked him. That would be a harder task, since he did not have much time. But he was sure, if he really put his mind to it, that it was not impossible.

Julia braced herself as she entered the box. They had arrived late, so they met nobody upon entering. She was certain their arrival would cause a stir, nevertheless. But with none other than Mr Kean
performing
, everyone’s eyes were glued to the stage. Especially since the role of Othello was generally considered to be his best.

She heaved a sigh of relief. She could relax and watch the
performance
, at least until the intermission. She had not wanted to come in the first place, but first her grandmother and then Lady Thorwynn had convinced her it was necessary. Lady Thorwynn, in fact, had been unusually tactless.

‘It wouldn’t do at all,’ she had said, in that soft-voiced way of hers, ‘for you to stay at home. The
ton
will think you are being cowardly. And much as I sympathize with you, I would think the same.’

The remark surprised her all the more since it came from a person she scarcely knew. Someone she had thought of, somehow, as being quiet spoken and delicate.

It had certainly been effective. Julia had lifted her chin and excused
herself, claiming to need extra time to dress. But Lady Thorwynn’s words had not improved her temper, and the knowledge that she would have to face Thorwynn as well as the whole of the ton weighed heavily on her.

She had regretted her note as soon as she sent it, wondering what he would think of her when she seemed unable to make up her mind about something as important as a marriage. She had certainly made a fool of herself in the library when she had turned him down so
carelessly.
And then again when she sent her message. Why had she not waited until she saw him, at least?

His gloating had not improved the situation.

She shot him a sideways glance. He appeared to be focusing on the performance, which surprised her, as she did not think Shakespeare would interest him. But then, most people seemed to like
Othello.
Perhaps because it was set in an exotic locale. Or perhaps it was Mr Kean alone who commanded attention with his powerful presence.

Nevertheless she was forced to admit that, apart from his initial remarks, Thorwynn’s behaviour had been perfectly gentlemanly. He had even tried to put her at ease by relating an anecdote about a
childhood
mishap with a horse. He had certainly made Grannie laugh in the carriage when he imitated an old master of his with whom she was acquainted.

Julia sighed. There were advantages to having a betrothed who was a rake, she supposed. Rakes were by their very nature amusing and charming. It was who they were, and what they did best.

She turned her attention to the performance. She might as well enjoy what she could of it, before the lights went up and she became the centre of the latest scandal.

The interval had hardly begun when Lady Medlow appeared in the doorway of the Thorwynn box. She had a fur wrap around her
shoulders,
and her small eyes gleamed in the light of the crystal candelabra hanging from the ceiling. Her daughter hovered behind her, twisting the folds of her dress uneasily.

Lady Bullfinch and Lady Thorwynn gathered around Julia, a solid wall of protection. Grannie gave her a secret pat on the hand.

She waited for the sword to fall.

But apart from a rigid nod, Lady Medlow ignored her. She greeted
the older ladies politely. Then, having completed the formalities, she squeezed through the defensive wall to greet Thorwynn with a squeal.

‘Don’t you think Shakespeare is
incredible
?’ she said
enthusiastically
, beaming at him. ‘I find him so
refreshing
!’

‘Indeed, Lady Medlow? Refreshing? In what way?’

His eyes met Julia’s and she had to look away.

Lady Medlow’s smile faltered just a little, but she rallied quickly. ‘La, Lord Thorwynn, you’re funning me. Why
everyone
knows Shakespeare is refreshing.’ She gestured to her daughter to come closer. ‘I was just talking to Amelia about it. What was it you were telling me, my dear, about Shakespeare?’

Amelia flushed and looked at Julia for help. ‘Well, yes, that is to say …’ she stuttered. She swallowed and ploughed forward. ‘I was telling Mama I thought Shakespeare quite clever, the way his
personages
come to life on stage.’ She looked towards Julia for approval. She nodded.

‘That was it. Precisely what I said,’ beamed Lady Medlow. ‘A refreshing dramatist.’

Thorwynn pretended he had not heard Lady Medlow. ‘Is this your first Shakespeare performance, Miss Neville?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And it’s far better than I would have thought. I’ve read all the plays in
Family
Shakespeare
, but I never imagined they could seem so real on the stage.’

Thorwynn smiled. ‘If you are so fond of Shakespeare,’ he said gently, ‘we’ll have to make sure you attend all performances of Shakespeare.’

Her mother intervened. ‘She is not
that
interested in Shakespeare, I assure you. Nobody could accuse my beautiful Amelia of being a bluestocking.’ She darted a cold look at Julia. ‘Unlike some young ladies nowadays. But I have always believed that girls should not have too much education. It makes them likely to become old maids.’

Her remark puzzled Julia. She did not know, of course, that she and Thorwynn were engaged. But surely, having caught them in such a compromising situation, she expected something of an
announcement
?

‘Besides, I believe literature inflames the passions, and makes impressionable ladies more forward than they should be.’ Again, her
round eyes turned toward Julia.

Thorwynn bowed. ‘I think above all it is poetry that inflames the passions,’ he said mildly. ‘Especially poetry by that scoundrel, Lord Byron.’

He knew very well Julia liked Lord Byron. She refused to be drawn into the fray. She did not know what game Lady Medlow was
playing
, but she preferred to observe it, not to participate.

To her surprise, Amelia came to Lord Byron’s defence. ‘When a man is such a genius,’ she said, ‘much can be forgiven him.’

Lady Medlow gasped, and pressed her long pointed fingers to her heart. ‘Surely I have not nursed a viper in my bosom!’ She glanced towards Thorwynn. ‘I had no knowledge that she was reading such things, or I would have thrown the book in the fire.’

Amelia, however, was not to be cowed. ‘Everyone reads Lord Byron, Mama. It would have been a pity, indeed, if you had thrown the book in the fire, since it belonged to the lending library, and I would have been compelled to explain.’

Lady Medlow’s eyes grew larger. Realizing the situation was rapidly deteriorating, her eyes darted towards one of the other balconies. She let out a squeak. ‘Look, I see Lady Cumbridge waving to us. Come child, we must hurry, or the performance will begin.’ She gripped her daughter’s hand in her own and dragged her away.

Thorwynn’s gaze met Julia’s. His eyes danced. Despite her resolve to keep him at a distance, bubbles of laughter rose up. She grinned, and he grinned back. The shared laughter relieved some of her tension.

‘Since you named your horse Hamlet,’ said Thorwynn, his manner friendly, ‘I assume you enjoy Shakespeare.’

‘My grandmother gave the horse his name. Her mount is called Malvolio.’ He raised his brows in astonishment. ‘Difficult to believe, but true. She made Shakespearean names a tradition in the family. My mother was Olivia, my aunt is Viola, and my uncle Horatio.’

‘Clearly her influence did not extend so far as to force your parents to name you Juliet instead of Julia.’

She laughed. ‘You may ask her yourself,’ she said, gesturing towards Lady Bullfinch, who was engaged with two of her friends who were visiting the box. ‘But the story is that my mother called me
Julia as a compromise. Thank heavens. I can’t think of anyone in Shakespeare who is more insipid. Except poor Ophelia.’

‘You don’t wish to drift down a river with flowers in your hair? Though if you have read the
Family
Shakespeare
as Miss Neville has, you would know that she is no longer poor Ophelia. In Mr Bowdler’s new version, she does not commit suicide. She drowns by accident.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’ she said. ‘Mr Bowdler has taken the spirit out of Shakespeare and reduced it to a shell. But I did not imagine that you were a reader of Shakespeare.’

His face suddenly shuttered. He shrugged with studied
nonchalance.
‘Perhaps I have been spending too much time with actresses of late. It must have rubbed off.’ He smiled cynically at her indrawn breath. ‘I apologize if I have offended your delicate sensibilities, Miss Swifton.’ He stepped away abruptly. ‘I must see to the refreshments before the curtain rises,’ he said, and disappeared from the box.

When the play started again she found herself unable to understand a word spoken by Mr Kean.

Lady Medlow’s visit had destroyed that possibility. She was sure that Lady Medlow and her friend Lady Telway planned to reveal her indiscretion before the night was over. The rows of boxes stared at her like accusing eyes, and the bright candles seemed to focus their light on the Thorwynn box. She felt that it was she, not Mr Kean, who was on stage.

She shuddered each time the glint of an open glass was directed towards them.

One particular lady, a woman in a primrose evening dress and a lilac turban, seemed to direct her attention towards them repeatedly. Julia’s hands grew hot and moist under the blue gloves, and she longed to peel them off. She braced for the storm. Surely that lady was only the first of many to stare at them.

Then her curiosity gained the upper hand, and she trained her glass on the primrose-clad lady. She wanted to know the worst.

But instead of a group of gossiping matrons, she found the turbaned lady sitting alone, with an elderly couple one seat away from her on one side. The couple were both engrossed in the performance. They were certainly not exchanging the latest
on-dits
. 

As for the turbaned lady, she was certainly not paying attention to the performance. She noticed immediately when Julia turned her glass on her. She responded by bowing her head, her mouth puckering in amusement. Julia quickly lowered her glass. In turn, the turbaned lady raised her glass with calm deliberation and stared at Thorwynn, sitting to the right of Julia, as though to stake a claim.

Julia let out her breath in relief. Clearly, the unknown lady knew nothing about the scandal. Her sole interest was Thorwynn himself. Nothing to concern her, then.

Seconds later, however, reality hit her with an iron fist. This lady was one of Thorwynn’s admirers. Thorwynn, who was betrothed to Julia. Marrying him made ladies like that very much her concern. She was marrying a
rake
, after all. No doubt he had a whole entourage of women hankering after him.

The thought dismayed her. Her father had been such a man, by all accounts. She had never known him, although he was alive
somewhere
, living a riotous life on the Continent, after being driven by a series of scandals to leave England. When she was younger she used to dream that he would return to visit his daughter, that he would regret leaving Julia to her fate and come back to ensure that she was well cared for.

She had told Lady Bullfinch of her dreams one day. Her confession had distressed her grandmother. ‘I hope you are happy with me,’ she had said.