Elizabeth Mansfield (20 page)

Like Cleo?
she’d almost asked, but on second thought she’d held her tongue. She’d agreed to the request because she’d made up her mind to be a generous, obedient girl and agree to everything. But in the matter of her hair she could not keep from feeling reluctant. She liked her long, unruly hair. It was a significant part of her. She knew that her habits of tossing it back, of twisting it round her finger when absorbed in thought, of letting it hang in a careless plait when she wanted it out of the way, were irritations to Tris, but she herself would miss all that when the hair was gone. It was a sacrifice she was making on the altar of wedlock. She hoped she would not live to regret it.

The hairdresser, who was Lady Kenting’s abigail and had been recommended as a genius with a scissors, arrived an hour before the ladies were due to leave. “We ‘as plenty o’ time,” she assured the nervous Lady Branscombe. “Time t’cut Miss Julie’s ‘air an’ curl it too.”

But when she lifted the scissors to the first strand, Julie cried out a resounding “No!” She was not prepared to sacrifice as much as that.

After considerable discussion, the hairdresser surrendered to the girl’s insistence that she find some way to put the hair up without cutting it. A Grecian style, with the long hair bound into a tight chignon at the back of the head and a few strands hanging in curled freedom at the sides, was finally agreed upon. Lady Branscombe, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs in nervous suspense, sighed in relief at the sight of her daughter. “It’s very becoming,” she assured the uneasy girl. “I’m glad you didn’t cut it off.”

“Tris won’t be,” Julie muttered as she covered her head with the hood of her cape.

“Yes, he will. You look too lovely for him to object.”

Lady Branscombe proved to be right. Tris said very flattering things about her appearance when he greeted her. And so did everyone else. Julie was so relieved that she began to believe she was having a very good time.

When Tris presented himself to her for the last dance of the evening, Julie suggested that they go out on the terrace for a breath of air instead. It was a perfect night for a ball, with a clear, moon-bright sky and the mildest of spring breezes. “Everything was perfect tonight,” she said, gazing up at the stars. “Your mother must be pleased.”

Tris perched on the balustrade beside her. “Yes, she is. Did I tell you she’s arranged for us to stay with the Contessa Dimanti when we get to Venice on our honeymoon trip? She’s a distant relative, and has a house right on the canal.”

“That will be lovely.” She lifted her hand to one of the strands of hair hanging loose at the side of her face and twisted it round her finger. “Speaking of honeymoons, Tris, there’s... er... something I’ve been wondering about.”

“What’s that?”

“I hope you won’t mind my asking. It’s rather... personal.”

“Good God, Julie, don’t be a clunch. You’ve known me forever. What can you possibly ask that would be too personal?”

“Very well, then, here it is. Did you ever kiss Cleo?”

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then Tris slid off the balustrade. “What sort of question is that?” he muttered in annoyance. “Why do you want to know?”

She dropped her eyes from his face. “I just do, that’s all.”

He remained silent for another moment. Then he threw up his hands in a gesture of disgust. “If you must know, I did. Of course I did. I kissed her. Several times.”

“I see.”

“It’s nothing to be bothered about,” he said in quick self-defense. “Kissing is just something that a man and a woman
do
when they go about together.”

“We don’t.”

“What?”

“You and I. We don’t kiss. We’ve
never
kissed.”

He gaped at her, nonplussed. “Damnation,” he muttered, taken aback by what she’d just said, “stop twisting your damned hair.” He strode away a few paces, then swung about and stormed back. “We have
so
kissed.”

“Have we? When?”

“Lots of times. Birthdays and... and special occasions.”

She snorted. “Cheek kisses. They don’t count.”

“Why don’t they?”

She tossed him a sneering look. “The kisses you gave Cleo weren’t cheek kisses, I’d wager.”

He rubbed his chin. “No, they weren’t.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What are you saying, Julie? What’s the point?”

“I don’t know. Is there... something wrong with us?”

“Because we haven’t kissed? There was a perfectly acceptable reason for that. We were like brother and sister. Brothers and sisters don’t kiss.”

She gave him a long look. “But we’re not brother and sister any more. We’ve been betrothed for weeks now.”

His brow knit as he considered the problem, but since the solution was obvious, his expression cleared almost at once. “Very well, you idiot, come here. I’ll kiss you right now.”

She held up a restraining hand. “No, not now. It doesn’t feel appropriate right now.”

“Yes, it does,” he insisted, and he pulled her into his arms.

“Tris, no!” She turned her face aside. “I don’t
want
you to kiss me now.”

“Why not? Now is as good a time as any.” He forced her face up and kissed her mouth. She struggled against him for a moment and then remained still. But there was no answering pressure from her lips, and after a moment he let her go. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, deflated. “I shouldn’t have forced you. It will be better next time.”

“Will it?” She gazed at him quizzically.

“Of course it will.”

“What if it won’t?”

His eyes clouded over, but he didn’t answer. With a slight, discouraged sigh, Julie turned to go inside. But she paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back at him. “Perhaps, Tris,” she said quietly, “it’s something we ought to think about.”

28

Julie let Tris think about it for a week.

During that week he kissed her twice, once when he helped her down from her horse, and once when he brought her home after an evening musicale at the Kentings’. The first time, the surprise of it made the embrace seems a wee bit exciting, but the second time was as meaningless as the kiss on the terrace. It was quite depressing to realize that she felt no physical attraction toward her betrothed, but what was even more worrisome was her distinct impression that Tris was as unhappy as she was. He too seemed to be forever forcing a smile. Something about this betrothal was decidedly amiss.

When the week was over, she sent him a note asking him to meet her the next morning at the summerhouse. It was time to talk the problem over frankly and in private.

Tris was there first, as usual. She found him sitting inside on a bench, his shoulders stooped, his head lowered. He was taking no notice of the lush greenery and the vines bursting into bloom all around him. She went up the steps and dropped down beside him on the bench. “For a prospective bridegroom,” she said quietly, “you don’t look very happy.”

He lifted his head and grimaced at her. “Happy? I’ve forgotten what the word means.”

“Oh, dear,” she murmured.

He took her hand. “It isn’t working, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

He signed in despair. “I don’t understand why.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve said it often enough in the past. We just know each other too well. There are no—”

“No surprises,” he finished. “But what have surprises to do with marriage?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that we’ve been like brother and sister for too long. I, for one, cannot easily make the change from sister to lover. I can’t even manage to kiss you properly.”

“I know. Neither can I.”

“Tell me the truth, Tris. Do you still love Cleo?”

He rubbed his forehead wearily. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I miss her so much that there’s an ache right here in my chest. But if I love
her,
why was I so insanely jealous of Canfield when he kissed
you?”

“I’ve given that some thought, Tris. It seems to me that you were reacting like a brother who didn’t wish to see his sister being manhandled by an outsider.”

“No, I don’t think it’s as simple as that. I’ve been giving it a great deal of thought as well. I think it’s worse than that. I’m convinced that I’d become accustomed to your little-girl adoration of me, and I just didn’t want to lose it.”

“Even when you had Cleo to love you?”

“Yes,” he said, shamefaced, “isn’t it dreadful? I can’t believe how selfish my feelings were. I wanted to be free to love anyone else I wished, but I wanted you to remain caring for no one but me.”

“Like a child,” she said, nodding understandingly.

“Yes, like a spoiled child.”

“Well, if true, it’s a sign of maturity that you recognize it now.”

He shrugged. “For all the good that does. What shall we do, my dear? I, for one, am at wit’s end.”

“We must break the engagement, for one thing,” she said firmly. “The longer we pretend, the harder it will be to come forward with the truth.”

“Yes,” he said, looking closely at her face, “but only if you’re sure you really don’t wish to wed me.”

She lifted a hand to his cheek and patted it kindly. “I would not wish to wed you even if you truly loved me above all others. You see, Tris dear, I too am in love with someone else.”

He could not meet her eye. “I know. Canfield. I mucked that up for you too, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. There was nothing to muck up. He never really cared for me.”

“I don’t believe that. I saw him kissing you!”

“He only did that to make you jealous.”

“Nonsense. When he kissed you in his library, he had no idea that I was watching.”

“Heavens!” she exclaimed, blushing. “Were you there?” The thought was disturbing. That Tris had been an observer poisoned a precious memory.

“Yes,” he admitted ruefully, “I’d just stepped into the doorway and saw you embracing. You were drenched in sunlight, looking like a Dutch painting. It was the first time I ever in my life experienced jealousy. I wanted to grind Peter to dust under my heel.”

She shut her eyes, as if the act would somehow block the memory of the scene from her mind. She didn’t want to remember. But shutting her eyes did no good. She opened them and fixed them on Tris. “It was an insignificant event, you know,” she told him firmly. “The kiss, I mean. A whim of the moment.”

“It didn’t look that way to me.”

“You must take my word for it,” she insisted. “I know better.”

“Very well,” he agreed, sensing her pain. “No point arguing.”

“None at all. Besides, we have more pressing matters to discuss than my nonexistent romance.” She stood up and paced about the wooden floor of the summerhouse. “If we’re to break the engagement, we must gird our loins to tell our mothers.”

Tris groaned. “The very thing I most dread.”

“I more than you, for my mother is a growling bear compared to yours. But when it’s over, we shall finally be free. And that, may I remind you, is what we’ve wanted from the first.”

“Yes, to be free.” He stood up and stretched out his arms. “Free to follow our own destinies, not a future decreed by our mothers. Let’s do it! Today!”

“Yes, today!” She smiled at him as they pledged by shaking hands. “Won’t it be grand? We’ll be free to marry whom we please. Cleo for you, who-knows for me.” But as second thoughts assailed her, her smile abruptly died. “Of course, what is most likely,” she mused as they started down the steps, “is that I shall remain an old maid.”

“Probably I shall never marry either,” he said glumly, “for Cleo won’t have me now. She’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done.”

“You won’t know that until you try.” She squeezed his hand in farewell and set off toward the stile.

“Oh, I’ll try right enough,” he replied as he marched off in the opposite direction, “but I probably won’t succeed.” Suddenly he paused and laughed ruefully. “Wouldn’t it be poetic justice if we both remained single for the rest of our days?” he called to her over his shoulder.

“Justice for whom?”

“For our mothers, of course. What an ironic punishment for them
that
would be!”

29

If it were done when ‘tis done,

then ‘twere well It were done quickly...

Julie quoted those lines of Shakespeare to herself as she walked home. She would take Mr. Shakespeare’s advice and do the deed quickly. Telling her mother the truth would be difficult, to say the least, but she’d pledged to do it today. It would be better to get it over with this very morning than to have the prospect of that dreadful confrontation hanging over her like the sword of Damocles.

She found her mother in the sewing room with her modiste, both of them laboriously stitching seed pearls onto the bodice of Julie’s elaborate wedding gown. The sight of that gown increased Julie’s already unbearable tension. In spite of all the labor and expense that had gone into its creation, she was now about to inform her mother that she had no intention of wearing it. Her mother would be
livid.
“Mama,” she asked in a trembling voice, not daring even to step over the threshold, “may I speak to you for a moment?”