Loving Julia (14 page)

“Why not? We had a bargain, remember. I gave you a chance to back out of it in London, which you refused to take. I told you then that you wouldn’t get another.”

“I don’t want nothin’ ter do with yer bargain. Seems ter me that ya left a few things out when ya tole me about it. Like torture.”

“Torture!” he sounded surprised. As he looked at her sulky face glaring up at him through the darkness, Jewel could almost swear she saw the glimmer of a smile. “Explain yourself, if you please.”

“That ole witch makes me talk at candles ’till I nearly singe my eyelashes off, and bend my knees until they ache, and straps a bleedin’ board to my back, and now she won’t even let me eat! If that ain’t torture, I don’ know what yer call it.”

He was silent for a moment after this diatribe, looking at her indignant face. He set the pillowcase down on the floor at his feet, and his arms crossed over his chest. Still he looked at her.

“Ah, yes, I remember now. The estimable woman engaged to educate you. What did you say her name was? Mrs. Thomas? She did express a desire to have speech with me this evening. I was unfortunately unable to accommodate her. Now I begin to wonder what I missed.”

So he hadn’t talked to Mrs. Thomas? That gave her the chance to get her grievances in first.

“She stole my dinner right from under my nose, and—”

He raised a hand. “Wait a minute. Mrs. Thomas stole your dinner? Why should she do that? Are we not feeding her? I shall have to speak to Mrs. Johnson.”

Jewel looked at him with a great deal of resentment. Him and his jokes! “She said I eat like a pig. And I do not! I—”

Again that upraised hand silenced her. “So your governess was attempting to teach you table manners, is that it?”

“She ’ad no right to take my dinner! I was ’ungry!”

“And were no doubt eating like a pig.” The earl’s voice was dry. Jewel was about to protest vehemently, but he silenced her with a shake of his head.

“So Mrs. Thomas took your dinner. And I assume you protested. It is to be hoped that you did not physically assault the poor lady?” At his questioning tone Jewel felt slightly guilty.

“Not … exactly.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I just kind o’ looked at ’er, and she backed out o’ the room and took off down the ’all like a mouse wot’s seen a cat.” Jewel chuckled, remembering. “Eh, it were a sight to see.”

“So you frightened her.”

“She ’ad it comin’.”

The earl looked suddenly stern. “And so will you have it coming if I hear of such an incident again. Is that understood? I am prepared to overlook this little comedy tonight, but there is to be no repetition of it or the next time I will not be so forgiving. If you feel your governess is too harsh, you have only to apply to me. But you really must not terrify the poor woman.”

“I ’ate ’er!”

“I don’t imagine she’s overfond of you either, you impossible brat. But she’s been hired to turn you into a lady, and you’re to let her do it. Is that clear?”

“No.” The sulky word was muttered under her breath. Jewel was not quite foolish enough to defy him loudly. But he heard anyway.

“What was that?”

A sense of desperation mingled with outrage in Jewel’s breast. He was taking her over again, turning her into that namby-pamby female who was afraid of her own shadow. If she knuckled under to him, she soon wouldn’t be Jewel any longer. She would be right back in that schoolroom, no better off than she had been before.

“Yer takin’ away who I am!” she burst out.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jewel Combs. I ain’t ’er no more.”

The earl’s eyebrows lifted. “Do you want to be?” he asked. While she gaped at him he took her elbow and turned her in the direction of the stairs. “Jewel Combs was a little street rat with no future but poverty and want. Julia Stratham has a home and a family, and will never be without creature comforts for as long as she lives. I know who I’d rather be.” Jewel looked at him over her shoulder for a moment, much struck by what he had said. Julia Stratham had a family? Who—him? Was he actually meaning to classify himself as her family?

“Now go to bed, and let’s have an end to this nonsense,” he ordered, giving her a little push with his hand in the small of her back.

Jewel obediently moved in the direction of the stairs. Climbing them, feeling his eyes on her back, she knew her decision had already been made. As soon as the earl had appeared in the hall, it had been made. She would not try to run away again. She was thoroughly caught once more.

From then on she and Mrs. Thomas existed in a state of uneasy truce. Jewel never again gave her trouble, and genuinely tried to absorb the lessons the older woman had to teach. And Mrs. Thomas taught well. Jewel learned after much repetition which piece of silverware went with which course at dinner, and became reasonably adept at handling various eating implements. She learned to accept a cup of tea and sip it without slurping or spilling. She learned to serve tea to others while just taking quick peeks to see what her hands were doing. She painfully memorized Mrs. Thomas’ hard and fast rules about who curtsied to whom and when (she had blundered into the correct behavior by not acknowledging a servant’s curtsy in any way). And, of course, she learned the correct attire for a lady in the morning, afternoon, and evening.

All these lessons were hard, but the worst was learning to talk. According to Mrs. Thomas, the mangled syllables that emerged from Jewel’s mouth could hardly be termed speech. But for the life of her, Jewel could not seem to twist her tongue enough to produce the accents of a lady. Mrs. Thomas had her practicing more “h”s in front of candles, the flames of which would waver if she said the letter correctly. At first, Mrs. Thomas had ordered her to read aloud, on the theory that Jewel was bound to absorb some of the printed words’ elegance of expression. Only after much shamed roundaboutation on Jewel’s part did she admit she could not read. So then with all the grim determination Wellington must have employed at Waterloo, Mrs. Thomas set herself to teaching her the tricks of written language. Jewel was forced to spend hours every morning, board strapped to her back and book resting on her head as she laboriously sounded the words of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s lurid novels into a candle resting on the mantel.

The daily arrival of luncheon brought a much welcomed respite, but in the afternoon the hated board was strapped on again as she practiced social graces such as curtsying. One must dip so far for a duchess, so far for a lady, and to the floor with head bowed for the Queen. (Fat chance of ever meeting her, Jewel sneered as she did this over and over.) There were occasions when one extended a hand for a gentleman to bow

over, or more rarely kiss. Sometimes a polite inclination of the head was all that was required.

Jewel had to learn the rudiments of making polite conversation. Suitable topics seemed to be limited to the weather and various other inanities like “How
kind
you are, my lord,” in response to a compliment, and “These cakes are just
delicious
,” in praise of a refreshment.

There were so many rules, Jewel was surprised that anyone ever remembered them all. Her respect for the gentry, particularly poor put upon females, increased a hundredfold. What they had to know just to talk to one another! The tortures they had to endure just to walk across a room and sit down! If she had known before what she knew now, she might have told his high and mighty lordship to take his silky tongue and choke on it when they had entered into their devil’s bargain all those days ago.

One afternoon three weeks after her return to the fold, Jewel was sulkily engaged in practicing her curtsys, board strapped to her back, book balanced precariously on her head. It was a gorgeous spring day outside with the sun shining and the sky a bright beckoning blue. Jewel would have given much to be outdoors. But Mrs. Thomas felt that too much fresh air was harmful to young ladies’ complexions, so Jewel had escaped the house only a handful of times since that lady’s advent. Staring longingly at the slice of blue sky she could see through the window, she followed Mrs. Thomas’ direction and sank into a medium-low curtsy suitable for greeting an elderly, socially important dowager. Hated black skirts held at the correct angle by stiff wristed hands, head rigid so as not to dislodge the despised book, Jewel sank carefully into what she privately called the pigeon squat.

The sound of a single pair of hands applauding from somewhere behind her caused her head to jerk around. Her feet got tangled up in her skirt, the board prevented her from regaining her balance, the book slid from her head with a resounding crash, and she ended up sitting down smack on her bottom on the hard plank floor.

“Bloody ’ell,” she muttered, rubbing the injured part of her anatomy before she remembered that a lady was not even supposed to be aware that she possessed an arse, much less touch it. Struggling into a sitting position as Mrs. Thomas exclaimed, “Really, Miss Julia!” Jewel ignored the flustered governess in favor of glaring at the earl, who had caused the whole thing by clapping.

He was standing in the doorway, one broad shoulder resting against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrows raised in that superior look she hated as he took in her undignified sprawl. With the sunlight streaming through the window to touch his gilded hair and his eyes glinting as blue as the sky outside, he was as breathtakingly handsome as ever.

Jewel acknowledged the fact reluctantly. It annoyed her to admit that just the sight of him made her heart beat faster. What caused an even stranger, painful emotion was the very fact of how clear it was that she had no similar effect on him. He was looking at her in much the same way an organ grinder’s audience watches the performing monkey. Her glare turned into a glower as she took in that look. To her fury, her new expression seemed to amuse him more than ever. He was laughing at her, the superior swine! For something that was all his fault! An earl should know that it was civil to at least tap on the door before scaring a body half out of her wits. Jewel scowled fiercely at him as she internally expanded on this grievance. After all her weeks of practice and the marked improvements that even Mrs. Thomas grudgingly admitted, it was just like him to come upon her and put her immediately at a disadvantage. Well, he’d soon see that she was no longer someone to be made mock of!

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said in a nearly flawless upper class accent. She wiped the scowl from her face and raised her eyebrows haughtily, in imitation of his own expression.

“Good afternoon, Julia,” he replied gravely, as though he had fully expected her to greet him in such a way.

Nettled at his lack of astonishment over her progress, Jewel resolved to impress him further. Looking toward the window, she saw the dazzling sunshine outside and remembered that the weather was always a proper topic of conversation.

“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” She wasn’t positive, but she thought she saw his lips twitch. Her scowl came rushing back.

“It certainly is.” His reply was perfectly serious and polite.

Jewel relaxed a little. Perhaps he was not laughing at her. After all, she was talking just as she had been taught. It must be only her imagination that made her think that she was amusing him.

“Oh, my lord, have you come to check on our progress?” Mrs. Thomas dropped a hasty curtsy, which she must have forgotten in the stress of Jewel’s embarrassing downfall. “We’ve made a great deal of headway, as you can, ummm, see.” Then, in an aside to Jewel, she added in a sugary voice, “Why don’t you get up off the floor, dear, and curtsy properly to his lordship?”

Jewel, who had almost forgotten that she was sitting in an undignified sprawl on the floor, flushed. But she found the matter of getting up quite difficult. The board on her back made it impossible for her to lean forward, and therefore to rise. Struggling vainly to find enough leverage to get her feet beneath her, Jewel could not. She flopped about like a fish out of water, her eyes flying to the earl, whom she was
sure
was laughing at her.

Indeed, one corner of his mouth had twisted up in the beginning of a grin, and those celestial eyes twinkled. Humiliated, Jewel felt her temper begin to heat as she had to turn over onto her stomach before clambering awkwardly to her feet.

“I’d like to see yer ’igh-and-mightiness try gettin’ up with this ’ere contraption on yer back!” she spat in her best Cockney voice as she stood at last. Mrs. Thomas moaned despairingly. The earl’s half-grin widened into a real one.

“My lord,” he murmured provokingly.

Jewel’s eyes blazed. If the book had still been sitting on her head she would have thrown it straight at that gorgeous face. As it was, she had to content herself with clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. He had a positive knack for riling her, he did!

“My lord,” she gritted with what dignity she could muster.

Mrs. Thomas, after a grimly chastening look at her bristling charge, smiled at the earl. “What can we show you, my lord?” she simpered. “Miss Julia has exhibited enormous improvement in all areas.”

“Has she?” the earl’s tone expressed his skepticism. His eyes swept over Jewel again, and her temper boiled over at the amusement in them. She would show him!

“Indeed I have, my lord.” Her mastery of the “h” sound pleased her enormously. Feeling vindicated, she unclenched her fists and smiled smugly at him. “Notwithstanding my faux pas of a few moments ago, I am quite the lady now.”

“Are you indeed?” He came into the room, sounding suitably impressed. Jewel noticed absently how well his chocolate coat molded his broad shoulders, and how very muscular his legs looked in buff breeches. To think she had once dismissed him contemptuously as a man-milliner! He was many obnoxious things, but she no longer had any doubts at all about his masculinity. He might be beautiful to look upon, but he was certainly all man.

“I’m pleased, of course, to hear you say so,” he continued smoothly, choosing a chair at the cluttered schoolroom table. “I feel that I must point out, however, that the correct pronunciation of that very elegant French expression you just used is not ‘fox paws.’ ”