Loving Julia (29 page)

“Julia has come to town to be introduced to the ton. I expect you to perform that function.”

The quiet statement made the older woman stiffen. She swung wild, hating eyes from Sebastian to Julia and back again. Julia stared at her, half afraid of what she might do. She did not look quite sane.

“
I
introduce
her
to the ton? You must be joking.”

“Indeed, I am not. You, my dear mama, are one of the premiere hostesses in London. If you take Julia under your wing, there will be no question about her acceptance. I desire you to take her around just as you do Caroline. After all, Julia is a member of the family.”

“That rackety Timothy! How could he do this to us? Sebastian, if you had only repudiated her from the start, we would not have come to this pass. But of course, anything you can do to disoblige me, you will do. You were always the most unnatural son.”

“And you the most unnatural mother.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed faintly. It was the only indication that the altercation disturbed him that Julia could perceive. She wondered what it would feel like to have one’s emotions under such icy control, and shivered. It would not suit her at all. She would probably burst with the strain of it.

“Understand me, mama.” Sebastian’s eyes were a cold, steady blue as they impaled his mother. “You will treat Julia like a daughter. You will take her around to parties and routs and what-have-yous; you will introduce her to people as your deceased nephew’s dear widow; if you are questioned about her antecedents, you will tell them that she is a connection of the Frames. Indeed, she could well be; Howard Frame’s by-blows alone are sufficient to populate half of Yorkshire. Julia, are you attending to this? You are to remember as well.” His eyes flicked to Julia once, then returned to fix on the dowager countess. His voice went very soft. “You will never, by the slightest look or deed, give anyone cause to think that she is other than Julia Stratham, a lady and our kinswoman. Should you fail in any of this …” Sebastian smiled that particularly frightening smile at his mother. “Should you fail in any of this, I will cut off the very handsome allowance which I make you, which would leave you quite dependent on the extremely inadequate widow’s jointure that my father, in his infinite wisdom, chose to settle upon you. I will also require you to leave this house, for, I think, my property in Scotland. Where you will remain.”

The dowager countess stared bitterly at her son for a long moment. The two pairs of icy blue eyes met and clashed; finally the dowager countess spoke.

“Giving birth to you was the worst thing I ever did in my life,” she said, and she turned on her heel and left the room.

When she was gone, Sebastian’s shoulders seemed to sag for a moment. Then, so swiftly that Julia might have imagined the brief lapse in his control, he recovered, swiveling to face her. The icy mask of his face tugged at her heart. To have a mother who hated one so must be the source of terrible pain.

“Sebastian….” She half-rose from her chair, instinctively wanting to offer him comfort, but the cold eyes he turned on her warned her off. Like a wounded animal he could not bear to have his injuries touched. At least not yet. If she succeeded in her plan, Julia hoped to have the chance to heal them.

“I presume you are happy now. You have your wish, and more.” The clipped words belonged to the Earl of Moorland, not the Sebastian she knew and loved. But Julia felt that now was not the time to press for that Sebastian’s return.

“I’m sorry to be the cause of any trouble with your mother,” she quietly said instead. He shrugged, and moved back around the desk to sit down in his chair.

“There is always trouble with my mother,” he muttered, and his eyes were sharp on hers as if he were afraid that even that simple statement revealed too much. “She will do as I say, however. As you heard, I have the means to compel her. And Caroline as well. They are both dependent upon me for the lavishness with which they live. If by chance either of them should not treat you as you would like, you are to come to me at once. Do you understand?”

He looked tired suddenly, so tired that Julia had not the heart to argue with him that she would really prefer not to be a talebearer. So she nodded.

“Good.” He picked up the cigar that was still burning in the ashtray and stubbed it out. Then those blue eyes returned to hers. “I expect you to conduct yourself with propriety at all times as well. To put it bluntly, that means no men. Not while you are living under my roof.”

Julia, who had been feeling sorry for him, stiffened. She stared at him with golden eyes whose softness rapidly turned to anger. A heated denial hovered on her lips, but she bit it back, distracted by a sudden thought. Unintentionally he had given her the germ of another idea on how to break through his wall of icy reserve. He wouldn’t like to see her going about with other men…

“Just as you say, of course,” she agreed pleasantly, then stood up. “Unless you have something else of a pressing nature to say to me, I’d like to go to my room. I am expecting some deliveries this morning, and I would like to be on hand to direct Emily where to put them.”

He looked at her. “You were very sure that you would be remaining, it seems.”

“Yes,” she said with a sideways smile. “I was.”

And then she dropped him a little mock curtsy and left the room.

XXIII

“Please do not take the way Margaret is behaving to heart,” Caroline said earnestly.

It was nearly two weeks later, and Caroline and Julia were waiting in the entryway of the house on Grosvenor Square for the dowager countess, whom Caroline called by her given name of Margaret. It was evening, and they were on their way to a small soiree.

The gathering would mark Julia’s first real venture into society. She had, of course, joined Caroline and the countess when they had received callers in the afternoons, and she had accompanied Caroline in making calls. The countess had pleaded a severe headache on those latter occasions, which had been two in number, just as she had professed to have one tonight. Sebastian had been on his way to dinner at his club when Wigham, his mother’s dresser, had come down to give Caroline and Julia the countess’ regrets. The earl had immediately turned on his heel and gone back upstairs to confront his mother in her chamber.

The result was that Caroline and Julia were standing about in the front hallway while the countess made a hasty toilette. Sebastian had already taken himself off, apparently confident enough of whatever he had said to his mother that he did not feel the need to remain to make certain that his wishes were carried out.

Julia hated being such a bone of contention between Sebastian and his mother. The evening, which had seemed so exciting as she had donned a lustrous blue silk gown trimmed with yards of creamy lace, had already gone sadly flat. But the Countess was just one of the many obstacles that she would have to overcome to get to Sebastian, she reminded herself. Looked at in that light, the silent hostility that the older woman radiated could be tolerated if not ignored. The rest of the haute ton—at least those whom she had met—had seemed perfectly ready to take her at face value, as the widow of the dowager’s nephew.

On the first occasion when she had sat in the front salon with Caroline and the countess waiting for afternoon callers, she had been so nervous of betraying herself that her knees were shaking. But when the countess had explained with a tight little smile that “dear Julia” was newly come up from the country, where she had met and married Timothy and where she had stayed during the obligatory year of mourning, there had been polite expressions of regret at Timothy’s passing but that was all. No one had stood to denounce her as an upstart foisted upon the ton; no one had seemed shocked or horrified by her speech or behavior. She had been accepted, rather to her amazement, without question. As if she were truly the lady she pretended to be.

Caroline had been surprisingly friendly. Wary at first of the other’s seeming readiness to accept her, Julia had gradually come to believe that there was no meanness in Caroline. She was something of an airhead—witness the way she treated Sebastian’s every word as though it had come down from on high—but she was sweet-natured and Julia thought she might come to like her very much. Although Caroline was some twelve years older than Julia, she was still very lovely in the blonde, blue-eyed fashion that was so much in vogue. Julia had come to believe that one reason that Caroline was so ready to take her about with her was that they were excellent foils for one another: Caroline tall and reed slim, dressed in the soft pastels that were so becoming to her fair coloration, with Julia smaller and curvier, her ebony hair and ivory skin set off by jewel tones. Indeed, the two were a study in contrasts, as Caroline had remarked in a pensive tone one time when she had caught a glimpse of them side by side in a mirror. But whatever the reason, Caroline’s friendship was very welcome. It was a pleasant antidote to Sebastian’s cold politeness and his mother’s outright hostility.

The countess’ descent of the stairs put an end to Julia’s mental wanderings. The older woman was wearing shimmering silver silk, Julia saw as she looked up, and looked wonderful despite the irritable frown that marred her still beautiful face. Sebastian would age well, too, she thought irrelevantly, and then the countess reached the bottom of the steps and swept by them without a word.

Smathers leapt to open the door before she reached it. Caroline threw an apologetic look at Julia, then the two younger women followed the countess out. Tense silence reigned in the carriage during the short drive to Lady Frayne’s residence, where the soiree was to be held. Julia, growing more and more apprehensive as she sat squashed into a corner in the silent carriage, wished ridiculously for Sebastian’s presence. Icily angry with her or not, she knew she could have counted on his support whatever happened. Now, when she felt like Daniel about to be thrown into the lion’s den, she had only Caroline, who was sweet but weak, and the countess, who actively despised her.

Then the carriage was rocking to a halt, and before she knew it she was being ushered into Lady Frayne’s salon. As the countess had made them late, a heavyset lady was already sitting before the company with her harp, ready to sing and play. Besides a smiling welcome from their hostess, and amiable nods from those among the company who were one or the other of the ladies’ particular friends, they were scarcely noticed as they took their seats.

By the time the singing had ceased—the lady sang opera, which Julia found herself totally unable to appreciate—she felt considerably more comfortable. Julia was almost relaxed as she rose with the rest of the guests and adjourned to the refreshment tables. The countess and Caroline were mingling with the other guests, and Julia knew that she should join one or the other of them. But for just this moment she wanted to stand back and observe.

It was a small party by the ton’s standards, with perhaps fifty people in attendance. But those who were invited were the crÈme de la crÈme, and as Julia watched all these splendid people laugh and flirt and chatter she felt a sudden sensation of being caught up in a dream. In her days as a homeless street waif she would never even have been able to imagine such a gathering. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought to find herself dressed in silk and lace, with hunger the farthest thing from her mind as she stood amongst a crowd of the sort of people whose purses she had used to lift. She blinked, bringing herself back to the present with determination. That part of her life was over, forgotten. She had been a different person then, one who no longer existed. Now she was Julia Stratham, and this glittering extravaganza was her world.

Julia swallowed the last crumb of a sugary macaroon without tasting it. She saw Caroline, chatting happily in a foursome that included a plump blonde in pink whom Julia vaguely remembered being introduced to during one of their at-home afternoons, a small slender gentleman with a lively laugh, and a tall older gentleman with dark hair and a kind smile. But before she could move to join them Caroline was detaching the older gentleman from the group and bringing him over to Julia.

“Julia, Lord Carlyle has asked me to make him known to you, so here you see me performing my duty as chaperone. Lord Carlyle, this is my cousin by marriage, Mrs. Julia Stratham.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Stratham?”

Julia held out her hand, smiling up at him. Lord Carlyle took it, bowing over it with a slow smile that she immediately liked. Then he turned that slow smile on Caroline.

“You are far too young and lovely to be a chaperone, Mrs. Peyton. In fact, it is my wager that the two loveliest ladies in the ton this year will be widows instead of debutantes.”

“You flatter me, sir.” Julia offered a shy smile to this big bear of a man whom she liked immediately.

“Oh, and me!” Caroline was being excessively gay, Julia thought, noting the two bright spots of color in her cheeks and hearing the arch note in her voice. “Julia quite outshines me, you know. She is such a sweet young thing, while I—I fear I must appear old in comparison.”

“You could never appear old, Mrs. Peyton,” Lord Carlyle assured her gallantly, and Caroline giggled. Julia looked at her in surprise. In the two weeks she had been accompanying her so-called cousin about, she had never seen her show any interest in a man. Now here she was practically flirting with Lord Carlyle.

“I fear we should resume our seats. It appears as though the second half of the evening’s entertainment is about to begin.” Julia thought her own voice sounded quite wooden next to Caroline’s, but then she was not trying to attract Lord Carlyle.

But that gentleman turned grave gray eyes on her, listening to her few words as if they were pearls of wisdom. Why, he is attracted to me, she thought, and felt a little frisson of pleasure. If she could attract the interest of a gentleman like Lord Carlyle, perhaps she was closer to her goal than she had thought.

“Isn’t Madame Crieza in fabulous voice?” Caroline remarked in a hushed voice as they moved to resume their seats. Lord Carlyle smilingly agreed. And Julia thought again of how far she had to go to become a lady in fact as well as in name. To her the fabulous diva’s singing was about as pleasing as the caterwauling of a scalded cat. But apparently the truly well-born enjoyed it.