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Authors: Theresa Romain

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BOOK: Season for Temptation
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Julia hadn't been expecting
that
response. “Um . . . no. No, I never thought about it, I suppose.”
“Well.” Lady Oliver sat back and folded her hands over her knee, as if settling in for a long tale. “It was, of course, expected that I would name you for myself, as my oldest daughter. But you are named instead for your father.”
Despite the passage of time, the baroness's eyes grew misty with remembered fondness. “I was only eighteen, even younger than yourself, when I met Julian Herington. I was the daughter of a country squire, and he was the curate.”
Her voice turned confiding. “He was the handsomest man I'd ever seen, positively golden, and so kind and intelligent. I would stay after services every week just to talk to him. My father was delighted with my devotion to the church.”
Julia smiled back at her mother, encouraging her to go on, but she was puzzled. She'd never heard any of this before. She supposed she'd never even thought to ask, since as far back as she could remember, there had been no father—and then, when she was still a young child, there had been Lord Oliver. She'd never thought about the man who had been in her mother's life before.
Lady Oliver spoke on, telling her daughter about how she managed to provoke the curate into admitting that he loved her, but he felt he did not have the right to marry her because she was so far above him.
“So far above him.” The baroness shook her head. “As if there could ever be such a thing, when such warmth and wit were involved. However, my parents agreed with his view of the matter, and hoped to match me to a baronet, or a knight at the very least. I was quite the heiress, you see.” She smiled mischievously. “So I simply took matters into my own hands.”
Julia's eyes were round with amazed interest. She'd never known
any
of this. It wasn't hard to think of her lighthearted mother as young—but this willful woman, in love and determined, was a revelation. “What did you do?” she breathed.
Lady Oliver turned pink, and hesitated before speaking. “While I was talking with him alone, I pulled the bodice of my dress down just before I knew some women would be coming in to decorate the church.”
She coughed, remembering the old scheme with slight embarrassment. “Naturally, they were horrified by his scandalous conduct, and he was forced to marry me at once. I hadn't foreseen that he might also be removed from his position as curate, but so it was. I did regret that part.”
Her smile grew warm and her eyes distant. “But the marriage—ah, that was wonderful. My father used his influence and my dowry to buy Julian a living in Leicestershire, and we went to live there following our marriage.”
She looked her daughter straight in the eye. “It was the most wonderful time of my life, and it would never have happened if it weren't for my own determination. When we discovered you were on the way, it made our happiness complete.”
Julia hardly dared ask what had happened next, knowing that the idyll must have soon ended.
“Yes, it was very soon over,” Lady Oliver replied, her eyes downcast. “Your father was killed in a carriage accident three months before your birth. He never even saw you.”
She choked on her next words. “Despite my grief, I thanked God for you every day, for you were a little piece of him. I longed to hold you, to keep any connection with him that I could. So of course I had to name you for him.”
She reached out to stroke Julia's hair with a hand that trembled. “You look like me, but you have his smile. His smile could warm you in winter, just of itself.”
Her wistful expression brightened. “So there you have it, my darling girl. You are here on earth because I was a rather bold and improper young lady. We women may not have the right to ask, but we can still get what we want, even if for just a little while.”
Her smile broadened. “Actually, I must correct myself. I've been very fortunate to have what I wanted for years. My early loss was terrible, but some years later I met Lord Oliver.”
Her expression turned considering. “We met at Tattersalls, you know. I believe I was the only woman there looking at horseflesh. Naturally, I drew his eye at once. I wasn't thinking of marrying again, though I did like him very much. But when I learned he had a daughter also—
well
. Then I wanted to know him better, and in time I came to love him. Just as much as I loved your father, though not in the same way, of course. Lord Oliver is a very unique person, you know.”
“Yes, I'm well aware of that,” Julia replied with an understanding quirk of the mouth.
“And when you and Louisa met—you just fit. You were meant to be sisters. You healed each other, and I hadn't even known that you needed healing.”
She gave a pensive sigh. “Oh, Julia. How fortunate you are. You, who could have all the approval and congratulations of the world for joining yourself with a titled gentleman, have nothing to risk but your own heart. And that, as I have told you, is already his, as his is yours.”
Lady Oliver stopped speaking, and she fell into a reverie, her mind dancing back nineteen years to her first love. Julia saw her mother's face turn preoccupied, and she considered her own situation anew.
She felt heavy and sorrowful, thinking of her young mother's terrible loss, with an unborn baby on the way. If that had happened to her—if she had lost James so swiftly and irrevocably—it would be unbearable. But never to see him again, while he lived, would be even worse. It would be a waste. A loss that need never be.
She blinked her eyes wide open, understanding at last. Her mother's sorrow had all been worth it, despite the short duration of her first love. That's what her mother was trying to tell her. It was worth the risk of grief to pursue that bold delight. For if you caught it . . .
Lady Oliver had been fortunate enough to find a second happiness, but she, Julia, would never even have existed if her mother had not pursued her first.
Well. She could do the same, could she not? She felt she owed it to her mother to pursue her own heart's desire—but also, of course, she owed it to herself. And to James. Good heavens, hadn't she already done something similar, forcing the next step by going to his house alone? She had always known within herself, or hoped, what would happen if she did.
So now that she was home and away from London's prying eyes, what did she really want? Despite the long, momentous day and her physical exhaustion from worry and travel, the answers were clear.
She wanted James. She loved him, and she wanted to marry him.
She did
not
want to go back to London for some time.
She did
not
want to see Sir Stephen Saville again for quite a while, either.
And she didn't want to listen to her aunt. She didn't want to wait and see if James would come after her. She wanted, as her mother had said, to do all she could to find him, clear the air, and make him hers.
“All right,” she said with determination. “I'll do it. I'm going to get James.”
Lady Oliver blinked back to the present, and took in Julia's words slowly. Then she beamed a bright, delighted smile at her daughter. “That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you. And for him.”
Julia smiled back, allowing a sense of relief and glee to fill her. She knew what to do. She didn't have to wait for anyone to decide her life for her. She would take the next step herself, and handle the consequences that came.
Then a sudden doubt seized her. “Mama, what should I do to find him? I don't know if he knows where I am, and I don't know if he plans to stay in London either.”
“Hmm.” Lady Oliver pondered this. “We're a day behind in getting the London papers here. Tomorrow we'll receive the one with your, ah, news.”
Julia shuddered. “Could we dispose of that one, please?”
Her mother nodded. “I'll just tell your father that Manderly scorched it with the iron when preparing it to be read. Your father won't think twice about it.”
“Poor Manderly,” Julia said, thinking of how the starchy butler might react to having his skills impugned. Oh, well. She couldn't bear to have her father, or her siblings, or the servants thinking ill of her after reading that scandal item. It was only a matter of time before word got around from the neighboring estates anyway.
Unless she married James, of course. Just another reason to make that happen; she could add that to the hundreds she had already thought of. First of which was, of course, that she desperately wanted to.
“Anyway,” Lady Oliver went on, “by the following day, there may be an item if he has decided to leave for the country. Then you'll know if you should write him in town, or visit him at Nicholls.”
“That makes sense,” Julia said, nodding. More waiting; it seemed endless. “But I want to leave at once.” Never mind that she didn't even know where she ought to go.
“I understand,” her mother soothed. “But—and you must forgive me for once again sounding like your aunt—you'll appear to much better advantage if you rest and bathe before embarking on another journey.”
“Oh.” This sensible remark put a sudden stop to Julia's feeling of desperate longing. She ran a tentative hand over her hair, and could feel the snarls and prickling pins of an untidy coiffure. She looked down at her dress, and admitted the creases in it as well. And now that she thought of it, she wasn't sure she was exactly at her cleanest after a long and traumatic day that involved a close and frantic carriage ride.
“Very well,” she sighed. “I'll wait until I appear to be a decent human being again. Simone will be here sometime soon with the trunks, I hope before nightfall. So I'll take your advice and wait another day—but not a bit longer than that,” she said, a warning light in her eyes.
“I think that sounds delightful,” Lady Oliver said cheerfully. “Now, what's this I heard about you getting some Oiseau gowns? I would love to see them.”
Despite the uncertainties pressing on her mind, this comment provoked Julia into a laugh. “Yes, Mama, I do have the most beautiful dresses. And they look absolutely nothing like Aunt Estella's!”
Chapter 33
In Which Simone Gets Lost
This newspaper is distressed to report the sudden departure of Viscount M——for his country estate. The
ton
will certainly be sorry to lose one of its shining stars, especially one who has provided so much recent interest for the clucking tongues of society matrons. One wonders if he intends also to make a visit to the home of Miss H——, the interesting young female so recently involved with the erstwhile viscount?
So. He was back at Nicholls. And Julia could answer quite decisively, if anyone had cared to ask her, that the “erstwhile viscount” had
not
made a visit to her home.
That meant she would go to his, then. She had already packed her trunk, just in case, and had notified her relatives that she might be leaving again at very short notice. Lady Irving was the only one who had raised any demur to this plan, although after Lady Oliver had taken her aside and talked to her for a solid forty-five minutes, even the countess had finally agreed that Julia might as well “try to bag the rascal” after all. She made Julia promise to take Simone with her if she went anywhere, however, since, she said with a meaningful lift of the eyebrows, it hadn't gone all that well for Julia the last time she went running off to a man's house without the supervision of a maid.
Actually, Julia thought, it had gone rather
too
well, but there was no need to argue with her aunt on this point. She agreed to the company of the French lady's maid, knowing that Simone would be a sensible and efficient traveling companion.
Louisa offered to come along as well, but Julia declined, not wanting to give rise to the polite world's most awkward situation since Miss Lettice Hopston's bosoms had tumbled out of her court dress while curtsying to the queen. Which was to say—since she didn't know how the meeting was going to go, she thought it would be better to have fewer witnesses, and to have none of those witnesses be the viscount's former fiancée, even if that lady also happened to be one of her favorite people in the whole world.
Julia and Simone left for Nicholls within an hour of reading the newspaper with the information on James's location. Lord Oliver was nowhere to be found at the time of departure, and thus had no idea what historic events might be about to take place. But Lady Oliver, Louisa, and Lady Irving all hugged Julia farewell and sent her off with a unique parting message.
“Don't get married away from home, mind you,” Lady Oliver reminded her daughter. “Have him bring you back here once all is settled between you, and we'll read the banns in the Stonemeadows church if he hasn't got a special license.”
“If he hasn't got a special license,” Lady Irving muttered, “he won't be a functional male any more after I'm through with him.” She grumbled on for a few minutes, with only the words “scapegrace” and “the honorable thing” audible to Julia's ears. Finally, with a hard, quick hug, the countess released Julia, adjuring her to return swiftly since she couldn't get along without Simone.
Louisa simply gave Julia a long hug, her dark eyes shining. “Take care,” she whispered. “I hope all shall be well.”
“It shall be,” Julia assured her, “one way or another.”
 
 
She expected that the journey would seem unbearably long, but it passed more quickly than she could ever have hoped. Simone could tell that Julia didn't wish to speak, and the gentle rocking of the carriage lulled the travelers into a state of quiet contemplation.
What was on Simone's mind, Julia couldn't even guess. Her own thoughts spun in circles as she wondered what she would say or do when she saw James. Different scenarios flitted through her mind. Should she be demure and wait for him to apologize? Should she be cold, and allow him to beg her forgiveness? Should she fling herself into his arms? Should she act as if nothing were wrong?
They made only a brief stop at a posting house to change horses and have a quick meal, arriving at Nicholls in early afternoon.
“How do I look?” Julia asked her traveling companion as their carriage pulled into the sweep of the Nicholls drive—which, she noticed vaguely, was now well-graveled and entirely devoid of the terrible ruts that had jostled the carriage on their last visit.
Simone cast appraising eyes up and down Julia's face and form. Wordlessly, she retrained a few curls, adjusted a few hairpins, and brushed at the fabric of Julia's dress, then leaned back to examine her charge.
She nodded, approving her work. “It is not so excellent as I would like,” she admitted, “but it cannot be helped after travel. I think you will do very well for your
monsieur
.”
Julia rolled her eyes and accepted this less than enthusiastic approval. As Louisa had once told her, what seemed like ages ago, her future husband wouldn't mind what she looked like, even if she were wearing a tomatolike costume.
Besides, she knew James so well that she probably
could
dress like a tomato, and it wouldn't affect his response to her. At least, not once he was done laughing.
So. Now it was time to find out what that response would be. She and Simone disembarked from the carriage and were ushered into the house by a butler so correct that he showed absolutely no sign of surprise that two young women, without a bit of baggage, were there to see his lordship. He offered to show them into either the drawing room or into his lordship's study.
Here the dignified servant's mask slipped a bit, and he suggested with a significant twinkle in his eye, “Might I show you into the study? It has been recently refurnished and will be much more comfortable for a discussion of any significant length or import.”
Julia gratefully accepted this suggestion, and the butler deposited the two visitors in the room in question, promising to send in some refreshment to them.
Julia sat down blindly on the first seat she saw and buried her face in her hands. She still had no idea what to say to James. Good heavens, she was going to see him in a very few minutes, and the whole course of her future life depended on what she was going to say to him. Her breathing grew shallow and quick. She was taking such a chance here, and what if it should come to nothing?
“If you will excuse me,
mademoiselle
,” Simone said, tapping Julia on the shoulder to get her attention, “I shall find the
salle des bains
for use after the journey.” Her face neutral, she added, “I do not perfectly recall where any chambers are in this house. It is very possible that I will wander for much time before I am able to return to you.”
Julia smiled at her implied assurance. Her nervousness didn't entirely disappear, but this hint from Simone did dissipate most of it. So she was to be left alone with James, was she? That did make things easier. She could talk to him—oh,
how
she could talk—until everything was understood between them. Until she knew what had happened, and why, and what would come next for them.
It was beginning to feel rather exciting, actually.
“Thank you, Simone,” she replied gravely. “I do hope you don't get too lost, but I am well aware that this is a very large house.”
With a curtsy of agreement, the maid left her alone. Alone to kick her heels against the chair legs as was her wont, waiting impatiently for James to arrive.
“Why am I always having to wait in some stupid chair for him to come to me?” Julia muttered, and at once rose from the chair to pace around the room.
Once she had worked out a bit of her nervous energy, she began to look at her surroundings.
“Why, this is lovely,” she whispered. Here James had finally been able to make the comfortable home for himself that he had never bothered to do in London; here she could at last see his taste given free rein.
And she
liked
it. The walls were painted a warm, muted blue, while a deep-piled Aubusson carpet in rich tones covered most of the dark wood floor. Comfortable chairs and a long sofa provided plenty of space to sit. The room was dominated by a mahogany secretaire, the cabinets of which held an assortment of ledgers and volumes, and the desk of which was covered with a litter of notes, bills, crumpled papers, and a sealed letter. The style of it, and the room's other furnishings, was clean but sturdy, simple, and masculine, with lines lovely to behold.
Rather like their owner, actually.
As Julia was reflecting on this similarity, the door opened behind her. Before Julia could even turn around, arms wrapped around her from behind, and the beloved voice breathed her name in her ear before pressing a kiss onto her neck.
Well. That decided that, she supposed, tilting her head to allow James to kiss her neck again. She need not muck around with some elaborate plan to make him feel guilty, or to trick him into revealing his feelings, since those were abundantly clear.
He was delighted to see her. He must love her.
A breath of relief hissed out of her. She felt as if she'd been holding it for days and could at last relax.
So, she could be dignified and elegant with him. They could discuss the situation calmly and dispassionately, as mature adults.
She whirled furiously about and stomped on James's foot.
“How could you
do
that to me?” she demanded, struggling to get out of his embrace. “How could you send me that terrible letter, and then just
leave
me like that? Didn't you know what people would think of me? Didn't you care anything about me at all?”
All right, so much for dignified and elegant. But at least he understood what she really thought.
Well, maybe he didn't understand. He looked astounded at her sudden reaction and rubbed his injured foot absently behind the calf of his other leg.
Julia struggled to keep from melting back against him. Even flabbergasted, he was the most beautiful person in the world to her, and she wanted to jump into his arms again and never leave.
She turned her thoughts back to the issue at hand with an effort and tried to glower at him, waiting for a response.
“What are you talking about?” James still looked thunderstruck, but at least he put down the foot Julia had stomped on. “I never sent you any letter. All I got was one from your aunt, saying that I shouldn't call on you or write to you ever again. I didn't think you had changed your mind about me, but I thought she had been humiliated by the public attention to our, ah, time together, and wanted to keep us apart.”
Now it was Julia's turn to be shocked. “She sent
what
? Impossible.
I
sent you a letter, telling you to please come for me, for I thought we should be married at once. And,” she added with embarrassed primness, “because it was what I wished for anyway.”
They stared at each other, equally confused and hurt, and then they both spoke at once.
“But it bore her seal—”
“It wasn't your handwriting, but you had sealed it—”
And then, together: “How could you ever think I would send such a thing?”
They glared at each other for a few seconds, and then James's mouth quivered. Julia saw his stern expression crack, then warm into a smile, and then he was laughing, and she was laughing right along with him.
He gathered her into his arms again and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. “Obviously we have a few things to straighten out,” he said, “but I'm just so happy to see you, I can't help myself.”
He tipped her head back and kissed her gently, with the uncertain tenderness of a man who isn't sure whether he has been forgiven. And Julia—the dutiful daughter of the former Elise Crawford, who had compromised herself into gaining the marriage she longed for—took James's face in her hands and kissed him back with a fervor that assured him that not only had he been forgiven, but they had a lot of catching up to do.
James broke off the kiss after a long, heated moment. “My God.”
He stepped back and reached a hand out to Julia. “We'd better have a seat and talk things over before we go on like that. I'm about two seconds away from losing all control, and I know that's not what you need right now.”
Julia allowed him to show her into a chair, but she couldn't resist asking, “What would happen in two more seconds?” She thought she might know the answer, and it brought an impish smile to her face.
He shook his head at her in amazement. “If you keep looking at me like that, you're going to find out.”
Julia covered her mouth, but was unable to suppress a laugh. “Does it involve being unclothed?”
James looked at her sharply. “Yes,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Extremely unclothed.”
Julia's face flushed warm; the heat spread, light and tingling and aware, through her whole body. To be with James again, in that so intimate way—was that why, once again, she had come to his house?
BOOK: Season for Temptation
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