Season for Temptation (9 page)

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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Temptation
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“No, you're right, young missy,” Lady Irving agreed with Louisa. “She'll do better in her own house. Closer to the surgeon's, for one thing, in case he should be needed. But also, no telling how long she'll be laid up.”
The countess considered. “I can take her back to Stonemeadows, and you and Simone can stay here and complete your visit. Stay longer than we planned, even, if you like.”
Louisa shook her head. “That will never do, ma'am. You know perfectly well you can't get along without Simone; you need her to arrange you every morning, and she makes you comfortable throughout the day.”
“Very true,” her ladyship acknowledged, running prideful hands over the bright green brocade of her gown. “I would never be able to trick myself out in style without her help.”
James rolled his eyes. If Lady Irving's taste was in the common style, he was . . . well, he was a baboon.
“I suppose,” Louisa replied, “we will all have to go home again.” She fixed her eyes on James and looked genuinely disappointed. “I am very sorry, but I think it's for the best.”
She cast a longing look around the library, over the pile of scattered books on the floor. “I wish I could stay longer.”
James forced a smile to his face. “I'm gratified to hear it.”
He looked at the small figure on the sofa, lying as flat and still as if she had been ironed. She looked so pitiful; his heart turned over.
“I feel just terrible about your sister's fall.”
“Please don't,” Louisa assured him. “It was an accident, and she'll be fine. No power on earth could have kept her off that ladder once she decided it sounded fun.”
“Well, I'm very sorry to have you go. But I have to say, I think she will be much more comfortable with you beside her.”
Louisa's smile was sweet, her eyes a bit teary. “Thank you,” she said, clasping his hands gently, “for understanding.” She wrapped him in a quick, affectionate hug that surprised the breath out of his body.
Lady Irving was already summoning the capable Simone, who at once began to give orders to have trunks packed and the carriage brought round.
And that was that.
Before the afternoon was out, James saw them on their way, crammed into the carriage like tinned fish so that Julia's injured foot could be propped up on the opposite seat. Poor girl; she leaned hard on him to walk to the carriage, and thanked him sweetly although he could see she was in pain.
“I'll never be a baboon again,” she promised.
He laughed, and apologized again to her, and to Lady Irving and Louisa.
The betrothed couple parted with a proper kiss on the cheek; honestly, he had been so distracted, he didn't even try to embrace Louisa in a more romantic way. He was too busy thinking of how he'd fallen short as a host, and as a future husband.
He had failed to keep them comfortable, entertained, and safe. He had failed even to keep them
there
. He didn't think they had taken it amiss . . . but still, would any of them want to come back, ever?
He remembered the warm, fragile feeling of Julia's body, leaning against his for support as she walked out to the carriage. He remembered Louisa's hug of affection.
He wished they would all come back, so he could try again, and get it right this time.
Chapter 9
In Which Portugal Is Lost
To Julia's dismay, her ankle took weeks to mend.
The first week was unbearable. She spent what felt like every waking minute trapped on a sofa or lying in her bed. She could hardly believe her own stupid clumsiness, which had caused them all to leave Nicholls early and miss out on so much of James's company.
The second week began as badly, but then it brought a letter from James that Louisa read aloud to the family. The letter mentioned Julia's name twice and inquired very kindly about her health. That day actually went pretty well.
Weeks three, four, and five of Julia's convalescence brought more letters for Louisa. She no longer read them aloud to the family. She hummed through the days, wrote long letters to James, and seemed delighted when she received a reply—which she always did, promptly.
She happened to open one of James's letters once in Julia's presence, and Julia caught a glimpse of what looked like a list.
“Excellent,” Louisa had breathed, skimming the missive.
“What's excellent?” Julia had been unable to resist asking.
Recalled to herself, Louisa flushed. “I just had some questions for James. Relating to, um, Nicholls.”
Julia instantly lost interest. She didn't want to hear about Nicholls, about Louisa's and James's future life together. She couldn't bear the thought of Louisa leaving her, though she knew that was illogical and inevitable.
And maybe she didn't quite like to think of James married, either. Weren't they all content and happy as they were? Couldn't things just continue on like this? Why did everyone have to keep talking about him and Louisa getting married all the time?
It was six weeks and two days before Julia was able to test her ankle again. Six weeks and two days since she'd seen James, hurt herself, and left Nicholls.
Six weeks and two days of being a fool.
Usually she loved autumn, but this year, it seemed melancholy. She missed James's face, his voice, his smile.
She missed seeing him frown at her when she said something outrageous (usually unwittingly), or making him smile when she did something ridiculous (also usually unwittingly). She just missed . . .
him
.
Winter began early, with a biting cold that promised to be both long and severe. Julia's mood lifted somewhat when she was allowed back on her feet again in November, but as Christmas drew nearer, the coziness of the season didn't cheer her as it usually did.
She tried her best to wrap herself in glee, helping her small siblings poke silver trinkets into the plum pudding that would soak in brandy for the weeks until Christmas dinner. She helped the cook bake treats—and sample them: glossy jam tarts, Yule cakes, a gingerbread full of enough sweet spices to make an Elizabethan explorer swoon. She cut strips of paper for the children to paste into links, and laughed when they coiled so many paper chains around their father's favorite chair that it looked like a paper mill had spun a cocoon. Greenery was cut; the everyday tallow candles were exchanged for sweet-scented beeswax, and warm, spicy smells filled the house.
But beneath Julia's smile, her gloom weighed on her. She was penned inside the house by the numbing cold; she missed the company of her sister, who spent much time in the library writing letters to James.
In between crafting amusements for the children, then, she paced Stonemeadows. She tried to walk away from her dull feeling, leaving it behind in some neglected attic or cellar, but it inevitably found her again. Lady Irving finally told her in annoyance that Julia only needed a set of chains to look like the home's resident ghost, wandering the corridors, muttering and pale.
But in mid-December, a letter arrived that changed everything. James had written another of his long lists to Louisa, who pored over it eagerly as usual. This time, though, when she read the end of the letter, her eyebrows knit in sudden displeasure.
“No,” she said in a flat voice.
Lady Oliver and Julia looked up at her, startled, from the floor, where they were helping Elise, Emilia, Anne, and Tom put together a puzzle map of Europe. Tom was very little help, being scarcely past the age where he liked to put bright-colored objects in his mouth, and his sisters forbore his desire to work on the puzzle with grudging impatience.
“Is something wrong, Louisa?” Lady Oliver asked with concern, then immediately diverted her attention back to the four small children beside her. “Tom, don't eat France; it's nasty. Can you help your sisters find where France goes? Emilia, can you show him?”
The girl sighed and shoved the offending country into place. Julia praised her, then looked up questioningly at Louisa.
Louisa pressed her lips together and was silent for several seconds, her eyes unreadable. “I've received an invitation that I don't wish to accept,” she finally said.
“An invitation? Who on earth from?” Julia wondered. She realized that wasn't exactly tactful, and explained, “I mean, it's just that we are quiet here. I didn't mean people shouldn't be inviting you out all the time, because they should—at least, if there were many people around.”
“I know what you mean,” Louisa assured her. “It's . . .” She trailed off, then drew in her breath. “James's family wants me to spend Christmas with them in London.”
“Wonderful!” Lady Oliver squealed, tossing the puzzle map's Portugal gleefully into the air.
Julia said, “Oh.”
Louisa looked appreciatively at her sister. “I can see you understand, Julia. Mama, I don't wish to go. I've never spent Christmas away from home, and, honestly, I am terrified of James's family. I haven't spoken to them much and I'm quite sure they don't approve of me.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Oliver replied, distracted, as she began to look under furniture for the displaced country. “Portugal, where are you?” she crooned.
“I think it is a good sign that they want to have you there,” Julia said bracingly. “It shows that they want to welcome you into the family.”
“Maybe.” Louisa looked doubtful. “But I had in my mind that I wouldn't have to go back to London until February at least. This is just so soon.”
“But you want to see James again, right? You'll get to see him again?” Julia asked.
“Yes, of course. Yes, he'll be there,” Louisa said vaguely.
Julia scrutinized her. What was she thinking of? How could she not want, with every fiber of her body, to go to London and see James and his family?
Granted, she had never met James's family, but if they were anything like him, she was sure they must be delightful.
“What if we go now?” Louisa finally spoke.
At the puzzled expressions of both Julia and Lady Oliver (who was still looking for the lost Portugal, ably assisted by her younger children, who were eager to finish their map), Louisa explained herself. “You and I, Julia. What if we could persuade our aunt to go to London now, and we could both go? I am sure you would be as welcome as I at Matheson House for Christmas. Would you like that?”
“Oh, yes!” Julia shrieked, clapping her hands together.
Louisa looked happier at once. Lady Oliver protested that she couldn't, just couldn't, let both of her girls go to London for Christmas; they would be missed too much. Who would hang the mistletoe? Who would lead the family in carols? But Louisa's expression turned stubborn, and when she informed her parent that she simply wouldn't go if Julia didn't go with her, then everything seemed to be decided.
It remained only to persuade Lady Irving, who at first described Louisa's idea of requiring her sister's companionship in London as “rot.” But when presented with the alternative—Louisa not going to London, an irrevocable slight being dealt to a powerful family, the engagement being endangered—she had to recognize inevitable defeat.
“Well played, my girl,” she acknowledged the maneuver. “You're getting more and more suited for the
ton
already.” She sighed with dismay. “I do hate the greasy London winters, though. And one feels so unfashionable being there year-round.”
“Viscountess Matheson never leaves London,” Louisa pointed out.
“Yes, well, that began because of her husband's gout, and now it's due to sheer laziness,” Lady Irving informed her. “I would rather be struck dead in my bed than have anyone think me too lazy to travel.”
“Aunt, you are in no danger of having anyone think you the tiniest bit lazy,” Julia replied truthfully.
“We'll have to stay through to the season.” Lady Irving nodded, tapping her chin in thought. “Julia, you'll have to have an entire wardrobe made before you're fit for the young bucks to look at. And you, Louisa, have to put together a trousseau.
And
plan the wedding. Maybe even go through with the blasted thing, if one can be permitted to utter those words in this house,” she grumbled. “Yes, it's quite a good idea at that. London's where you'll both need to be for the time being.”
Louisa looked taken aback, but Julia hardly noticed. She could scarcely believe how much the world had changed today. This morning, months of cold, gray, quiet days had lain between her and the season. Now she was going to London, and better still, she would get to see James.
At last, Christmas cheer bubbled up within her.
Chapter 10
In Which a Friendly Embrace Is MoreThan It Should Be
Christmas Eve dawned crisp and lovely. However, none of the inhabitants of Lady Irving's stately town house were aware of the weather at dawn, as they were all still sleeping following a day of travel. In fact, Julia, exhausted from a sleepless night, only awoke when Louisa shook her gently and told her that James was downstairs.
She sat upright in an instant, sleep abolished. “What!” she shrieked.
Louisa laughed. “It's past noon. There's nothing very unusual about him coming by at this hour.”
“Why didn't anyone wake me?” Julia frantically tossed her bedcovers aside and began hunting for something to put on. “
Where
are my clothes? Why the devil did I sleep so late?”
“Julia,” Louisa gently reproved her.
“Sorry; of course I meant, ‘why the deuce did I sleep so late,'” Julia dutifully replied, rolling her eyes.
She paused in her frenzied attempt to find where her trunks were stowed, and took in Louisa's appearance. The tall girl's hair was glossy and well dressed; her pale primrose gown was simply cut but elegant, and trimmed with intricate silk knots and a row of bugles.
“Why, you look wonderful,” she squeaked. “Even for you. I mean, your general appearance has a pretty high level of wonderful, but today it is especially so.”
To her surprise, Louisa blushed. “Oh, well, thanks,” she said dismissively, but she smiled all the same. “I . . . I suppose I didn't want to be a discredit to James when I met his family. Actually,
we
are going to meet his family.”
Louisa's expression turned guilty, and she admitted, “I've never met the viscountess before, but I know James thinks she's rather intimidating. So if you don't mind, we'll all go together. I feel I could use the support of your presence. James has already agreed that it sounds delightful. And of course it would be nicest to spend Christmas Eve all together, don't you think?” Her voice sounded hopeful, wheedling.
Julia didn't need to be wheedled at all. “Of course! I'm absolutely rabid to meet the woman who was girlhood friends with Lady Irving.” She grinned mischievously. “Do you think they'll have a fight while we're there?”
She was only teasing, but Louisa looked worried. “I hope not. I want our visit to go as well as possible. Do you think my aunt would be offended if I asked her to be calm and not provoke anyone?”
“Not a bit, but she'll probably decide to be on her worst and most flamboyant behavior if you do,” Julia decided. “Better not to say anything. She wants this to go well, too, you know. We all do,” she added self-consciously.
Louisa nodded her understanding, and then looked around the room. “They can't have unpacked your clothing without your hearing, can they?” She looked in the wardrobe, and was greeted by a neat arrangement of garments.
She shot a skeptical look at Julia. “I know Simone is very good at what she does, but no one is
that
good. How could you not hear her unpacking you?”
“What? Those can't be my clothes.” Julia came over to examine them. “Well. They are my clothes. I'll be—”
“Julia,” Louisa said again, reprovingly.
“I'll be
delighted
,” Julia finished. “Actually, I really am pretty delighted to see them unpacked. And I'm surprised. I guess I was sleeping more deeply than I realized.”
She shooed Louisa out and asked her to send in Simone to help her dress and make herself presentable. “Don't let James leave until I see him,” she warned.
“Silly.” Louisa smiled. “We'll be over there for an early supper and will see him all evening.”
“But I don't want to wait that long,” Julia exclaimed. Then, embarrassed at her unguarded tongue, she busied herself sorting through her dresses for something fit to wear to meet a viscountess.
More quickly than she would have imagined possible, Simone's deft fingers had teased the snarls out of her hair and selected one of her myriad white gowns.
“This is nothing special,” the Frenchwoman explained dismissively of the garment as she helped Julia into it, “but at least it will not offend the fashionable. When we are able to visit a
modiste
, then we will choose beautiful garments for you.”
At Julia's look of interest, she clarified, “They will naturally be dresses that are also appropriate for a young woman who is not married. Yes, I know that expression of
joie
; you are truly your aunt's niece. You must trust in Simone for
couture
, if you please.”
Julia looked at herself in the glass. Pale, plain, boring. Lank hair. White dress. Circles under her eyes. Cheeks flushed from hurry. It was all rather discouraging. But James might get tired of waiting if she didn't appear downstairs soon.
“Can I at least wear ostrich plumes with the dress?” she asked hopefully. “Louisa said they are shockingly expensive, so they must be all the rage.”
“They are very wrong for today, when you are to spend Christmas Eve with one who is like a relative,” Simone explained as she coiled Julia's hair into a simple, neat chignon.
“How do you do that?” Julia breathed, gingerly touching the roll of hair. “I always have to use about a hundred pins to make it stay in place.”
“That is why I am I, and you are you,” Simone replied in her light accent, with considerable pride. “Go on and see your man now.”
“He's not
my
man,” Julia corrected, feeling her face turn a treacherous red.
“I am sorry, I did not express myself well,” Simone said with a small smile. “Go and see the man who is here to visit you all.”
Julia nodded uncertainly and headed downstairs to the drawing room.
And there he was.
She'd waited so long to see James, and there he was at last. His light brown hair was shorter, his clothes finer, his build a bit leaner than the last time she had seen him. She noticed every difference even as she savored the sight of him.
She was a fool, she knew, but she was a willing one. It was just so
good
to see him, to have him around again.
Overcome, she grinned and launched herself toward him. Forgetting where she was or who was watching, she dashed up to greet him with an embrace as she would a member of her family—then skidded to a stop, suddenly recollecting herself when only a step away from embarrassment, and bobbed into the most awkward curtsy she'd ever managed. James, for his part, reached out a hand to shake hers, then began to bow, then reached out in response to the beginning of her attempted hug, then collected himself and bowed again. As they both straightened up, they were aware of Lady Irving and Louisa staring at them, puzzled, and Julia's chagrined blue eyes met James's green gaze.
They looked ridiculous, they both realized at once, and they burst into laughter. James wrapped Julia in a friendly hug, holding her so tight he actually lifted her feet off the floor.
“It's wonderful to see you,” he said gruffly. “Happy Christmas.”
My dear,
she thought.
Call me “my dear.”
He didn't, of course. He never would. But held close to him, Julia's heart pounded all the same. She felt short of breath, and not because he was holding her so tightly. He was here, and he was holding her, and just for a second, she wiped from her mind that nagging awareness that he wasn't here for her.
Just for that precious second, she allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder, allowed the feel of his arms to imprint her body with their heat and strength.
But just for one second. Then she pressed her arms against his chest as a signal to set her down.
He did at once, but she remained standing next to him, too close for propriety, but unable to step away. The warmth of his arms still soaked through her, heating her whole body and, she knew, turning her face pink with awareness. She felt such joy at seeing him, she could hardly contain it. And yet she had no words of greeting; no words at all, which was a shock for her to realize. Usually words spilled out of her unbidden. But for James, she had nothing. Perhaps there was nothing she needed to say.
She became suddenly self-conscious and realized that she was behaving in an improper fashion. She took a giant step backward and clasped her hands behind her back to keep them from treacherously reaching out for James again. She glanced at Louisa, who seemed to be amused. Lady Irving, fortunately, was digging distractedly through her reticule by now. To Julia, seeing James again after weeks apart seemed the first sun after a long winter; to Lady Irving, it was just the beginning of a dinner engagement.
Noting Julia's unease, James covered for her hesitation with the smooth presence of mind of the nobility. “Now that we are all here, shall we go? I'm sure my mother's impatient for her dinner. You know how it is, ma'am, when you get to be a certain age.”
This last remark, unmistakably directed at Lady Irving, broke the spell of silence that was making Julia feel so discomfited. The barb was tempered with a mischievous smile that drew an unwilling cough of startled amusement from her ladyship.
“You young rogue,” she replied in cheerful tones, and allowed him to escort her downstairs to the front door.
“Here goes nothing,” Louisa murmured to Julia as they followed behind.
“Not at all,” Julia replied, attempting to hearten her sister. “Here comes a delightful Christmas Eve dinner with your future family, who will love you at once. It's going to be marvelous.”
If only she had been right.

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