The Officer and the Proper Lady (10 page)

The carriage shifted as people moved about in it. Julia opened her eyes, braced for accusations, but her mother was climbing down and taking the baron's arm and Mr Smyth was getting in.

‘I gave Major Carlow a ribbon as a token for good luck,' she said bluntly, as he sat down opposite her and the others moved away out of earshot. ‘I met him by chance just now. I owe him a great deal for rescuing me from a man who accosted me in the Parc, but it was indiscreet—fast, indeed—of me to have done what I just have.'

‘Indeed.' Smyth frowned. ‘You cannot be unaware of my feelings towards you, Miss Tresilian?'

‘You have been most kind, sir.'

‘I meant more than kindness, Julia.'

Past tense.
She forced a smile. ‘Yes.'

‘Have you an understanding with this man?' He was staring at the floor, his clasped hands between his knees.

Julia stared at his bent head. At least he was not shouting at her. ‘No. I have a sense of obligation and of liking. You see, I wish to be honest with you. He can be very charming. I am also aware that he is not a man that it is right for an un married lady to associate with. My conduct has been…unwise.'

‘Unwise?' He did raise his head at that, his brows drawn hard together. ‘The swine has not—'

‘No! No,' Julia repeated more softly. ‘The major has not
seduced me if that is what concerns you.'
Only stolen my heart.

‘Oh.' Mr Smyth sat back. ‘I see. You greatly relieve my mind. It is your natural amiability and innocence that has led you astray, allowed an unwise friend ship, I can see that now.'

Julia felt faint with relief and then queasy with realization of where this confession had taken her. If Thomas Smyth proposed and she accepted him, but confessed she loved another, then he would be certain it was Hal. And would he believe her protestations of innocence then?

‘Thank you,' she murmured.

‘Julia, this is not the time or the place, but I would speak with you, most earnestly, about the future.' He leaned forward and took her hands in his. ‘May I do that?'

‘Yes. Yes, of course,' she managed. ‘But…next week? When this is behind us?' Somehow, she would work through this moral co nun drum. Duty and loveless security on one hand. Hopeless, one-sided love on the other. It ought to be an easy choice: she just had to summon up the strength to be able to put Hal out of her heart and mind and to tell Thomas Smyth that with a clear conscience.

‘Of course.' Smyth patted her hands. ‘And I will speak to your mother first, of course. Shall we say I may call on the twentieth? In the morning?'

‘Yes.' Julia smiled, summoning up all her courage. ‘Yes. That would be delightful.'

Mr Smyth glanced around, but there was no-one in their vicinity and the nearest spectators were looking down the course to where the next race was being marshalled at the starting line.

‘Miss Tresilian—Julia.'

‘Yes?' she said, braced for further difficult questions.

‘Forgive me, but my ardour—' He leaned forward, caught
her hands in his and pulled her to him. ‘You look so en chanting.' And then he kissed her.

Ever since the moment when Hal had made love to her in the woodland glade, Julia had been dreaming about his kiss, the touch of his hands. It had never occurred to her that another man, one on the brink of proposing to her, would expect to kiss her, but obviously he would. She fought her instinctive recoil and closed her eyes.

Thomas Smyth's lips were warm and dry and pressed lightly on hers. Was that it? Did he expect her to do something? With Hal, her instincts had taken over; now, she felt nothing. Julia pressed back tentatively, and he put his hands on her shoulders and held her. The pressure continued. Julia opened her eyes and found that his were closed. It was difficult to see properly at such close range, but he appeared to be enjoying the sensation.

She ought to concentrate. It was going to be her duty to kiss this man—and more. Her mind skittered away from the thought of any greater intimacy. He smelt quite nice, of plain soap and starch. He tasted of tooth powder and tea, neither of which were very exciting. It was all most respectful and not at all alarming.

Julia realized that what she wanted was not something respectful. She wanted Hal's thoroughly shocking kiss, she wanted to be held force fully in strong arms, she wanted to be excited and alarmed and…ravished. Well, perhaps not that, exactly. She wanted the illusion of ravishment, to experience again the sensation that the man holding her was barely in control of his emotions, he was so excited by what he was doing. She wanted Hal, wicked and experienced and intoxicated by her.

‘Forgive me.'

She was placed care fully back in her seat and Thomas was sitting looking at her, his eyes faintly glazed. Julia supposed
that was flattering, although what they had done hardly seemed sufficient to glaze any man's eyes.

‘Of course.' She should be exhibiting maidenly confusion at what he would think was her first kiss: Julia dropped her gaze and managed a faint smile. She could not force a blush. Then she thought about Hal and felt her cheeks glow.

‘I was overcome by your beauty.'

She nearly looked up, incredulous. That really was coming it too strong! She looked well enough but she was no beauty either. Perhaps the poor man really was in love with her. How awful if he was. Her conscience gave her a painful nudge.

‘Oh look, here comes Mama.' Julia had the lowering suspicion that her mother had left the carriage just so Thomas could kiss her.

‘Perhaps it is as well,' he said, his voice thrumming with a passion that his kiss had most certainly not held.

‘Yes,' Julia agreed. ‘Perhaps it is.'

J
ulia studied the guests mingling in the large salon at Lady Conynham's party the next night. She had furbished up her ball gown with new ribbons, keeping the brand new one for Lady Richmond's ball the following evening, and she felt she did not cut too poor a figure amongst the guests. All of the Ladies of the Parc were there of course, many of the dip lo mats and dozens of officers.

It was rumoured that the duke would be late, and that fact, in its turn, fostered even more rumours. Napoleon was on the march, some whispered. The French had crossed the frontier, or perhaps they were poised to do so. The Duchess of Richmond, it was said, had asked the duke if she should go ahead with her plans, and he had replied, ‘Duchess, you may give your ball with the greatest safety, without fear of interruption.' So surely there was no need for concern?

‘Miss Tresilian, I was hoping to see you here.' It was Captain Grey, smiling down at her, a comforting figure despite his height and fearsome whiskers. ‘I have something for you.' He delved in his pocket and produced a tight roll of paper, hand
ing it over under cover of a flower-filled urn. ‘Your winnings on Chiltern Lad.'

‘Thank you!' It felt like quite a lot. Julia tucked it into her reticule, wishing she could count it. But she must not be seen taking money from a man.

‘Thank Carlow and that horse of his,' he said with a grin. ‘May I fetch you some refreshments?'

‘I would like a glass of lemonade, but I will walk over to the buffet with you.' She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, comfortable to be with a man for whom all she felt was mild liking. ‘Major Carlow rides very well.'

‘He has no nerves, the devil's own courage and the lightest hands I ever saw,' his friend said warmly. ‘And so long as I can keep putting money on him, I am never going to be in need of funds.'

‘He said he was a lucky gambler,' she observed, fanning herself as they made their way through the hot, crowded room. It was a sinful luxury to be able to talk about Hal.

‘He is. Lucky with cards, lucky in er… Just generally lucky,' the captain finished lamely.

‘In love?' Julia could not resist teasing him even if the thought was painful. But of course Hal was involved with women. Lots of them, she was sure. And love would not come into those liaisons. They would be relationships of pure passion. She felt quite strange inside, even thinking about it.

Captain Grey made an uncomfortable, throat-clearing noise and covered it by hailing a waiter. Julia sipped her lemonade and wondered if Hal was there.

‘Miss Tresilian,' said a voice behind her. She took such a sharp breath that the lemonade went up her nose, leaving her coughing and spluttering.

‘Lord, I am sorry! Here, take my handkerchief.' Through streaming eyes, she saw Hal produce an immaculate white square and shake it out.

‘Thank you.' She buried her face in it, certain that half the guests would be staring at the exhibition she was making of herself. One of the men took her elbow. She looked over the edge of the linen and saw it was Hal.

‘Come on, I'll take you across to the retiring room.' Blind, she let him guide her across the room while she sneezed and coughed. Then the noise dropped and she realized they were out of the doors. ‘Here, it is just down that corridor.'

Julia emerged from the handkerchief and managed a sticky, watery smile. ‘Oh dear. Did I make a total exhibition of myself?'

‘Not at all. I could hear Will saying something about you being attacked by a wasp. I am sorry.' His lips were twitching and she could hardly blame him: she must look a sight. ‘I made you jump.'

‘We were just talking about you.' She should go and make herself presentable, but somehow she could not make her feet obey her.

‘You were?' He was smiling now and his eyes were almost blue. Julia smiled back, warm and happy just to be with him when he was so obviously glad to be with her. He looked well, less drawn than she recalled. The dark shadows had gone from under his eyes.

‘Captain Grey gave me my winnings,' she explained. ‘Are you…were you ill? Only you look different, as though you had been unwell and are better now.' He went still and she cursed herself for tactlessness.

‘I have not been drinking brandy for a few days,' he said. ‘I had not realized it made a difference to how I look.'

‘Not drinking? Why? Oh, I beg your pardon, it is none of my business.' Why did she feel she could say any thing to him? And why did she forget her manners and do so?

‘No, of course you may ask.' He looked rueful. ‘I thought
perhaps you would prefer it if I gave it up. I did tell you, at the picnic, that I was attempting to reform, did I not?'

‘So, that means you have given up strong liquor and, I believe you implied, bits of um…muslin,' she said, very daring. He nodded, his eyes laughing at her. ‘Which leaves gaming and fighting, does it not?'

‘It does.'

‘And so long as you remain lucky with the gaming, I suppose that is not so bad.'

‘Have you no opinion on fighting?' He had moved very close now. She could see the grain of his close-shaven beard and the tiny details of the gold braid of the frogging on his jacket. The corridor seemed suddenly short of air. Her head began to spin.

‘I found it exciting, when you hit Major Fellowes,' she admitted, shocking herself and startling him.

‘Oh, Julia.' His eyes were very definitely blue now and she had a disturbing mental image of that stained-glass window of the falling archangel. A tempter. His voice had become husky. ‘You say such provoking things.'

She could feel the blush sweeping up from her toes, even as she spun round and ran, down the corridor and through the door into the ladies' retiring room. Two matrons looked up from the sofa, their stares congealing into disapproval at her precipitate entry and her flushed and streaked face.

‘Excuse me,' she blurted out. ‘Wasp,' and hurried into the inner room to splash cool water on her face.

Exciting. Of all the things to say! And it was true, that is what is so awful. And he found my reaction arousing.
There had been no mistaking the lookin those wicked blue eyes, even for someone as sheltered and in experienced as she was. They burned with the heat and the focus of a hunting cat. And she had been the mouse, foolishly playing between the cat's paws.

Julia stared at her flushed face in the mirror and tried for some semblance of calm. Her pupils were wide, her cheeks still pink, and her mouth, for some reason, seemed swollen. As though he had kissed it and not just looked as though he wanted to ravage it.

After careful work with rice powder and ten minutes sitting out, Julia felt strong enough to go back. The room was full of uniforms now, and there was a strange atmosphere, as though everyone was listening, taut, for a clap of thunder.

She wove her way through the talking groups, trying to find someone she knew, or catch a hint of what was causing the tension. The officers seemed more alert, taller—which was absurd. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Julia found herself facing a sober suit of black, immaculate but plain white linen and the rounded and stubborn jaw of the Reverend Thomas Smyth.

‘Mr Smyth.' Julia managed a creditable smile, despite her surprise. ‘I had no idea you were here.' He frowned. ‘Why is everyone so strange? I was sitting out for a while, and when I got back, the atmosphere had quite changed.'

‘Napoleon is at the border,' he said.

‘They've been saying that for weeks,' Julia shrugged, tired of rumour and false alarms.

‘No, this is from a military despatch. We must assume it is accurate. That is why I am here, to find you.'

‘You mean you were not invited?' He shook his head impatiently. ‘And why the urgency? Napoleon can hardly reach Brussels so very fast, surely?'

‘Within days,' he said tersely, drawing her into a curtained alcove at the side of the room. ‘I would wish to make your status as my affianced wife official, to be in a position where I may organise the travel arrangements for your family. We must leave tomorrow.'

‘My status?' Something very like panic swept through her,
the urge to turn and run was so great she had to grip the back of a chair to steady herself. ‘But you have not asked me. Mr Smyth—Thomas—you are presuming a great deal.'

‘Then I will ask you now.' He took both her hands in his and stood staring down with an expression she could only describe as grim. This was hardly the romantic proposal a girl dreamed of. ‘Will you do me the honour, Julia, of becoming my wife? Naturally, I will ask Mrs Tresilian formally as you have no male relative here.'

‘I…well…'

‘You can hardly protest that this is sudden,' he said. ‘Not after our conversation at the races. I am not given to kissing young ladies to whom I am not about to declare myself, believe me.'

That was obvious,
Julia thought, recalling that luke warm caress. ‘No, of course not,' she agreed.

‘I have made up my mind and fixed my intention upon you, Julia,' he said with the air of a man about to embark upon a well-conned speech. ‘I am convinced that the occasional irregularity of moral purpose, the impulsive lack of discretion that was obvious at the races and that I observed tonight is something that can be overcome and that you will make an excellent wife for a man of the cloth.'

For a moment, she was so taken aback that she gaped at him. ‘Lack of discretion? Tonight? What do you mean?' True, she had inhaled lemonade and spluttered and choked, but that was hardly indicative of—
what did he say?
—irregularity of moral purpose.

‘I saw you, Julia,' Thomas said, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘First you were flirting with the large officer with the whiskers and then you left the room with that rake Carlow.'

‘If you thought that I was engaged in an amorous encounter with Major Carlow,' she said coldly, ‘then I am surprised you did not come to confront us. I told you that he and I are not…
have not… Oh!' She glared at him. ‘I am not conducting any sort of flirtation with Major Carlow or anyone else, and let that be the end of it. Either you believe me or you do not. And if you do not—'

‘Yes, I believe you,' Thomas said hastily. ‘But, dearest Julia, it is in cum bent upon you to learn discretion. You will be the example to all the ladies of the parish, you must be above reproach in your be ha vi our.'

‘I have not yet said
Yes,
' she pointed out. This was even worse than Charles Fordyce's jealousy. Thomas would lecture her, would disapprove and would then forgive her for every little slip. Julia was suddenly utterly convinced that she could not bear to be constantly forgiven.

‘Yes, my dear, but you must see—'

‘I see only that we will not suit, Mr Smyth,' she said firmly. ‘I thank you for your most flattering offer and your most Christian forgiveness, but I will not marry you.'

‘Julia!' He took her arm as she lifted the curtain to step out. ‘Have you been toying with me? I did not think it of you.'

‘My intentions were most certainly not to toy with your affections, sir.' She winced inwardly at the jolt to her conscience. She should have been stronger, clearer in her mind. She should have run every time she saw Hal Carlow, and erased him from her head and her heart. But it seemed she was not that strong. ‘I had thought that we would suit, but I thought I knew you better than it seems I do, and you have an image of me that is, perhaps, in ac cu rate. It is better that we find these things out now, is it not?'

‘I am sure it is.' He bowed stiffly. ‘And it will be a lesson to me to be more careful in the future.'

Thomas thought her a flirt and a tease, she could see he did. And his crime had been to be dull and worthy and a little sanctimonious. Perhaps he was right about her. Julia pulled
her arm free, pushed the curtain aside and almost ran from the alcove.

The buzz of conversation was louder in the room. As she hurried towards the exit, she heard snatches of conversation:…
cross the Sambre, I have no doubt… Prussians will have to hold them
…
best to go to Antwerp now, by canal boat… God, I'm looking forward to this.

The last speaker stopped her in her tracks. He was one of a group of young infantry officers, their eyes alight with excitement as they argued and talked.

They want this fight, they want this great battle and the death and the glory and the blood shed,
she thought, turning away, sick at heart.
Thank goodness, there is the door, and no-one I know standing there.
And instead of Mama being able to leave Brussels with the support of a future son-in-law, they must rely on the baron and their own wits. And somewhere to the south, Hal would be fighting. He could be wounded, killed perhaps. And somehow that would all be her fault too.

Julia ducked though the knot of people into the front hall. She could ask a footman to take a note to Lady Geraldine and call her a cab. If she stayed here a minute longer—

‘Yes, you'll get your battle, Bredon, I'm sure of it.' It was Hal talking to a slightly younger man in the scarlet coat and yellow reveres of one of the infantry regiments. There was a black mourning ribbon around his left arm. Brown haired, his face seemed made for laughter. Something about him reminded Julia of an eager hound.

They were all going to be killed, all the young men…

‘Miss Tresilian, what is wrong?' Hal had seen her. Had the man eyes in the back of his head? Julia forced back the threatening tears and shook her head, unable to speak.

‘Rick.' Hal turned to the young man. ‘Go and find Lady Geraldine Masters. Take her aside and tell her Miss
Tresilian is unwell and I am putting her in a cab home. Discreetly now.'

‘Sir. As if it were my sister's reputation.' He flashed a smile at Julia and walked briskly off.