His smile grew as he considered his mother’s reaction, were she to hear a conversation turn to excrement or fish guts. It would be amazing. Would the oh-socorrect viscountess have the vapors, or would she throw a tantrum? He wasn’t sure, but either way, he’d love to see it.
“So,” said Lord Oliver, serving himself with gusto from the much-maligned dish of trout, “tell us about how you and James met, Louisa. Of course I was happy to agree to the match, but your letters didn’t include much information.”
Louisa looked down at her plate. “There’s not much to tell, Papa,” she said tonelessly. “We met at a ball near the end of the season. He courted me afterward, under Aunt Estella’s chaperonage. You know how these things are.”
Was that how it had gone? James could hardly recall now, it had happened so fast. When his sister’s marriage had dissolved in scandal, his mother had summoned him to London in no uncertain terms to find a suitable wife, set up his own household, and help restore the family name. And there was no denying the dowager viscountess when she sent one of her summons. The woman could be positively frightening, even if she was his mother.
He’d chosen his future bride quickly, but he had chosen well. Logically. Appropriately. He knew that, as certainly as he knew that Louisa wanted to change the subject.
She’d been willing to make her choice hastily as well. He wondered why.
Julia was having difficulty following the dinner conversation. Which was unusual, since lively chatter was as much her meat and drink as the courses laid upon the table.
But tonight, she didn’t want to listen to Louisa and James tell their story of love. She’d rather push her food around on her plate, unseeing. Or maybe throw it. At least a pea or two.
Something wasn’t quite right about the conversation, though. She could sense that much, even through whatever it was that was making her feel so odd. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing her sister’s downturned face. Was Louisa blushing? She was.
As Louisa spoke, a knot in Julia’s chest distracted her from her sister’s words. She turned away from the table and tried, discreetly, to press it away with the flat of her hand. Where had that come from? She must be choking on her food without realizing it.
It didn’t feel like choking, though. More like . . . smothering.
She took a deep breath to ease the tightness, and it went away. Until she looked up again, and saw James fixing his eyes on Louisa, and Louisa looking back at James at last, a whole host of unspoken words passing between them. And then the knot came back again.
Oh, dear.
She must be uncomfortable seeing them look at each other. Surely that was it. It seemed wrong to trespass on an engaged couple’s conversation.
And yet, she didn’t want to leave. No power on earth could have pulled her from that table, and those green eyes that she had lit—yes, she herself—with such warmth and humor earlier in the afternoon.
Those eyes were cooler now, shuttered, though his voice was perfectly polite and gentlemanly.
“Louisa was quite alone in the library,” James explained, as Lord and Lady Oliver chuckled. “In my ignorance of Alleyneham House, I blundered in there thinking it was the card room.
“I collected that she wasn’t interested in company, or in dancing, since she was in seclusion during the grandest ball of the season. There was also the fact that she gave me a piece of her mind as soon as I stepped into the room.”
This, at last, drew Julia’s attention. Such rudeness was unlike Louisa. But then again, her sister had been a remarkably poor correspondent during her stay in London, and none of them had known much about James until his formal letter arrived requesting Louisa’s hand from Lord Oliver. Perhaps James had acted like a boor? No, that was impossible. Louisa would never have agreed to marry such a man.
“Louisa, what on earth did you say to him?” she blurted.
It made sense to ask, she justified to herself. She always loved a story that included a good emotional outburst. Purely for intellectual reasons, of course. She simply wanted to build her vocabulary. It had nothing to do with her sister’s relationship with James.
Louisa turned even redder, and James laughed, a pleasant low ripple that Julia felt through to her very core.
“She said—and I do believe I remember every word exactly, because I was so surprised—‘If you are inebriated, please go out to the balcony for some fresh air. Do not be ill around me, or around all these gorgeous books that no one ever reads.’”
“In my defense, you were hardly the first person to enter the library that night,” Louisa explained. “But you were by far the most sober.”
“I was completely sober,” James insisted. “I just didn’t know the house very well.”
“Louisa can always find the library in a house,” Julia broke in. “It’s like an extra sense she has.”
As several pairs of eyes turned to her in surprise at this interjection, self-consciousness heated Julia’s face, and she knew her own cheeks must be as pink as Louisa’s.
Drat. She hadn’t meant to draw everyone’s attention to herself.
Just perhaps one particular person’s.
Since everyone was already staring at her, she tried to fix the situation. She’d never yet found a conversation that couldn’t be diverted if you threw enough words into its flow. Since her sister still looked embarrassed, she began with compliments.
“Louisa’s read more than anyone I can think of, and she’s the smartest person I know. I know for a fact she’s read every book in the library here. Even the dull old books of sermons our grandfather collected.”
Perhaps this wasn’t quite the right thing to say, since it might make James think Louisa prosy. Or worse yet, it might offend him if he happened to be the sort of person who liked reading books of sermons.
Somehow, though, Julia didn’t think James made a habit of reading sermons. That twinkle she kept seeing in his eye was a bit too roguish and shrewd. In fact, it was so knowing that Julia wondered if he suspected she’d been trying to steer the conversation away from his proposal.
Louisa cast her eyes down again, but a smile lit her face at last. Louisa did like to have people appreciate her breadth of knowledge, especially since many of their Kentish neighbors regarded such a love of books in a female as eccentricity. And perhaps, too, she was relieved to have the topic shifted from her courtship, since the hot color of her cheeks at last began to fade.
Julia was so pleased at her success that the knot in her chest hardly came back at all when James replied.
“I can well believe what you say about her keen mind. She has always impressed me with her intelligence, and I was intrigued by her boldness, too.”
“Boldness?” Lady Oliver looked surprised. “Louisa?”
James nodded. “It was certainly the first time I’d been put in my place like that by a young lady, especially since I inherited my title. I don’t mean to sing my own praises by any means; it is just that matchmaking mamas and determined daughters are usually very effusive.”
“Anyway, that’s that,” Louisa said, still looking down at her plate. “It all happened very quickly, and as you gave your permission to the engagement, Papa, here we are.”
She must have been more agitated than her smooth speech indicated, because she took a serving of the undesirable trout and raised a forkful to her lips. It was only once she placed the bite in her mouth that she realized what she’d done.
Julia watched, fascinated, as her sister’s expression changed from distant to horrified. In Louisa’s place, she would simply have spat the bite into her napkin, but Louisa had always had better manners. She reached for her wineglass, only to find it almost empty.
“Take mine,” Julia whispered.
And with Louisa’s look of gratitude as she swallowed away the terrible taste, Julia felt the knot in her chest dissolve completely.
Chapter 3
In Which Breakfast Is the Most Important Meal of the Day
James awoke the next morning feeling much more at ease than he had the night before. A good night’s sleep had refreshed him, and he looked forward with eager anticipation to whatever unusual greetings the Olivers might have in store for him today.
Would he be treated to a discussion of pig breeding? Or perhaps invited to consume a live chicken, personally captured by his lordship that morning?
Or perhaps . . . he let his thoughts wander. Perhaps, in such an unconventional household, the young ladies were regularly left unsupervised. Perhaps he’d be left alone with . . .
What was he thinking? With Louisa, of course. Certainly. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to be alone with his fiancée?
He looked out his bedchamber window at the clear sky of a sunny morning, and his tangled thoughts straightened into a semblance of peacefulness at the pleasant sight of the bright day and the orderly grounds.
With a bit of help from his fastidious manservant, Delaney, he attired himself nattily—if not exactly with attention to his pastoral surroundings—in blue coat, pale yellow pantaloons, mirror-bright Hessians, and crisp white linens. He quickly messed his light brown hair into place, accompanied by the pained groans of the manservant, for whose tastes he tended not to be fashionable enough.
But James hardly noticed; he was looking forward with impatience to the first full day he had ever spent with his fiancée’s family. The cloudless blue sky and his well-rested body lifted his spirits, and he practically hummed with satisfaction as he thundered down the main staircase and into the breakfast parlor, thinking of steak and eggs.
And found that there was no one there. And no food.
Bewildered, James blinked, stared into all corners of the parlor, and checked the room’s dainty timepiece. It was only just now ten o’clock—what was going on here? He had heard of country hours, but this—well, this was ridiculous!
Now that he noticed, the whole house was like a tomb. Where were all the servants? Where were all those little children? Where was Louisa? And where was Julia?
He was just wondering.
He was less than surprised, then, when the door behind him slammed open, light footsteps hurried in and skittered to a stop, and a feminine voice muttered, “Hell’s bells.”
That could only be one person. Without turning around, he said, “Good morning, Julia.”
She gasped. “Oh, no, not again.”
He turned, unable to keep a teasing smile from his lips. “What am I to make of that greeting? That’s hardly hospitable, is it?”
She reddened and smoothed her hair back from where it threatened to tumble out of its pins. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
She added primly, “It is just that it seems as though every time we meet I am running into a room and swearing. Which I really do not do very often, I promise. At least, not every time I run into a room. It’s just the unusual excitement surrounding your arrival. We are all turned on our heads a bit.”
Julia gasped again and added, “Oh, Lord, and I was rude again, wasn’t I? I mean, good morning. I mean, I should have said that first before I explained myself. Or even before I came in and said ‘he—’”
“Yes, thank you, I’ll consider myself properly greeted.” James cut her off before she could utter the improper phrase again. It seemed as if Julia wanted to retort, but she took a deep breath, snapped her mouth shut, and nodded.
“Well.” James changed the subject. “We keep meeting over meals, don’t we?” As if on cue, he felt his stomach growl. “Although there doesn’t seem to be any food this time.”
The redness of Julia’s face had faded, but she still looked chagrined. “Right, I’m sorry about that. Believe it or not, we meant this as politeness. You see, we all eat breakfast around eight or so, but we knew a town gentleman would never want to keep those hours. So I had the servants clear the food and they were to make new when you got up.”
“And the—ah, bells of the underworld that you mentioned?”
“I didn’t think they would clear everything, so understand my surprise when I saw a bare and gleaming tabletop. And the upper housemaid had just told me you were almost ready and on your way down, and I thought—”
Puzzled, James cut her off again. “Upper housemaid? I didn’t see anyone about.”
She blew air out of the corner of her mouth and looked at him with pitying tolerance, her embarrassment finally gone. “You’re not supposed to. They’re servants. Good servants are unobtrusive, especially with guests. She did excellently to notice and come tell me—only apparently our other servants are good, too, or at least feeling energetic this morning, because I’ve never seen them clear so quickly. Perhaps they’re trying to impress you?”
James gave a bark of laughter.
“But they are working on making your food, I swear it,” Julia said in a soothing voice.
She then flung herself down into a chair, and James followed her lead in a more sedate manner. “Honestly,” she added, “please don’t take this the wrong way, but haven’t you run a house before? Don’t you know how servants act?”
“Honestly,” he echoed her, “no, I haven’t ever run a house. Nicholls, my own country estate, is a recent inheritance, but I’ve never lived there. All I’ve ever had since attaining my majority are my bachelor lodgings in town. And a single valet.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.”
“No, that’s quite all right. I ought to learn these things or my wife and servants will think I’m a fool. Which is much worse than merely having one’s future sister think one a fool.” As her mouth opened in protest, he raised a hand to quiet her. “It’s only fair. I am, at least in this respect. Repeat that at a ton party, though, and I’ll have your hide.”
She covered her mouth quickly, but a giggle crept between her fingers.
The gnawing in his stomach lessened at the sound of her laugh. She distracted him, and he felt the urge to talk on, to prolong their conversation again.
He explained further. “You see, I never came to the country as a child, and I never visited my own estate until I inherited it. For both of my parents, there was simply nothing outside London. And since my father passed on, my mother has continued to live in Matheson House in town and run it to her own liking. So I now find myself in the position of having a title and no idea what to do with it.”
“You have a secretary, don’t you? And a steward?”
“Yes, and they’re damned capable—if you’ll excuse my language.”
“Absolutely,” she replied promptly. “Anytime. Say whatever you like.”
“In fact, they’re so good that they don’t have a bit of need for me. But they live in London, and they focus on our holdings there. I intend to create a real home for myself in Nicholls.”
A sudden worry struck him. “Does Louisa know how to manage a household?” Good Lord, he hoped so. An ignorant viscount was bad enough, but if his future wife was savvy, they would manage.
Julia looked doubtful, but she was nodding. “I expect most young ladies learn such things from their mamas or their housekeepers. We are well supplied with servants here, but we haven’t had a housekeeper since the butler’s wife died last year. It would just kill poor Manderly to see someone else in his wife’s place—er, so to speak. And anyway, between Mama and me, and of course Louisa, too, we basically handle those duties.”
James eyed her askance, this small, hopeful-looking blond person sitting so pertly in a chair across from him. The more he learned about this household, the more unusual it seemed. “How many jobs do you do? Governess and housekeeper?”
Julia looked surprised at his question. “I never thought about it like that. This is my home, and I do what needs to be done. Everyone’s happier knowing they can trust the children to be cared for and the servants to be content, so why have someone else do it?”
“What will they all do when you get married?”
The question slipped out before he thought better of it. Julia looked even more startled, and Jam
es wished he could have called the words back. He knew—he knew—that was a very personal question to be asking a girl he had only met the day before. And it was doubly improper to think of her married, or in anything but the most familial of ways. An image of the marriage bed quickly flitted through his head, and he racked his brain to think of a way to change the subject gracefully.
Luckily, a welcome tray of food was brought into the breakfast parlor just then.
And then another.
And then the most perfect rack of toast he’d ever seen.
As Julia dismissed the footmen, James wondered aloud, “How many people are having breakfast with me?”
“It’s all for you. We just wanted you to have a choice, since we didn’t know what you usually breakfasted on.”
He approached the laden sideboard and opened the first covered dish hopefully, and a heavenly smell of steak and kidneys wafted up. Under the second cover were ham and eggs. And that toast—his mouth positively watered at the sight.
“This all looks and smells wonderful,” he said as he began to assemble a plate. “Thank you very much. I’m sorry to have put you and your servants to so much trouble for just one person.”
“So . . . it’s a lot of food? You might not want it all?”
Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Julia’s taut pose. Her gaze was trained blankly on the wall and her fingers twisted in her lap. “You want something to eat again, don’t you?” He carefully kept his face solemn as he turned to face her.
She looked up at him, an expression of guilt on her face. “I might have over-ordered just a bit. But if you’re absolutely certain you won’t want everything . . . well, the ham smells so good, and I can hardly believe it, but I’m hungry again already.”
James laughed. “Serve away. Have as much as you like. Far be it from me to starve a lady in her own home.”
The hungry pair ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. James crunched through the thin-sliced ham and crisp toast until his empty stomach began to feel pleasantly full, and his mind returned to the three objectives he’d had for the day.
Season for Temptation Page 3
