“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 lig
ht 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.
Chapter 11
In Which Plum Pudding Is Vulgar
Matheson House, in Cavendish Square, was large, cold, stately, and formal. The chill in the air came less from the sharp temperatures outside, which were tempered by a roaring fire in the drawing room, than from the dismissive expression on the Viscountess Matheson’s face as she greeted her guests.
The room was elegantly trimmed with holiday greenery. Julia felt somewhat cheered as she glanced around, taking comfort from the familiar freshly cut mistletoe, laurel, and holly.
They’d be cutting those now in the country, she realized. She could almost imagine her mother and young siblings running around the house in excitement to decorate it. Her father, she thought, would carefully consider which goose the family would eat for their Christmas dinner. Ultimately, she knew, he would decide he couldn’t part with any of his beloved animals, and would beg his wife to spare them all and order cheese for the family dinner. Then Lady Oliver would speak to the cook later, one of the geese (it didn’t matter which) would be killed and delectably roasted, and tomorrow Lord Oliver would enjoy the Christmas feast with gusto, never thinking about the source of the delicious meat served to him.
Imagining the comforting family rituals, Julia felt very distant indeed from their home in Kent. A wave of nostalgia hit her with surprising force. Louisa had been right; they were a world away from that now. Why on earth had she come here?
She reached for Louisa’s hand for support, but just then James spoke, and she remembered why she had come.
That’s right, she recalled; it was for Louisa. And, were she to be honest, for herself, too.
James presented the visitors very properly to his mother and to his elder sister Gloria, a widowed viscountess herself, whose lovely face was stiffened into an expression of extreme hauteur. Gloria still wore the dark crepe of half-mourning, and James explained that Gloria and her young daughters now lived with his mother since her husband’s heir, the new Viscount Roseborough, had acceded to the title several months before and taken possession of the ancestral property.
“Everyone is happier this way,” he explained. “My mother and sister truly enjoy each other’s company.” He smiled encouragingly at them.
“I can see that,” Julia murmured into Louisa’s ear, noting the unresponsive faces of James’s female relatives. “They both look simply ecstatic.”
Louisa didn’t respond aloud to her comment, but a nervous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
James hadn’t been exaggerating when he said his mother would be eager for her dinner. The unconventional party of James and the five ladies (“just an intimate dinner,” the elder viscountess explained with a syrupy smile, “so we can all get well acquainted”) progressed downstairs to the meal almost as soon as introductions had been dispensed with.
“I’m sorry about the short notice on this,” James offered in an aside to the two young women. “It was, ah”—he shot a quick glance at his mother—“a bit difficult to get everyone’s plans figured out. I’m so glad you could come anyway; I think this will be a very good opportunity for you to become comfortable with one another.”
His voice was hopeful. Already, Julia was less so even than when she had arrived.
It was through her dinner that Viscountess Matheson demonstrated the Christmas spirit, not with gladness of heart or generous statements of welcome, but with slices of tongue and generous portions of food. Besides the tongue—which Julia couldn’t bring herself to eat, being just a bit too cognizant of its source due to all the time she had spent with Lord Oliver’s livestock—their hostess provided the party with several lavish courses, including a succulent roasted goose, rabbit, pheasant, and quail.
This surfeit of dishes was accompanied by very little conversation. James’s sister spiritlessly picked at her meal, while the elder viscountess selected and consumed her food with single-minded relish. She spoke mainly to James, and even then talked only of titled young women with whom she would like him to become acquainted.
“Lord and Lady Alleyneham will be in town soon after the new year,” she informed him, forking up a wafer-thin slice of quail. “I believe they’re planning a ball to open the season in early spring. I’m sure it will completely eclipse their ball at the end of last year’s season.
“That affair proved to be rather lackluster, wouldn’
t you agree, my son?” she asked, flashing a sweet smile at James. “But Charissa Bradleigh—that’s the earl and countess’s third daughter, you know—is a simply lovely girl. I am sure you would like to see her again and get much better acquainted.”
Louisa was cowed completely into silence by this barely cloaked insult, for it was at the previous season’s Alleyneham House ball that she and James had met.
James, for his part, seemed to miss the hidden meaning of his mother’s words. He simply replied that he had very much enjoyed every ball the earl and countess had put on, and expected this next would be much the same.
As the cloth was removed in order that dessert could be served to the silent party, Lady Irving finally came to welcome life at Julia’s side.
“It’s no wonder the late viscount suffered from gout, eh?” she stated, just quietly enough that their hostess could pretend not to hear, and just loudly enough to ensure that she did hear. This remark drew an answering sniff from the viscountess, but her attention was immediately distracted by the arrival of a variety of sweets, including syllabub, tarts, and a mince pie.
Julia had a nearly irresistible urge to shout “hell” at the top of her lungs and shove a tart into the arrogant faces of the two viscountesses. She knew this wouldn’t be the most auspicious time to try out particularly unconventional behavior, but still—how had a man like James come from a family like this?
She felt annoyed at his relatives for being so unwelcoming to Louisa, a future member of their family. In comparison to that, their cool disinterest in Julia herself seemed unimportant. Louisa had been nervous before the visit; now she almost looked ill from distress. Julia wondered desperately what she could do to help her sister feel more comfortable.
Thus it was that Julia blundered. Her mind distracted, her eyes blankly cast over the desserts laid out on the table, and they noticed something missing.
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