He hardly dared allow himself to entertain the thought that she might be writing to him. But as soon as he saw that flowing hand on the thick folded missive Delaney brought him, he knew it was from Julia, and his stomach flipped. He would have known that handwriting anywhere. Somehow, in the months since meeting her, he’d come to pick up those details about her without even realizing it, until now he felt he knew her better than anyone in the world.
Even so, the contents of this letter were a complete mystery to him. She wouldn’t have written about their wonderful but foolish behavior of the night before, would she? His head was suddenly clear and curious, the coffee service unneeded. He unsealed the letter eagerly, waving the obviously curious Delaney out of the room so he could read it in peace.
Once he had it open, he realized its bulk was due to the fact that it enclosed another sealed missive. Julia’s own correspondence was just a brief note of explanation. Still, he greedily drank in every word penned by her hand:
Dear James,
Louisa has asked me to deliver this letter to you as a friend, but under the circumstances, I thought it might be best for you not to receive this from me in person. Please accept my sincere apologies, and do let me know if there is anything I can do as a friend to ease any displeasure you might have.
Sincerely,
Julia Herington
Well. That wasn’t quite what he had been expecting. And once he read the note through several times to be sure he hadn’t missed any hidden crumbs of meaning, he became slightly annoyed. It was so formal and impersonal. So she didn’t want to see him, did she? Even though her sister had asked her to give him . . . something? He had no clue what this talk of displeasure was, but figured from the tone that Louisa didn’t know what had taken place the night before.
Then there was that phrase “as a friend,” which she had repeated twice. “As a friend.” Well, if he hadn’t been a friend to Julia, what had he been? True, last night had been an unforgivable lapse in propriety—and yet she had forgiven him, and even seemed to regard him as well as ever when they parted. And before last night, he had shepherded her gently along the rocky path of London society and manners for weeks so that she would be a credit to his family when he and Louisa were married. Good Lord, he’d even helped her look for a husband of her own. How many other friends would have done as much?
At least, helping her become a credit to his family was how it had started out. His feelings had changed along the way, as they both now knew, but still. He didn’t have to be reminded that they could only be friends.
He shook his head in puzzlement and “displeasure,” to borrow her own term, and unsealed the letter that had been enclosed within the folds of Julia’s note. This one was from Louisa. The first real letter he had ever gotten from her, and somehow he didn’t think it was going to turn out to be a love letter, based on Julia’s brief note of explanation.
Dear James,
I have hesitated for a long time about writing this letter, or about communicating at all the feelings that I have at last decided to reveal. However, I believe I owe you the same candor and courtesy with which you have always treated me, and so I must own the truth.
You must have known for a long time how unhappy I found myself in London, but what you cannot have known—and what I did not know, myself, until I granted myself time for reflection last night—was that I cannot see myself ever taking part in the life you lead here. It is too foreign to me, and I am ill suited for success in it. In a sense, therefore, I became engaged to you under false pretenses, though it was unwittingly done. I know that you need a wife who can share fully in the social and economic responsibilities of your life, and even perceive them as joys. I also know that I can never do this.
I therefore release you from our engagement. I believe that you will be happier, and I hope that I will, too, though this statement is certainly not intended as a reflection on your behavior toward me. You have always treated me as a gentleman should, and my greatest regret is that my action must necessarily prevent our families from interacting in the future. I know my own family has come to value you greatly. I trust that if you can find it in your heart to forgive the embarrassment I must be causing you, you will not allow it to affect your feelings toward them.
In time, perhaps, you may forgive me as well. I hope to forgive myself someday for putting us both in this untenable situation, although that day has not yet arrived.
With my sincerest regard,
Louisa
He reread this letter several times as well, to be sure that he understood it. Louisa was breaking their engagement . . . because she was unhappy?
He was stunned.
It was like the answer to a prayer, considering his own growing ambivalence, and yet it hurt more than he would have imagined. He was shaken, embarrassed, stung. It seemed unbelievable that he could have failed so utterly to notice how dissatisfied she felt.
Of course he had known that she didn’t enjoy ton parties. They had, after all, met because she’d fled the Alleyneham House ballroom. But he could hardly understand it, all the same. How could she wish to give up everything he was offering her, just to avoid the social circles in which he had to move? His name, his fortune, and—if he did say so himself—a fairly even temperament, liberal mind, and not unhandsome appearance should make him a reasonably agreeable husband by anyone’s standards. Why was he not enough for her?
Hmm. Thinking about it like that, it did seem rather cold and businesslike. He might have seemed right to her when she considered him on paper, so to speak, but . . . well, if she couldn’t enjoy living in London at least part of the time, spending time with his family, even hosting events, she would frequently find herself unhappy. He had assumed their different temperaments would work themselves out, but it now seemed that hadn’t been realistic. And it wouldn’t be realistic for her to expect him to change everything on her account, either; a viscount couldn’t just drop out of society unless there was a major scandal attached.
As these thoughts ran through his head, he began to understand Louisa’s motivations a bit better, and the hurt began to abate. It wasn’t personal, she had made clear. And his own loss, while great, was not the loss of a love match.
Excitement bubbled up in him.
He was free.
He was free, and Julia loved him, and now he could pursue her.
Except—no, he really couldn’t.
The realization clanged down onto his excitement like a hammer onto an anvil. (Where did these pastoral analogies keep coming from, he wondered. It must be from all that time spent in Lord Oliver’s blasted stables.)
No, if there was any woman he couldn’t pursue now, it was Julia. Louisa was correct; there would be social repercussions from their broken engagement. Oh, it wouldn’t exactly be a scandal, but a jilted viscount would be the talk of the ton for a while, and it would certainly be difficult for Louisa herself to reenter society should she ever choose to.
Not to mention the fact that it would cause a shattering amount of gossip if he took up at once with the sister of his former betrothed. He doubted his own family would ever deign to speak to Louisa or any of her relatives again, since a broken engagement would, in their eyes, be taken as a huge slight.
Yet he had meant well, from the beginning. He had tried to do right by his family, and by Louisa. They had all meant well. Funny how such a lot of well-meaning people could wind up at cross-purposes.
He laid his letters from the two sisters in front of him on the bed and sighed from deep within. If there was one thing worse than being engaged and unable to be with the woman he loved, it was being un-engaged and still unable to be with the woman he loved.
He rubbed his hands over his face, then straightened up and set his feet on the floor. It was time to face the day. It was going to be a long one.
It seemed likely that they would all be long ones, for a while.
Chapter 24
In Which Julia Is, for Once, at a Loss
for Words
Julia tried not to laugh. She knew it would be absolute disaster if she did.
She had never received a proposal before, so she hadn’t exactly known what to expect. Still, she had always imagined it would be dignified and touching, even romantic and passionate. But this—this was just ridiculous.
Sir Stephen Saville meant well, she was sure, but filling her aunt’s drawing room with flowers and referring to her as “the flower of his heart, and he hoped, his hearth” as he ardently clasped her hand to his chest was just too much, even for a girl who enjoyed a good novel.
That was the problem, actually. She enjoyed a good novel, and this was like something out of a very bad one. The flower of his hearth? As she thought of it again, her cheeks dimpled despite herself, and she tried desperately to school her expression into a serious one while Sir Stephen still gripped her hand.
“You are smiling,” he noted. “Can it be that my proposal meets with your approval? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”
Oh, good Lord, the man needed an answer right away, and she had no idea what to say.
Here it was, the proposal that she was supposed to angle for throughout her season, from a man that even James had recommended to her as kind and good. Now that the moment was here, though, she was startled all the same, utterly without the right words, which was a terrible feeling for her.
Why hadn’t they prepared her for this, her aunt and James? She knew everything else about how to act in polite society, from when to use a fish fork to how to curtsy to the queen. But she had no idea what to say when she received a proposal.
Or maybe she did; at least, she knew what she wanted to say. She thought of the letter that Louisa had asked her to deliver, breaking an engagement to a man who was otherwise perfect, but whom she didn’t love. She couldn’t do what her sister hadn’t been able to do: marry where she ought rather than where she longed to. Especially not after last night.
Images of James, the revelation of the carriage ride, and her note to him that morning bobbed into her mind and sobered her at once. No, she couldn’t marry Sir Stephen, no matter what her aunt Estella wanted her to do, or what her parents—or the whole ton, for that matter—might be expecting.
What could she say to him, though? What did girls always say in novels? She thought desperately and seized on a vague thread of memory.
“I am honored by your proposal,” she began.
Oh dear, that couldn’t be right. He looked far too happy all of a sudden. “But,” she quickly continued, and his face fell at once. “I cannot accept your offer. I am so sorry.”
The baronet inhaled sharply as if punched, then seemed to shake off the blow with an effort. He took her hands in his, peering closely at her face to gauge her reaction.
“Have I done something to offend you? Perhaps I danced with you an insufficient number of times last night, or I did not bring enough flowers with me today? I have tried to make my regard for you clear, and let me assure you I will make you a most devoted and steadfast husband. It will be my delight to meet your every need.”
Julia smiled again, this time in genuine appreciation for his kindness. It was a shame he was wasting it on her, really. It wasn’t his fault she wasn’t reacting as she ought.
She tried to lessen the blow, responding in like manner to the quiet formality of his words. “Dear sir, you have not offended me in any way. You’ve always treated me with great respect and warmth, and I feel the honor of it. But . . .” She trailed off, losing courage, and dropped her gaze. “My heart is already engaged, although not in any formal sense. I feel it would be wrong to promise myself to you under the circumstances.”
She nodded in satisfaction as she finished speaking. That sounded like something out of a novel, definitely.
He squeezed her hand gently, then dropped it from his clasp. His voice was still hopeful as he entreated her once more.
“I’m very sorry to hear it, for my own sake,” he said. “You have, of course, my best wishes for your future happiness. Will you at least allow me some hope, and promise me that you will still consider the possibility of marriage with me? If not now, perhaps at some point in the future? I am sure my own wishes shall remain unchanged, if yours ever do.”
Oh, good heavens. Now she really didn’t know what to say. How did one decline a man’s proposal twice when—in his view and the view of one’s rather pushy aunt—there was no earthly reason to do so? How could she possibly let him know that no, there was no way she could ever marry him, because she could never get over James, but she could never have him, because he’d just been jilted by her sister, so she could probably never get married at all to anyone, ever?
Right. She’d just spill all of that out to Sir Stephen.
Suddenly mortified, Julia settled for what she hoped was a timid-looking nod. “Thank you,” she offered. She knew she ought not even to have said that much, but she wanted to put an end to this interview as soon as was humanly possible. She was too agitated to be more insistent with the baronet at this time. Vague though she had been on the details, she thought she had probably been remarkably tactless to bring up another man during his proposal anyway.
A man with whom she had precisely no chance of a future.
And yet, she wouldn’t take it back, she mused, as she vaguely heard Sir Stephen making his proper good-byes to her and, on his way out of the house, to her aunt (who had suddenly reappeared from the nonexistent errand that had caused her to vanish from the room upon his arrival). She couldn’t take back her no. She just couldn’t marry out of obligation, ever, and she could never marry someone else while her heart and mind were so full of James.
She sat stunned for a few minutes, nervous energy coursing through her body. She wanted to go somewhere else. She needed to talk with someone about Sir Stephen’s proposal, and what she had said, and why, and about what—or more precisely, who—was really weighing on her mind.
But today of all days, she couldn’t talk to Louisa about engagements of any sort. And she knew what her aunt would say, should she explain the situation to her. Lady Irving would call her an idiot and insist that she summon the unlucky gentleman back so she could accept his proposal at once. She could still remember the feeling of her aunt’s talon-like nails gripping her arm and dragging her around the Alleyneham House ballroom in search of Sir Stephen.
No, there was only one person she could talk to about all of this.
She had to act quickly; she knew she had only a few moments before her aunt came in and demanded a full account of what had passed. Alive with purpose, she peeped out of the parlor, and finding no one around, quickly retrieved Simone’s cloak. The capacious garment was the best she could do to disguise her appearance. It wasn’t much, but anything that would keep her from being recognized would help, since she was going to do a thing a gently bred young lady ought never to do.
She was going to James, to see him at his home.
Alone. Now.
Chapter 25
In Which More Than One Proposal Is Discussed
James’s bachelor lodgings were in Stratton Street, not far from her aunt’s fashionable Grosvenor Square address, but Julia felt as if she were walking for hours. The delicious, unfamiliar freedom of leaving her home unaccompanied was almost overcome by her anxious desire to see James and her nervousness about being spotted by someone she knew. The wide square’s crisscrossing pathways had never seemed so long nor so crowded. She could have sworn every eye was on her, that everyone knew where she was going.
When she finally reached James’s door, she paused before knocking. She inhaled deeply to try to calm herself. In. Out. In. Out. Then, overcome with nerves, she tapped on the door with the large brass knocker. Her hand seemed to jitter out of her control, striking a quick, incessant staccato with the knocker until, after what seemed like at least a week, that arrogant servant of James’s opened the door with his brows lifted skeptically.
Despite her anxiety, Julia was gr
atified to see Delaney’s supercilious expression change to one of surprise. His mouth gulped open and closed again silently.
“Miss Herington,” he finally managed, looking behind her for the presence of a maid. “Er . . . welcome.”
“No maid with me,” she replied to his unspoken question, feeling her self-possession return a bit. “Could I—that is, I would like to speak with Lord Matheson.”
“Of course,” Delaney responded at once, slipping back into his proper servant mien as if there was nothing remarkable about her showing up unannounced and unescorted. He showed her up to the drawing room and, when she declined refreshment, promised to notify his master of her presence directly.
She plumped herself down onto a sofa in the quiet room and waited, feet tapping, for James to come in. What was she going to say to him? She hadn’t thought this through. Her sister had only just today decided to break off the engagement, and Julia was now going to start talking about having turned down a proposal.
“What was I thinking?” she muttered. For all she knew, James hadn’t even read the letter yet from her or from Louisa. He might not know anything had changed. Good heavens, he might not even be awake yet, for all she knew. In which case it would seem as if she was just here to throw herself at him. Again.
Humiliating.
Though . . . the thought actually sounded more appealing when she toyed with it a bit. She remembered the luscious pleasure of his kisses, the heat between her legs, the longing such as she had never felt before. Maybe throwing herself at him wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
But this wasn’t the time; she still had that proposal looming over her. The thought of Sir Stephen was a dash of cold water, sobering her in a second. Yes, that was why she had come; she needed someone to talk to about Sir Stephen. In truth, it had been very sensible to come. If for no other reason than to escape Lady Irving’s wrath for a short while.
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