by Cindy Anstey
* * *
“YOU WILL NOT SOLICIT HIS ATTENTION. You will restrict your comments to the commonplace, such as the weather, and under no circumstances will you visit the garden with him.” The litany of requirements droned on and on.
Juliana sighed very quietly to herself. She did not want to be accused of insubordination. She was still paying penance for her selfish rebellion, as her afternoon spent ribbon searching had been termed by the older females of the household. An ounce of freedom was apparently worth a long, repetitious list of commandments.
Juliana listened to her aunt with half an ear. Her hands were placed demurely on her lap, her eyes suitably downcast, and only her unseen toes tapped out their impatience.
“Mr. Northam is not to have your sole attention. If he…”
Juliana had not seen Spencer in two days. She would be more than happy to give him her sole attention. As it was, she was suffering suitor deprivation, or at least that is what Juliana had termed it.
Suitor deprivation, she had decided, was the condition of missing Spencer so much that she was now seeing his face in everyone. He had driven a dray down the street and stopped to chat with the constable on the corner just yesterday. Dressed in dull grays and a cap pulled over his eyes. He had also been the face of the grocery deliveryman, covered in a soiled apron, leaning on the fence. And she had even seen him in the proud buck strolling the park.
Juliana almost chuckled at herself. But stopped just in time. It would not be understood.
“It is Mr. Pyebald who will receive your attentions.”
Juliana was abruptly brought back to the drawing room with those disturbing words. “No, Aunt.” She could hold her tongue only so long. “I have told you that I do not see Mr. Pyebald and myself as a match. You may push him in my direction until the heavens drop, but I will never see in him a husband.”
“What? Take yourself off that high horse of yours, Juliana. Independence and free thinking are most unattractive in a young girl. These decisions are best made by those who know the ways of the world.”
Juliana stood up and walked to the drawing room window. They had been left alone for this little session of harassment, and thankfully that meant she had only one formidable foe to deal with at a time.
“I am already besmirched, Aunt. For I plead guilty to both independence and free thinking. And I say Mr. Pyebald is not the man for me.”
“Nonsense, girl, it is a perfectly equitable match. You will have money; he will have a title. What could be more suitable? If you are thinking on Mr. Northam, I can tell you that Lady Pyebald and I have decided he would be best for Vivian.”
Pushing back the curtain, Juliana looked out at the busy street, doing her best to control the amusement that she found in her aunt’s proclamation. “Be that as it may, Aunt, I will marry whom I choose, if I choose. As I am certain will Mr. Northam. Your schemes are for naught.” And even as his name crossed her lips, Juliana saw Spencer.
Or at least another man who looked just like him. He was chatting up a nurse with a pram, directly across from the town house. Juliana watched as he bent, picked what had to be a very new flower from the bed beside them, and then bowed with little or no finesse. The young woman simpered at his attention. Juliana could almost hear her giggles. It was all rather charming.
Yes, suitor deprivation. She hoped it would be cured this evening. It would be good to see his face in earnest.
* * *
“OVER HERE, Mr. Northam. Yes, yes, so good to see you. It has been too long, much too long. Sit with us; do. We shall catch up. Sit here. And you as well, Lord Bobbington. We have plenty of seats. Yes, indeed, one for everyone.”
This was the real Spencer, the impeccably dressed, handsome young gentleman with the discerning blue eyes and the friendly, lopsided smile. Gone were the weak imitations from the street, and gone was the dour Spencer from Hyde Park. Here was the man who made her knees weak and her heart pound, and he was making his way through the line of red chairs toward her. Past Lady Pyebald and Aunt Phyllis, then Carrie and Vivian … he would soon be at her side.
“Move over, Juliana, and let the gentleman sit.” Her aunt’s smile was large and toothy.
It was not at all attractive, to Juliana’s way of thinking.
She rose and with great dignity placed two empty seats between her and Vivian. She sat again and made a show of smoothing her skirts; it was the only way to keep her hands from snaking out and pulling Spencer to her side.
“Yes, right there. Oh, I thought…” Aunt Phyllis’s smile wilted slightly when Lord Bobbington sat next to Vivian. “Wouldn’t you like to exchange seats, my lord? With your friend? Give you a chance to converse with my niece.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reeves, but I am quite comfortable.” Lord Bobbington rose slightly, swished his coattails to the side, and reperched on the chair next to the object of his affection. “I am sure I will be able to entertain Miss Pyebald adequately.”
“Yes, of course,” came the sour reply. The woman leaned forward and scowled at Juliana, as if the poor seating arrangement were somehow her fault.
Spencer had hovered, waiting politely for everyone to settle. He smiled broadly when it became apparent that he would be keeping company with Juliana. She was very pleased to see him wink.
They were sitting in a line, rather than a group, facing the musicians. Aunt Phyllis had secured the chairs closest to the aisle for herself and Lady Pyebald, to assault passersby, of course. The girls sat beside them and, naturally, Juliana was on the outside edge of their party. Lord Pyebald and his son were not with them as the men had already found the card room, and Mr. Reeves had stayed at home with his book.
It had taken a good part of the afternoon for the grand dames to decide on this perfectly obvious seating arrangement, and Bobbington had just ruined it in mere seconds. Juliana was most delighted.
After all her aunt’s stipulations, the one that she could blithely ignore now was the one directing her to refrain from engaging Mr. Northam. To do so while seated next to him would be most uncomfortable for the poor man and downright rude. Juliana would not want to be accused of that.
To make matters worse, in the eyes of her chaperone, not many bachelors were in attendance of this evening’s recital. It increased the value of these two gentlemen’s presence in their group immensely. But then to have one of the gentlemen wasted on Juliana … yes, indeed, this was already shaping up to be a most enjoyable night. No wonder Aunt Phyllis looked so displeased.
The hall of the Strath town house was comfortably large for a gathering such as this, with a vaulted ceiling and long, heavily draped windows. Wrought-iron floor candelabras had been placed at appropriate intervals between the rows of temporary seats and near the makeshift stage. Thankfully, the Strath recital was not a crowded affair, although it was well attended.
The guests had greeted their host and hostess at the entry and now gathered in their own little cliques about the room. The confusing sound of happy chatter was interspersed with the occasional burst of laughter. The ladies’ gowns were grand, elegant affairs with high waists in varying shades of blush, jonquil, and willow-green silk. The men were resplendent in their starched, high neckcloths and colorful waistcoats. It was a room of hushed beauty as they waited with anticipation for the soprano to arrive.
“And how was Hamlet?” Spencer asked lightly, after they had finished with the required banal discussion of the weather and the possibility of rain. There was a slight shadow about his eyes that Juliana did not quite understand.
“We did not attend,” Juliana replied. “We spent a quiet evening in.”
“It wasn’t really Juliana’s fault.” Carrie, who had meandered down the line to hover in front of Spencer, immediately rose to her cousin’s defense. “She simply went shopping and—”
“Carrie, dear,” her mother called with sweet acidity. “We agreed not to bring that up.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Carrie called back. She dropped her voice. “I did
n’t know she could hear me,” she said to Juliana.
“Your mother has been gifted with excellent hearing,” Juliana said with mock seriousness.
Beside her, Spencer choked slightly and then coughed.
Juliana looked up at Carrie, noticing that her eyebrows were doing acrobatics across her face. She was definitely trying to signal Juliana, but about what she hadn’t the faintest idea. “Whatever are you doing, goose?”
Carrie sighed. “Mama thought you might like to switch seats with Vivian. The view is better.”
“No, thank you. I am fine.”
“Juliana, Mama thinks—”
“Oh, excuse me, Miss Reeves. How remiss of me. I cannot believe I am that obtuse. You wish to view the stage from here. I shall move directly.”
“No, no.” Carrie glanced sharply at her mother and then back. “No, Mr. Northam, I did not mean to make you move. I—”
“Miss Telford, would it be too much to ask if you might take the next seat down? And, let me see, yes, I will move and, voila, all is settled.”
Juliana noted that Spencer had maneuvered Carrie so that Lord Bobbington was to her left while he sat on the right. Clever man.
“Did you enjoy Hamlet?” Juliana asked, returning to the subject of their conversation before the seat rearrangement. “For I believe you expressed a desire to go as well.”
“We went but didn’t see a thing.” This time it was Bobbington who answered. He had turned in their direction.
Juliana knew that Vivian would not be giving the young lord much encouragement. Lady Pyebald had struck his name from her possible-match list just today, upon learning of his inadequate funds. Poor man. Matchmaking really was a business.
“How is it that you went to the play but didn’t see it?” Carrie laughed slightly.
“Because this…” Bobbington lifted his hand but then glanced at his friend and dropped it. “The crowd was rowdy, couldn’t hear a blessed thing. We are going back, though, May Day.”
“May Day? What a coincidence. We are, too. Mr. Pyebald got the tickets yesterday. Aren’t we, Juliana?”
“Yes, what a coincidence.” Juliana frowned, remembering Spencer’s comment in the park. “May Day.”
“Yes, and we shall not let Juliana go shopping for ribbons that afternoon,” Carrie needlessly reassured the company, forgetting—yet again—that the subject had been banned.
“Ribbons?” Bobbington asked Carrie.
“Oh yes, they were a perfect match, which, as you know, is so important.” Carrie proceeded to explain to him all about the significance of matching a ribbon to a dress, hat, and reticule.
“Ribbons?” Spencer echoed his friend’s query with a lot more skepticism.
Juliana dropped her voice, keeping their conversation private. “Yes, that and…” She hesitated for a moment.
Spencer was not family; he would not ridicule or mock her determination to find a publisher for her research. And Spencer was no longer the stranger on the cliff with no business in her affairs; they were friends. Friends talked openly, shared worries and concerns. Friends didn’t keep secrets; well, not ones such as these. Friends confided in one another, especially when one needed moral support … or an inside edge. “I visited a few printers as well. Do you have any influence in that industry, Mr. Northam? Do you know any publishers?”
“No, I am sorry, I do not.”
Spencer didn’t look sorry. In fact, he had started to smile as soon as she had brought up the subject. It was almost as if he thought her words in jest.
“I am looking to have my research published,” she said in a very serious tone.
“Oh yes, you told me about the study of the lady beetle.” Spencer nodded; his expression lost the hint of amusement. “A worthy natural history subject, I am very certain.”
“Exactly. Though it appears that the process is not going to be as easy as I had thought—”
“Juliana, let Vivian tell Mr. Northam of her day today,” Aunt Phyllis interrupted.
“Yes, Aunt.” Juliana lifted her eyebrows and shoulders.
Spencer turned dutifully toward Vivian—leaning forward to bypass Carrie and Lord Bobbington. “What is it that you were about earlier, Miss Pyebald?”
Vivian giggled. Not really a pleasant sight, or sound, but then perhaps such girly antics only worked on the male species. As for the eye batting—well, that looked as if she were suffering an affliction, and yet Spencer continued to converse as if there were nothing untoward about Vivian’s behavior.
Juliana sat waiting patiently for Spencer to complete his duty and turn back to her. She was quite secure in the fact that he would. He might be playing a role for the sake of helping Bobbington, but Juliana knew that his enjoyment of her company was genuine. She didn’t read anything into it. Or at least she tried not to, but it didn’t matter right now. For she knew that the man she admired most in the world admired her. It was in his eyes.
It really was a nice evening.
CHAPTER
12
In which there is much contemplation over Lord Bobbington’s campaign to win his fair Vivian and Mr. Northam is subjected to the awkwardness of a fainting young lady
SPENCER WAS THOROUGHLY DISTRACTED. Had Lord Winfrith not followed the male Pyebalds into the card room, he could even have been accused of dereliction of duty. It had nothing to do with the cultured ambience of the hall or the crystal clear range of the soprano, for both hovered somewhere in the background of his awareness. No, his mind was totally occupied by, every sense conscious of, the proximity of Juliana Telford.
The chairs upon which they were seated were the height of elegance and consequently rather diminutive in size. One only just fit, even at a perch. And Lady Strath, in her infinite wisdom, had seen said chairs placed in fairly close proximity to one another in order to allow as many guests an unobstructed a view as possible. That placed Juliana’s skirts, thin delicate clinging skirts, mere inches from him. In fact, when he shifted, as he often felt the need, their knees touched. He could almost feel the warmth of her person. Her rose scent filled his nostrils. His eyes could not help but travel from her profile to the slow rise and fall of her bosom. Never had he seen anything so delectable. He had to remind himself to swallow.
Somewhere in the back of Spencer’s mind he was aware that Miss Reeves was near as well. But it hardly mattered, so tightly was he strung over the way in which Juliana moved, gestured, laughed, tapped her fingers, listened, and clapped.
Yes, everyone was clapping. Spencer joined in with enthusiasm. At last the intermission had arrived and he could stare at Juliana in truth instead of glancing at her surreptitiously.
After sharing praise for the talents of the musicians, Carrie stood and made her way down the aisle. Bobbington followed.
Spencer neither knew nor cared where it was that others were convening. Juliana hadn’t moved, so neither would he.
They stared at each other for hours or a moment or two. When she finally spoke, her tone was light and airy. It alluded to none of the thick emotions that swirled around them.
“I must tell you, sir, or perhaps it would be best in the form of a warning.” Juliana leaned back to catch sight of the watchful pair standing at the end of the aisle. “The mamas have bandied your name about as a possible match with one of the young ladies of our party.”
“Yourself?”
She sat forward again and laughed as she did so. It was a musical cascade.
“No, indeed, not. I am not at the forefront of their consideration.”
“You might mention that I have no title.”
“I believe it is your large estate that is drawing their interest.”
“Ah, yes, I should have guessed. Have you hinted that I might not be amenable to marriage?”
“I am not sure that would sit well, being that you are spending so much time conversing with me. It would, rightly so, cause them to wonder about your purpose if it is not for matrimony.”
“Ah, yes,
excellent point.”
“That in mind, you might consider limiting our encounters. Perhaps only for a week or two.” Her tone was light, but her eyes pleaded with him to deny her.
Spencer found himself almost sinking into the deep pools of her eyes. He forced himself to look away, but when he did so, he encountered her lips. That increased his discomfort, for now he had to fight a sudden urge to pull her into his arms. Spencer yearned to experience the kiss that had not happened on the night of the ball.
Enough. Spencer gave himself a mental shake. He unclenched his taut hands and ordered his pulse to a less riotous pace. It wasn’t easy, but he concentrated on the cacophony of voices that surrounded them as well as the bursts of laughter throughout the room. Another deep breath and then he could see properly again.
Spencer straightened and glanced around, nodding to the grand dames, who were watching him so closely. He had not needed Juliana’s warning; it was almost comical in its obviousness.
“We should probably…” She didn’t bother finishing her sentence. They both knew that they could not remain seated too much longer without being noticed by those other than the family. She sighed. “Duty calls.”
Juliana rose, nodded, and gracefully wended her way through the chairs toward the female members of her party. She left a vast emptiness in her wake. Her slight stumble at the end of the aisle produced an indulgent smile on Spencer’s lips. It brought his attention back to her character and away from the delights of her body. He chuckled softly to himself, and then he, too, rose. He went in search of Winfrith. He had only a few moments before the music would resume and he could once again feel the proximity of Miss Juliana Telford.
* * *
JULIANA WAS LOATH TO BRING UP THE SUBJECT. She sat with the appearance of calm, listening to not a single note of the soprano’s second selection of arias. She knew that it was not fair to allow both Bobbington to hope and Spencer to pay court on false pretenses. She had to say something. She had already stated that it might be in Spencer’s best matrimonial interest, or lack thereof, to give her company a wider berth, well away from the machinations of Vivian. Thankfully, his expression illustrated just how seriously he took those warnings.
