by Georgie Lee
‘I’m so glad you could join us. I was afraid Knollwood business would keep you away.’ Emily’s high, nervous voice pulled Julia out of her momentary shock and she took in everyone’s attire. Mother’s deep-maroon mantua, though of an older style, suited her matronly frame while Emily and Annette’s dresses were the height of London fashion. Simon wore a coat of the finest material and Uncle George and Captain Covington looked dashing in their uniforms. Plain muslin in the face of so much silk only emphasised her lack of fashion. For a moment, Julia contemplated making her excuses, feigning a headache or some other feminine nonsense, then changed her mind.
I’ve already made a fool of myself. No sense starving now. Throwing back her shoulders, she strode into the room.
‘Yes, Knollwood business can be quite exacting, but I wouldn’t dream of missing dinner.’ She took her place next to Simon, across from Annette and Captain Covington.
‘You look very lovely this evening,’ the captain offered across the table.
‘Thank you.’ Was he teasing her? It was difficult to tell. His beguiling smile reminded her of the one Paul always used to flatter pretty ladies at the assembly hall.
‘The affairs of Knollwood must be very demanding to make you lose track of time,’ Annette mocked.
‘No, I was quite aware of the time,’ Julia replied coolly, annoyed by her stepcousin’s condescending tone.
‘Perhaps you could learn a thing or two about managing your affairs, Annette,’ Simon suggested, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
‘Now you prefer bluestockings?’ Annette frowned. ‘I thought you felt education was wasted on women?’
‘I do. It leads a woman to interfere too much in a man’s business.’ He fixed an icy stare on his sister, who coloured under the remark, but said nothing.
Julia sensed more to this conversation than a simple debate of female education, but having no interest in the intricacies of the Taylors’ personal business, she concentrated on enjoying her meal.
‘Julia, Jim was telling us the latest news from London regarding Napoleon,’ Uncle George announced. ‘It appears Admiral Nelson will face him before the month is out?’
The food turned to dirt in her mouth. ‘Do you think so?’
‘It’s a very real possibility,’ the captain answered with measured words, fingering the spoon next to his plate.
‘Paul’s ship, HMS Pickle, is with Admiral Nelson’s fleet. He could be injured, or worse.’ Her voice quavered with worry and she didn’t care who heard it or what they thought.
‘Even if there is a battle, HMS Pickle is a small ship used to send messages or fetch supplies. She won’t see much action.’
‘But there’s still a chance Paul will be involved in the fighting?’
‘There is, but let’s hope if Admiral Nelson and your brother face him, the battle is quick and decisive in Britain’s favour.’
His sympathetic eyes touched her and she wished they were alone so she could pour out all her worries to him. He would understand, perhaps even take her in his sturdy arms and, with tender, reassuring words, drive away all her fears for Paul.
‘Admiral Nelson will lose more than a battle if he continues his indiscretion with Mrs Hamilton,’ Annette added, indifferent to Julia’s concerns. ‘Don’t you agree, Captain Covington?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow town gossip,’ he answered, but Annette refused to relinquish his attention or the table’s.
‘Don’t you find his indiscretion scandalous?’
Julia noticed the way his fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. ‘Great men are always granted some leeway.’
‘If society shunned him, then who would lead the Navy against France?’ Julia demanded, irritated by Annette’s prattle. ‘Or would you prefer the French on our shores? Perhaps they would be more delightful in the drawing room.’
‘How droll to discuss politics at dinner,’ Annette sniffed. ‘Captain Covington, you must tell me all about your sister’s wedding.’
With a twinge of regret, Julia left the captain to Annette and focused on the dandy beside her. How could she possibly capture his interest? She couldn’t simply announce the size of her inheritance and hope he took the bait. Conversation seemed the key, but since his arrival they’d barely exchanged ten words. Now she had to captivate him with witty repartee? It seemed a Herculean feat, but one she had to accomplish.
‘Simon, do you ride?’ she asked in her most pleasing voice. The young man turned his pointed chin over his starched cravat, staring at her as though she possessed three heads.
‘Of course,’ he sneered.
Julia clamped her hands together in her lap, screwing the smile on her face. ‘I suppose no country ride could compare to the fashionable hour in Rotten Row?’
‘On at least that point you are correct,’ he lisped, returning to his meal.
Her cheeks burned with the strain of holding her smile. For a moment, the game felt like more trouble than it was worth, but the thought of having her own estate urged her on. ‘You must be an excellent horseman.’
Simon’s knife and fork clanked against the plate. ‘I prefer the elegance of a phaeton—surely you’ve heard of them, even here in the country.’
She resisted the urge to empty her plate in his lap, continuing to remain charming as though nothing was amiss. ‘Oh, yes. When I receive my inheritance I plan to purchase one. Perhaps you can help me select the best?’
‘Your inheritance?’ His bored eyes almost sparkled at the mention of money. She leaned towards him, dropping her voice.
‘Yes, I receive it as soon as I’m married. Tell me about your phaeton. I imagine it is one of the finest in London.’
Just as she suspected, flattery worked. Simon puffed up at the opportunity to discuss himself. ‘It’s second only to the prince’s.’
Despite the loss of her appetite, Julia soldiered on. ‘Oh, you know the prince? How wonderful.’
‘He complimented me on my rig.’ Simon’s voice dripped with pride.
‘Please, tell me all about it.’
* * *
What followed was the most boring and tortuous hour of Julia’s life as Simon described, in minute detail, his phaeton. From the corner of her eye she noticed Uncle George and Emily exchanging baffled looks. Even Captain Covington threw her a sideways glance and for a brief moment she felt ashamed of her plan. Only her mother seemed indifferent, slipping bits of food to Charlemagne, who sat on the floor next to her chair.
‘The squabs are far more comfortable than the average phaeton. I had the leather dyed dark green,’ Simon continued and Julia gazed up at him through her lashes, mimicking the way Annette flattered the captain. If only her dress were cut as deeply as Annette’s. However, such a ploy might make her scheme too obvious.
After what felt like an eternity, Emily rose, ending dinner. ‘Shall the ladies retire to the drawing room?’
Julia forced herself not to jump up and run into the adjoining room. Instead she smiled coyly at Simon as she rose. ‘Perhaps we can discuss it more later?’
‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t seem enthusiastic at the prospect.
Massaging her aching cheeks, Julia followed the other women into the drawing room. Taking The Monk out of her dress pocket, she situated herself on the sofa to read, hoping the others would leave her in peace. Her hope was short lived when Emily walked over to the card table near the window and shuffled the deck. ‘Ladies, would you care for a game of piquet?’
‘I’d love to play,’ Annette announced, choosing her place at the table and taking the deck from Emily. ‘I’ll deal.’
Julia buried her nose in her book, pretending not to hear the invitation, even when Emily cleared her throat to gain her attention.
‘Come play, Julia,’ her mother gently ordered.
/>
With a sigh, Julia put down her book and joined the others at the table.
‘We’re always playing in London and the stakes are often very high. Sometimes gentlemen lose a great deal at the tables,’ Annette explained, dealing the cards.
‘Perhaps the men of London are not very sensible, for it takes only a tiny amount of sense to know one should not bet what one cannot afford to lose.’ Julia laid down a card, then chose another.
‘No gentleman worth his salt would dare refuse a wager.’
‘Then there must be many poor fools about the London ballrooms.’
‘Do you consider Captain Covington a fool?’
Julia shrugged, trying to imagine the captain dancing, but she could only picture him gambling in some tropical den of iniquity. She fought back a laugh, struggling to keep her face a bland mask of uninterest. ‘I haven’t known the captain long enough to comment on the merits of his wit—however, if he lives in London, the odds are against him not being a fool.’
‘I assure you, Captain Covington is no fool,’ her mother interjected. ‘He has proven himself a hero on more than one occasion.’
Julia didn’t respond, wondering what her mother would think if she knew about the captain’s involvement with the Governor of Bermuda’s widowed sister. She’d overheard Uncle George telling Paul about it once. It was quite shocking.
‘How long has George known Captain Covington?’ Annette asked.
‘Ten years,’ Mother answered. ‘Captain Covington was a lieutenant on George’s ship in the war against France during the First Coalition. His service was so distinguished he was given command of his own ship. He’s very well travelled, Julia.’
‘Is he now?’ Julia barely heard her. She was too busy concentrating on which card to play next so she could lose and end the game.
‘George tells me Captain Covington is a very sensible man when it comes to money, much like you, Julia,’ her mother remarked, attempting to draw Julia into the conversation.
‘Interesting,’ Julia mumbled, disappointed by her excellent hand for it made losing very difficult.
‘Captain Covington and I spoke a great deal this afternoon and it was as if we’ve known each other for years. We have a great deal in common for we both adore cheese,’ Annette continued.
Julia selected another card and scowled for it was a good one. ‘Most men in London adore food. That’s why there’s so much gout in town.’
Emily coughed disapprovingly.
‘London is a gourmand’s paradise,’ Annette insisted. ‘I advised Captain Covington to hire a French chef. All the best houses have them. He’s a very affable man. I’m surprised he’s not married for he’d do well with a wife.’
‘A man of thirty with a sensible head is a rarity these days,’ Emily said more to Julia than to Annette.
‘He’s very handsome,’ Annette added.
‘Yes, he is, don’t you agree, Julia?’ Mother entreated.
Julia took another card and smiled to find it a bad one before she noticed the three women waiting for her response. ‘Pardon me?’
Emily scowled at Julia’s inability to follow the conversation. ‘Captain Covington is very handsome, don’t you agree?’
Yes, she did, but she was not about to admit it. ‘I hadn’t thought on the matter.’ She rearranged her cards, needing only another bad one to lose.
‘I’m told he’s a very accomplished horseman,’ Emily added. ‘Perhaps, Julia, you could accompany Captain Covington on a ride tomorrow?’
Julia watched the rain hit the window, streaking down the panes. Without his afternoon ride, Manfred would need a good gallop. She did not relish the idea of trying to control him in a gentle trot alongside Captain Covington’s mount. Hopefully the weather would clear by morning and she could take Manfred out before duty intruded on the day.
‘I’m sure Uncle George will escort him if he wishes to ride.’ Julia continued to study her cards, avoiding Emily’s chastising scowl. ‘He’s better company for the captain than I am.’
‘Of course nothing can compare to Rotten Row at the fashionable hour. Captain Covington promised to join me there when we return to London,’ Annette said, drawing another card. Julia judged from the smile on her narrow face that Annette had a good hand. It was only a matter of moments before Julia could lose the game and put an end to this tiring conversation.
‘I won. I won,’ Annette announced much to Julia’s great relief, though she pretended, like Emily and Mother, to be disappointed. They slid their sovereigns across the table and Annette swept the coins into her palm, making Julia wonder how someone from London with a carriage and four could covet a few crowns.
‘Shall we play again?’ Annette shuffled the deck and the entrance of the men saved Julia the trouble of declining.
‘Ladies, we’re here to amuse you,’ Uncle George announced, making his way to the card table. Simon didn’t come in with the men and Julia wasn’t the only one who noticed his absence.
‘Where’s Simon?’ Annette asked, dealing the cards.
‘It appears he had some pressing business in Daringford,’ Uncle George explained with obvious disdain, taking Julia’s place at the table.
Julia stood behind Uncle George, drumming her fingers on the back of the wooden chair, watching him arrange his hand. She felt disappointed, but also relieved at being spared another hour of Simon’s pompous chatter. Unable to charm a missing man, she decided to learn more about gambling, thinking it might be the only real way to capture her stepcousin’s very small heart.
* * *
James stepped into the room, his eyes seeking out Miss Howard. She didn’t acknowledge him, but stood over George’s shoulder watching the play. He resisted the urge to join her and initiate the intelligent conversation he now craved after a dinner spent listening to Miss Taylor’s vapid gossip. However, showing Miss Howard too much attention would only make George more determined in his matchmaking efforts. Instead he walked to the sofa and picked up the small book lying open on the cushions.
James examined the cover of The Monk, then held it up. ‘Miss Taylor, I believe you left your novel here.’
‘That is mine.’ Miss Howard crossed the room, gesturing for the book.
‘I wouldn’t have guessed you one for Gothic novels,’ he quipped. He expected her to read dry tracts on crops, not notorious novels. What other passions lay hidden beneath her quiet exterior?
‘You think a woman who manages an estate can’t enjoy novels?’
She took the offered tome and her fingers brushed his, sending a shock through him. She must have felt it, too, for he noticed the slight hint of a blush under the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
‘Not at all. What other books have you enjoyed?’
She sat down on the sofa, looking as though she wasn’t sure if she should tell him. A single ringlet teased the soft sweep of her jaw and the flickering candlelight caressed the fine line of her cheeks. ‘I recently finished Edward Ive’s A Voyage from England to India.’
He sat on the sofa across from her, leaning against the padded back. ‘An excellent book.’
Her face brightened. ‘You’ve read it?’
‘You think a man in the Navy can’t enjoy books about travel?’ he teased, delighted by the easy smile it brought to her lips.
‘Not at all.’
He sat forwards, his elbows on his knees. ‘I read a great deal last year. Have you travelled?’
‘Only as far as Portsmouth. But with the way Mr Ives describes India, I know one day I will have to see it.’
Her face lit up at the prospect of visiting India, the passionate response striking his core. She might dress like a stern governess, but he’d seen too much of the woodland nymph to be fooled. What would it be like to make her blaze with more sensu
ous emotions, his fingers stoking the heat simmering beneath her compliant exterior? He shifted on the sofa to cover the sudden fullness in his loins. What a powerful effect this curious young woman had on him. ‘Then why not set out for Bombay?’
She laid the book on her lap with a sigh. ‘A woman does not have the freedom of a man to travel.’
‘Perhaps you need an adventurous husband.’
She raised one disbelieving eyebrow. ‘No such creature exists.’
‘Then you’ll have to go alone.’ He couldn’t resist teasing her, delighting in the honest reaction it provoked. ‘Someone of your pluck would prove quite the explorer.’
She glanced at the card table and, satisfied the others were too busy playing to notice, leaned forwards, bringing them much closer than decency allowed. He smelled the crisp scent of rosewater, noticed the slight curl of her long lashes. He chanced a brief peek at her breasts. Though well hidden by the dress’s high bodice, they pressed against the blue fabric, offering a hint of the creamy skin beneath. The heaviness in his manhood increased and he dug his fingers into his thigh to keep from leaning forwards to claim her full, teasing lips.
‘Do you assume because my accomplishments are unusual that I have a flagrant disregard for convention?’ Her mischievous eyes dared him to respond.
He leaned closer, dropping his voice, eager to meet her challenge. ‘I very much admire your accomplishments. And your disregard for convention.’
‘You like unconventional women?’
‘Indeed. It gives them a certain mystery.’
‘Really?’ She leaned closer, her heady voice and smouldering eyes tightening the desire coursing through him. ‘I suppose you’ve met many mysterious women.’
‘I’ve known a few.’
‘Yes, your time in the Navy must have acquainted you with many ladies in many ports.’
‘Julia!’ Emily exclaimed.
They both turned to see everyone staring at them. He’d forgotten about the others and obviously she had, too. He expected the rebuke to make her retreat back into a compliant, self-conscious miss. Instead, she rose with all the composure of a lady of the first water.
