Julian’s head began to throb. He needed sleep, and, more importantly, he needed to get away from his father. Understanding his nature did not change the way Julian felt about the man.
“I am quite fatigued. May I be excused?”
“Very well, but remember, time is running short. Waste not a moment.”
Mother placed a hand on his arm. “You can retire to your old suite, if it pleases you. I will have food brought up, and you have spare clothing in the wardrobe. There is no reason to travel back to London straight away.”
“That is a splended idea, Mother. Thank you.” Julian gave a nod. “Father.”
The hike up the stairs to his old room seemed like hours. As soon as he entered, he lowered himself onto a wing-back chair and relaxed, letting the tension of his predicament seep out of him. Laying his head back, he allowed his heavy eyelids to close.
Several hours later, he woke still in his evening clothes. A silver platter holding a plate of cold food rested on the table beside him. He rolled his neck to work out the kinks from sleeping upright, then stood and stretched.
A cursory glance out the window confirmed he had slept well into the day. It had grown too late to take Lady Sarah for a ride through Hyde Park as he had planned. But then, he doubted she would have gone willingly.
He would not give up so easily. Julian removed his evening coat and cravat, then rung for a valet to help him change. He splashed his face with cool water from the basin on the washstand before drying it with a soft cloth. The looking glass reflected his disheveled state, and he shook his head. A shadow of whiskers covered his jaw. He would have the valet give him a shave.
A knock sounded on the door, and Julian tossed the towel aside. “Come in.”
“At your service, Lord Luvington.” The valet bowed.
Julian sat near the basin and stretched his legs out, closing his eyes as the man shaved his face clean. The perfect time to think. He needed to come up with a new plan to see Lady Sarah today.
But what? He could not very well march up to her home and request her company at this late hour. Nor could he waste time not seeing her.
The moment Father ordered him to marry a woman of sound morals, he had decided on Lady Sarah. Beneath her proper façade, he suspected there lay a woman full of passion and fire. Last night provided him evidence that his theory was correct. At least the fire was there.
He did not want to be saddled with a boring lady nor a starry-eyed debutante. Lady Sarah proved to be neither.
She had enjoyed several seasons already, putting her well past the debutante stage. He could only imagine she remained unattached because she did not wish to wed, or because she desired a love match. In either case it made seeing her all the more imperative.
It would take time to sway her. A commodity he was quickly running out of.
“My lord.”
Julian opened his eyes, and the valet handed him an ornate silver looking glass.
Rubbing his hand over his smooth jaw, he studied the man’s work. “Much improved.”
The valet moved to the wardrobe and selected tan breeches, a starched white cravat, and black coat. Once dressed, Julian made his way to the dining room where he found his parents enjoying an afternoon snack.
“You must be famished, dear,” Mother said. “Please join us. I will have the staff bring you a feast.”
“A feast is not necessary. A snack will suffice.” Julian grinned as he reached for a finger sandwich. A maid stepped forward and filled his glass.
“It is a bit late to call on Lady Sarah now,” Father said. “You will not meet your deadline sleeping the day away like some low account wastrel.”
Mother scowled at Father from her position at the foot of the table. “Can our son not enjoy a meal? He said he is courting her. He knows what he must do.”
“Very well, I will say no more on the matter.” Father sipped his wine.
Thank God for Mother’s interference. If not for her, he would have come to blows with Father long ago.
Mother looked at him. “Have you been to the opera of late?”
“No, I cannot say that I have.” Julian took a bite of his sandwich.
He didn’t care for attending operas, unless of course, there was a skirt to chase. The last time he’d set foot in an opera house, he’d done so in order to pursue the Widow Greenbrier. But he would not offend Mother’s sensibilities by sharing that.
“Your father and I attended a fortnight ago. We had a splendid time.” She waved her hand through the air in a dramatic flair. “The Royal Opera House was full to capacity. All of the lords and ladies seemed enthralled as the show took place. Lady Othelia said--”
Julian stood, he wasted enough time. “I must be getting back to London.” He gave each of his parents a nod. “Forgive me, Mother.” He loved her, but she did tend to go on at the worst times.
“Yes, of course, dear. The day grows late.” She reached for her wineglass.
A stab of regret went through Julian at the way he had just treated his mother. She did not look the least bit taken back by his abruptness. She had likely become used to such behavior from his father. Still she deserved better.
Julian’s wife would never experience such ill treatment.
Julian turned and left the room before Father had a chance to speak. When he reached the entrance, he ordered his horse brought around knowing riding would be faster than travelling by carriage, then stood on the massive stone porch to wait.
He suspected his Mother’s comments were directed at him in more ways than one. A grin flashed across his face. Perchance he would see Lady Sarah after all. He tapped his foot and glanced at the horizon. If he hurried, he could make London well before dusk.
When his horse appeared, he mounted, ordering his carriage delivered to London without delay. Julian did not wait for a response from the stable lad before he spurred the beast into motion and raced away from his parents’ estate.
The sun passed its highest zenith hours before Julian reached his stable at Luvington house. Nightfall would be upon London in mere hours. He dismounted and tossed the reins to a groom. “See that he receives food and water right away.”
“Yes, my lord.” The groom bowed.
Julian moved toward his townhouse with a quick gait. He needed to get things set for this evening. If all went well, he would be in Lady Sarah’s company by nightfall. Lucky for him, the Marquess and Marchioness of Havenshire were acquainted with his family in a friendly way.
His under-butler opened the English oak door to the entrance hall as Julian approached. “Welcome home, my lord,” he said as he bowed then took Julian’s gloves and riding coat.
Julian nodded and handed his hat to the servant. “Send a footman to my office in five minutes.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
He strode to his office and sat at his hand carved cherry wood desk. The crisp spring air drifting in from the window cooled his nerves. He penned an invitation, then lay it flat on the desk before writing the Marquess and Marchioness of Havenshire’s names upon it. After flipping it over he closed it with his wax seal.
Julian rubbed a hand across his face. He hoped the Havenshire’s connection with his family would be enough for them to accept his invitation. If not, his father’s status should suit. Would Lady Sarah be angry? He hoped not, but then he had enjoyed seeing her miffed at the ball.
Not that he wished to upset her, he most certainly didn’t. But the way she had pinned him under her gaze and the light pink flush of her cheeks proved adorable. Julian shook his head. It did not signify. As long as she showed herself, he would consider himself triumphant.
A footman knocked on the door frame, causing him to glance away from the invitation in his hand.
“Enter.” Julian stood and met the servant halfway. He gave a smile, then handed him the invitation. “Deliver this to the Marquess and Marchioness of Havenshire without delay. Also, have someone send my valet up to my bedchamber.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, my lord.” The footman gave a bow before he rushed from the room.
Pulse quickening, Julian trekked to his room. He needed to see Lady Sarah. Father’s words bounced around his head, and urgency filled his soul. But something more tugged at him. He genuinely liked the lady, and there was no denying his attraction to her. A far cry from love, but a fire had undeniably flared within him when he’d touched her at the Wexil ball.
Tonight—she’d come tonight.
CHAPTER 3
“MY LADY.”
Sarah peeked up through her lashes at the young maid who stood before her. She closed the astronomy book on her lap and tipped her head up as the maid curtsied.
“Lady Roseington requests your presence in the drawing room.”
Sarah nodded. Once the maid left, she pressed her lips together, heart sinking. What could mother want that required interrupting her? Father promised to bring out his telescope so they could observe the heavens. Now it would have to wait.
Still clutching the book, she stood and straightened her taffeta skirts with her free hand. She strolled across the cobblestones toward the townhouse. Had something awful happened? Her chest tightened with each step she took.
Whatever this was about, it must be of the utmost importance, as mother rarely sent for her. The need seldom presented itself. They saw each other several times a day, prearranged for outings, family gatherings, and social events. The last time mother summoned her, it was due to a family crisis. She quickened her pace.
Entering through the door in a most unladylike way, she passed her book to the butler and continued toward the drawing room. Pray, let everything be as it should.
The moment she entered the drawing room, her gaze met Mother’s. She sat on the settee, sewing. Bright sunlight poured through a stain-glass window and washed Mother’s pale blond tresses in a kaleidoscope of color while she slowly pulled a needle through the cloth she held in her gloved hand.
Sarah took a calming breath and tried to steady her shaking hands. Nothing seemed amiss.
Mother set her stitching aside and studied Sarah. The slightest trace of amusement lit her turquoise eyes.
Sarah moved farther into the room. “You wanted to see me.” She arranged herself on a velvet wing-back chair near the settee.
“Yes, dear. We received an invitation to attend the opera tonight at Covent Garden, the Royal Opera House.” Mother grinned. “I wanted to ensure you would have plenty of time to prepare.” She took Sarah’s hand in hers. “It appears my interpretation of last night’s events were accurate.”
“To what interpretation do you refer?” She nibbled her bottom lip and waited for Mother’s reply. Please, let it not have to do with Julian Carrington.
“Why, your admirer of course. I told you Lord Luvington appeared to be smitten with you. He has invited us to join him in his private box. It is so wonderful.” She squeezed Sarah’s hand before releasing it.
Sarah straightened her back and averted her gaze. “It is awful, Mother. He is a notorious rake.” She glanced back at Mother. “No good can come of this.” She stood and paced to the hearth before turning back. “Think of my reputation.”
“Mind your manners, Sarah. Think of the damage to all of our reputations if we refuse. It would be rude to deny the invitation if for no other reason than his father is a duke.” Mother peered at her. “Do, come, and sit back down. Your reputation will not be tarnished simply from being in his company.”
Sarah did as Mother requested, exhaling as she lowered herself onto the chair. “Of course, my apologies.” She rested her hands on her lap.
Mother tipped her chin toward Sarah and beamed. “To think you could well be a duchess someday. Far better suited to you than the scholarly path you currently pursue.”
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment when she opened them she met Mother’s gaze. “You know perfectly well I intend to marry for love or not at all, Mother. I could not love a rake for he would only break my heart. Nothing will change my mind.” Why did Mother continue to fight her on this?
Cheeks taking on a scarlet hue, Mother stood and paced to the door. “I know where you stand on the subject but it will not harm you to keep company with Lord Luvington. Your father and I will be there as well. I expect you to prepare yourself properly and at least pretend to be grateful for the invitation.”
She twirled back to face Sarah, her mouth set in a fine line. “Many a lady would be honored to spend their time with a powerful and handsome marquess.”
Sarah swallowed her retort. She would gain no ground by arguing the point. She stood and placed a hand on her abdomen as her stomach rolled. “I shall be on my best behavior, Mother.”
“That is better. Now, go ready yourself.” Mother’s eyes glowed.
Sarah nodded and then moved faster than a lady ought from the parlor and toward the stairs. She longed for the sanctuary of her room.
“Wear that new violet gown we ordered a fortnight ago, it enhances your eyes,” Mother called after her.
Stilling, Sarah glanced back over her shoulder. “Very well, Mother.” Grabbing hold of the banister, she hurried up the steps. She could not care less how her eyes appeared to the scoundrel. If she were less of a lady, she would dress in rags to scare him off.
Lord Luvington would no doubt destroy her reputation. She would never be allowed in polite society again if he continued to pursue her. Or worse, she would be forced to marry him.
Sarah shuddered as she entered her room and sat at her vanity. She reached up with one hand and pinched a curl between her fingers weaving it back and forth between them as she fretted. How could Mother expect her to allow a blackguard to court her?
She could not give a fig that he was in line for a duchy. It did nothing to remedy his damaged reputation.
Could that be his angle? She gazed at her reflection in the beveled looking glass. Was it possible he was attempting to repair his deplorable reputation by spending time with her?
The thought held merit. Perhaps she had discovered how to get rid of his unwanted attention. She released the strand of hair she had been fiddling with and grinned. Could it be so simple?
Pushing off the plush velvet bench, she moved to the call cord. A newfound lightness added a bounce to her step. After summoning her maid, Sarah positioned herself by the arched window and grabbed hold of the muslin curtain with one hand as she stared out at London. Contemplating. If she were indeed correct, it would be imperative to make Lord Luvington see her as less of a lady. Could she carry out a plan to drive him away without harming her reputation?
How unfortunate Amelia could not be here now. She would have a plan. Sarah giggled at her involvement in last season’s shenanigans. She could hardly believe Amelia convinced her to help. And the Duchess of Abernathy as well. The way the three of them plotted was utterly scandalous.
If only Amelia were not expecting her first babe, she would be here to help. When she left with the Duke of Goldstone for Scotland, she had all but guaranteed she would return for this season. Alas, nature had other plans, and who could bemoan a new life?
A creak drew Sarah’s attention, and she looked at the doorway. Her maid, Greta, entered. “How may I be of assistance, my lady?”
“I require help getting ready for the opera.” Sarah offered a slight grin.
“I will have the tub sent up right away, my lady.” She curtsied and left.
Sarah sat down at her vanity again. After her bath, she would have Greta pull her corset extra tight to create more cleavage and dress in the gown Mother requested. A fashionable up-do and light rouge would complete the ensemble.
She planned to look stunning tonight and a bit less proper than she normally did. It would be a fine place to start if her suspicion held water. As for the rest, well, something would come to her.
She spent her bath pondering her situation. Every plot she considered ran the risk of tarnishing her reputation, and she could not abide it. Keeping her good standing in society was of the
utmost importance. However, dressing a bit wantonly would not hurt and just might be enough to beg him off. Many respectable ladies wore gowns just as daring.
What if her attempt to lose his interest had the opposite effect on his sensibilities? She closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the tubs side, allowing the jasmine scented water to relax her. She would simply have to take the chance and pray it did not.
As Greta helped Sarah into her undergarments, her mind wandered back to Lord Luvington. She simply had to find away to lose the rake’s interest.
She would call on Lady Abernathy tomorrow to discuss her theory. Surely the duchess would have some ideas. She hoped against reason, needing something to hold onto. For tonight, she would focus on showing Lord Luvington how improper she could be without scandalizing herself.
Greta pulled on the back of Sarah’s gown, snapping her out of her musings. Sarah sucked in her midsection and glanced at the door. Trepidation tickled down her spine as the time to depart drew near. She imagined going to the gallows would be less nerve racking.
“My lady, would it please you to have your hair fashioned now?” Greta held her arm out indicating Sarah’s vanity laden with tiny perfume bottles and pearl accented combs. Her rouge sat off to one side, still in its box.
“Indeed.” Sarah moved across the room. “I want you to style it fancier than normal. Both plaits and curls with some longer curls coming down over my left shoulder,” Sarah said, as she seated herself on the plush velvet bench.
Sarah watched in the looking glass as Greta pinned plaits across her head and arranged her curls in a becoming way. The effort would please Mother.
She grinned at her reflection when Mother entered the room, walked across the floor, and stationed herself near the vanity. She stood tall with a contented smile resting on her full lips.
Sarah waited for her to speak, but no words came. Instead, Mother stepped closer and reached out her hand. “I would like you to wear my amethysts.” She unfolded her graceful fingers, revealing the sparkling purple stones set in polished silver.
Dashing Rogues: A Historical Romance Collection Page 34
