“Mr. Fredericks! If you put such store into misinformed and malicious gossip, I wonder at your wanting to marry me. You should consider yourself fortunate that such a fallen woman has declined your offer. I ask you to leave my uncle’s property at once.” Her icy tone matched the anger in her gray eyes.
Hesitating, Mr. Fredericks sputtered a bit before picking up his hat from the bench. He smoothed back a few thin strands of hair and looked at her, red-faced and confused.
“Well, I would not go so far as to say that anyone thinks you are a fallen woman, Miss Allard. It is just that there has never been an explanation for your sudden return from London,” he muttered, in a weak attempt to explain his insulting comments.
Julia sighed, looked up to the patch of blue sky showing through the canopy of trees, and prayed for patience. That was one of the downfalls of living in a small village—everyone felt they had a right to know everyone else’s business. Especially tabbies like the Widow March, who Julia knew had spread most of the gossip about her curtailed visit to London last spring.
“Please, Mr. Fredericks, I have no intention of discussing this with you any longer. As you can see, I was in the middle of reading some letters, and I would like to continue.”
Jamming his hat on his head, Mr. Fredericks had the grace to look a little ashamed.
“I shall not bother you further, Miss Allard. I bid you a good day.”
Julia stood by the stone bench and watched him leave the garden through the little iron gate. She sincerely hoped that he would plague her no more.
Sitting down again on the bench, she picked up the letters she had set aside at Mr. Fredericks’ unexpected arrival. Clutching them in her lap to the point of crumpling them, she thought again of how much she loathed the Duke of Kelbourne.
Once more, a current trouble could directly be connected to that dastard, she thought with renewed anger. In fact, every single unpleasant thing that had occurred in the last year could be traced back to that horrible incident on Bolton Street in London.
The fragrant, shaded green beauty of Aunt Beryl’s garden faded as Julia’s bitter thoughts returned to that time, almost one year ago.
She had been beyond excited when she had received the invitation from Aunt Hyacinth and Uncle Edmund to come to London and make her come-out with Caro.
Such fuss! Such bustle! While Uncle John had stood by, shaking his head, Julia and Aunt Beryl had rushed around preparing for a London Season.
Though the Allards were a fine old family, it was Aunt Hyacinth, formerly a Stanhope, who had connections to the haute ton. Even Uncle John had conceded that his younger brother would be able to provide Julia a better entrée into Society.
The only thing that dampened her fervor was that Uncle John and Aunt Beryl would not be coming to London with her. Since the death of her father some ten years earlier, and since she had little memory of her pale, consumptive mother, Uncle John and Aunt Beryl were as dear to her as her parents.
“Won’t you change your mind, Uncle John? Or at least come to London a little later in the Season? I shall miss you both terribly,” she recalled pleading with him the night before she was to leave for Town.
“And we shall miss you, m’dear. But Edmund and Hyacinth have cultivated London Society all these years, while I am just an old soldier, content to stay in my childhood home with your Aunt Beryl,” he had soothingly explained.
So off she had gone with her maid and a groom, full of excited anticipation over the journey, for, except the occasional visits to Bath and Bradford-on-Avon, she had not been far from home the whole of her life.
Uncle Edmund had taken a beautiful house in Mayfair for his family. Caro had squealed her delight when Julia had arrived. Soon they both had been in transports of excitement over their impending curtsy to the Prince Regent.
London had been a delight to Julia. The museums and the bookstores! She had found something to please her senses around almost every corner.
And then that horrible day!
She could still feel the shock of his insult after these many months.
She recalled that after she had slapped his face and reentered the shop, Aunt Hyacinth and Caro had instantly noticed her pale cheeks and shaking fingers.
“Julia! Are you ill?” Then Caro had called to her mother from the other side of the shop, concern obvious in her blue eyes. “Mama, something is terribly amiss with Julia.”
The three women had immediately returned to the house in Mayfair. Aunt Hyacinth had rung for tea, while Julia had struggled to tell them what had transpired.
Caro had sat staring at Julia, her eyes wide with horror.
“Heaven help us!” Aunt Hyacinth had cried, her plump body slumping into a sofa. “Caroline! I am in need of my hartshorn!”
Caro had fled the room to return shortly with the hartshorn and her father.
“What on earth has occurred?” he had asked as he hurried into the room behind his daughter. “Caroline is rattling about you being accosted by some scoundrel.”
She retold the story to him while Caro had tended to her near swooning mother.
Uncle Edmund, though a younger and smaller version of Uncle John, could still manage the legendary Allard glare when he was incensed.
“This is an outrage! I shall find out who this profligate is and have him horsewhipped,” Uncle Edmund had stormed.
Sipping sweet tea, Julia had felt oddly comforted by her uncle’s anger.
“Are you sure that he was dressed as a gentleman? I cannot believe anyone accepted in Polite Society could behave in such an unredeemable manner,” Uncle Edmund had stated.
“Yes, Uncle, and the other men that were with him were all dressed very fashionably. In fact”—she had narrowed her gray eyes in concentration—“I believe his name is Kelbourne. Yes, that is it! One of the other men said that Kelbourne is confusing a vow with a wager.”
She had sat back then, so pleased with herself for remembering the scoundrel’s name that she did not immediately catch the thunderstruck expressions on her relatives’ faces. Aunt Hyacinth’s mouth had actually dropped open.
“You must be mistaken, Julia. The only Kelbourne I know of in Town is the Duke of Kelbourne. I cannot conceive…” Uncle Edmund’s voice had trailed away as he and his wife had exchanged dismayed glances.
Aunt Hyacinth had looked at her husband with anguished eyes.
“Oh, Edmund! It could not possibly be the Duke of Kelbourne! Could it? I own he is a bit wild, but…Oh no! What if it is Kelbourne? The poor child will have to carry this with her, and the Season has barely started,” she had cried.
Julia had looked at her aunt in growing alarm.
“If my niece cannot even stand on a London street without being molested by some damned rakehell at three of the clock…”
The entrance of his son had interrupted Uncle Edmund’s tirade. Roland Allard was a tall, handsome young man much like his father and known as quite a dasher around Town.
“I’ve just come from my club,” Roland had stated without preamble. “I suspected that there could not be two lithe, lovely, extremely tall, flaxen-haired beauties unknown to the ton on Bolton Street today.”
“Good Lord! Speak up, boy, tell us what you know,” his father had urged.
“Well,” he had begun in a hesitant voice before seating himself across from Julia, “I really am not privy to all the details. Unfortunately, Lord Torrington saw the whole thing happen. He had been at a celebration yesterday evening with the Kelbourne set. They were in high spirits because Kel, that is Kelbourne, had wagered a fortune on some untried pugilist in a match against Cooper.”
“Pugilism! Never say Julia is somehow mixed up in pugilism,” Aunt Hyacinth had said in horror.
“Not exactly, Mama,” Roland had said.
Uncle Edmund had tossed an impatient glance to his wife. “Let the boy explain, Hyacinth.”
Roland had continued. “Kelbourne’s man somehow won the match in the wee hours. Everyone was
there, and at the…er…celebration afterward Kel—and here is where my information gets sketchy—made some kind of vow.”
“Yes, he did say something about not going back on a vow,” Julia had interjected.
“Kelbourne, by all accounts made this vow publicly. Dame Fortune’s name was invoked, and that caused all the blades and bucks to rush back to London and place wagers in the betting books of most of the clubs in Town,” Roland had concluded.
“Good God,” Uncle Edmund had expostulated.
“All I know is that by Kel’s kissing Julia, enormous sums of money changed hands among a good number of the male members of the ton this afternoon.”
“Oh dear.” Caro had looked across to Julia with expressive eyes.
Julia had sat silent.
“‘Pon rep, Julia, I’d call Kelbourne out if I wasn’t sure he’d put a hole through me,” Roland had said, giving Julia a weak smile.
Uncle Edmund had jumped to his feet. “This is the most outrageous, unprincipled, insulting…” he had sputtered as he took long strides to the door. “Come, Roland, we shall pay a visit to Kelbourne this instant. I do not intend to let this jackanapes get away with this.”
Roland had half risen to follow when his mother’s voice halted them both.
“No, Edmund, you mustn’t.” Her voice had been authoritative despite the underlying note of panic.
Uncle Edmund had stopped mid-stride to look back at his wife in surprise.
“You do not expect me to let this insult to our niece pass?”
Julia had seen Aunt Hyacinth firm her lips. “Children, please leave so that your uncle and I can discuss this situation in private.”
Julia and Caro had exchanged speaking looks before silently following Roland from the sitting room.
Breakfast the next morning had seemed to Julia like an odd and unpleasant dream.
Her uncle had not met her eyes once while Aunt Hyacinth went on about the weather in an overly cheerful tone of voice.
Roland had gulped his food and excused himself, throwing Julia a sympathetic look on the way out. Caro had said nothing and gazed at her mother in puzzlement. Julia had eaten very little, remained silent, and waited.
Finally, Aunt Hyacinth had set her cup down and looked across the table at Julia with the no-nonsense expression Julia had become very familiar with.
“My dear Julia, your uncle and I are aware of how important this Season is to you. But in light of yesterday’s shocking occurrence, I feel—that is—your uncle and I feel that it would be in your best interest to postpone your come-out until the gossip dies down.”
“Mama! You cannot mean it! Why, it is as if you are implying that somehow what happened yesterday was Julia’s fault.” Caro had stared at her mother in angry surprise.
“Not at all,” Aunt Hyacinth had replied. “We are only speaking of a postponement. Do not take on so.”
“But, Mama, this is not fair,” Caro had continued her argument. “Papa, please tell Mama that Julia must stay!”
Julia had been touched by her cousin’s loyalty and defense, but Julia also knew that her pleading would do no good.
“Perhaps it is for the best, because of the gossip…” Uncle Edmund’s voice had trailed away on this feeble excuse.
“Who cares about the gossip! I want Julia to stay!” Caro had exclaimed.
Aunt Hyacinth had heaved a heavy sigh and folded her hands primly in her ample lap.
“Caro, you force me to be frank. Though we have a certain cachet among the ton, we certainly do not circulate to such heights as the Duke of Kelbourne. He is a nonpareil of the first consequence. The duke will not suffer a whit for accosting Julia on the street yesterday—but Julia will. Any number of people saw the event. Roland heard it being discussed in his club! If Julia appeared in Society, how long do you think it would take for her to be pointed at and gossiped about?”
This bit of logic had silenced Caro, and Julia could still recall the helpless, apologetic look on her cousin’s face.
Julia had been sent back to Chippenham the very next day. All her friends and acquaintances had not even tried to hide their avid curiosity at her sudden return. The only person she had shared the truth with, other than Uncle John and Aunt Beryl, had been her lifelong friend, Miss Mariah Thorncroft.
Julia had found some comfort in her discussions with her friend, for Mariah had an equally vivid imagination when it came to dreaming up fitting punishments for the evil duke.
But even after a year, questions about her return still cropped up. Why, even Cynthia Arnold, a neighbor child she had taught to read, had asked Julia if she had been naughty in London. Again, she had been forced to fib—to a child—about why she had not stayed in London for the Season. How she hated the Duke of Kelbourne!
Sighing, Julia tried to push her frustrated, vengeful thoughts away. She suddenly became aware of the letter she held crumpled in her palm and decided to divert herself with the as yet unread letter from Caro.
Unfolding the paper, she pressed it to her knee to smooth some of the creases before reading it in the late afternoon light.
My Dearest Cousin,
I write this letter to beseech your company! Dear Julia, though I am a bride of only six months, I find that I must attend my mother-in-law in Bath, instead of going to London for the Season!
You know that I would never say a word to disagree with my darling Clive, but I believe that sometimes he is a trifle indulgent of his mama’s megrims.
We have taken a house very near Lady Farren’s, and Clive will not hear another word on the subject. But he does send his love to you and hopes you will come to Bath and stay with us. He knows how much your company delights me, and wishes that you would feel pity upon me and stay the entire summer. Was that not prettily put? Alas, I cannot be out of patience with my darling Clive for long.
As Chippenham is so close to Bath, your journey shall not be at all arduous. And unless I hear that you have the pox or something equally dreadful, I shall expect to see you on my doorstep within a fortnight.
I shall send you my direction in the next post. I hope my aunt and uncle Allard are well and are willing to share you with their bereft niece. Give them my love.
Your Loving,
Caro
Julia reread the letter with a growing smile. Indeed, she would seriously consider this unexpected invitation. Chippenham, especially after this last encounter with Mr. Fredericks, was having a stifling effect upon her of late. Her normal interests and pursuits had lost their appeal. She decided that Bath in the summer would be lovely.
Julia rose and left the lush garden. Entering the house from the wide stone steps that led to the French windows, she was aware of a budding sense of excitement, and was eager to discuss Caro’s letter with her aunt and uncle.
The maid was just bringing the tea service into the sitting room, where her relatives were enjoying the view of the front garden.
“Oh, good, you have come in. I was feeling much too lazy to go and fetch you for tea,” Aunt Beryl called in a cheerful tone upon seeing her niece enter the room.
Julia smiled at her pretty, petite aunt as she seated herself in a comfortable chair across from her relatives. This was her favorite part of the day. To sit in this well-appointed room, with its warm, woodpaneled walls and myriad of cozy pillows, had always been a gentle pleasure.
Setting his newspaper aside, Uncle John looked at Julia with interest, his gray eyes very like her own. Of her deceased father’s two brothers, Julia thought that Uncle John looked most like her papa.
“Was that Mr. Fredericks I saw going down the lane as if the hounds of Hades were on his heels?”
“Yes, it was. I believe that he will not be returning anytime soon,” Julia sighed, and settled back comfortably in her chair.
“Oh no, Julia, not again!” her aunt cried, teapot suspended over her husband’s cup. “I thought surely that he would not renew his proposal after the last time you declined him,” she sighed, her st
ill-brown curls shaking from beneath her mobcap.
“Yes, I am afraid that I had to speak quite plainly this time,” Julia said, suppressing a lingering stab of guilt regarding Mr. Fredericks.
“Nonsense, m’dear. If he is so thickheaded that a simple no will not do, then he deserves to be sent off with a flea in his ear,” Uncle John stated, accepting the cup from his wife.
Looking at her uncle with his shock of steel gray hair and erect military bearing, Julia decided to leave out the insult Mr. Fredericks had dealt her. Uncle John would most likely call the younger man out if he knew.
“I have a letter from Caro,” Julia said without preamble, “and she has invited me to go to Bath and stay with her for the summer.”
At her aunt’s and uncle’s looks of surprise, she handed the letter across to Aunt Beryl.
While her aunt read the short missive, Julia sent a smile to her uncle. “I have not been away from Chippenham for some time. I have been rather dull lately, and I own a visit to Bath is appealing.”
Uncle John frowned. “I do not know, Julia. The last time you went off from us, there was a spot of trouble.”
Aunt Beryl snorted at this remark and laid the letter aside. “As if it was anyone’s fault that cad accosted Julia. Really, John! It might do Julia a bit of good to be away from Chippenham for a while. It has been much too dull here. This last year, she has done nothing but help me in the garden or tutor some of the village children. Besides, Bath is not far—we could easily visit Julia and Caroline this summer. I certainly would not mind taking the waters.”
A frown still creased her uncle’s forehead, but he did not argue further with his wife or niece.
Sitting back in her chair with her steaming cup of tea, Julia’s smile grew. Bath did indeed seem to be the perfect escape from unwanted suitors and nosy tabbies. She could not wait to send a note to Mariah Thorncroft with the news.
Chapter Two
The Wagered Heart: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) Page 2
