Julia glanced at the letter which said much the same thing as Charity herself had apparently told the maid. “Yes, please,” Julia said, pulling a sheet of parchment from her desk and wrote a quick note to her friend asking her to come for tea.
~.~
When Lady Charity Abernathy arrived later that afternoon, the house was still in a state. Jane was a little put out by the fact that Julia invited company when they had barely settled in, but Julia protested saying that Jane had spent time with her friends for the whole ride to Bath. So Jane relented but declined making an appearance. “I have too much to do,” she said. “Presently, I am soiled from travel and am entirely unfit for company.”
Julia thought that if Jane was unfit for company she must be truly dreadful.
Julia was still in her traveling clothes, when Mrs. Manchester set tea in the garden. Although the roses were a bit overgrown and not blooming yet, the airy setting was just what Julia needed after the close confines of the coach, and Lady Charity would not mind her appearance.
Lady Charity Abernathy and Miss Lavinia Grant were Julia’s friends, and she had few enough ladies to call friends. If Charity wanted to visit on short notice, Julia would not refuse her. Both Charity and Lavinia were blonde and smaller than Julia. Lady Charity was soft and feminine, with curves that attracted masculine attention like honey. Lavinia had the appearance of a china doll and a droll wit. Julia could see no reason why either should befriend her, but they had.
In fact Lady Charity was the reason Julia was not allowed to stand ignored at parties, because Charity herself would not be ignored. She had taken Julia under her wing and regaled her with stories. Now, when Julia complained over tea of the staunch attitudes of her last days traveling companions, Charity lifted her spirits with tales of Lady Amelia Atherton’s time in London last season. Julia laughed when Charity told her of Lady Amelia’s antics, but still, Julia begged off the evening party her friend suggested, complaining of fatigue from travel.
“I cannot possibly be ready. Most of my clothes are still packed. Nothing is pressed. I would not do such a disservice to our staff, and I am truly weary.”
“No,” Charity said. “Fatigue does not keep a young lady from a party. It is a dowager’s excuse. Now tell me true.”
Julia paused as a servant brought the teacakes before she finally capitulated and revealed to her friend the cause for her melancholy.
“Father has left instructions for my marriage,” Julia said at last.
“In his will?”
“The exact same. He states that I am to marry The Baron Fawkland.”
“Oh, Julia!” Charity exclaimed. “You cannot. He is a terrible rake. Everyone says so. He has ruined more than one young lady.”
“So I have heard,” Julia said glumly. “But what am I to do? The will is set. If I do not marry him by the end of the summer, I shall lose the house here in Bath.”
“Oh, but you love this townhouse!” Charity exclaimed.
Julia nodded “Believe me, it breaks my heart that I must choose between a house I love and a man I do not.”
Julia told Charity how, her sister’s husband had been trying to find a way around the terms of Father’s will for months now, because Julia had been so distraught, but to no avail. The Earl’s solicitor had said the only gap in the agreement were if she were willing to give up the house to her grasping Cousin Rupert. The thought gave her a turn. Father had never planned that. No, he had planned that she be married to Lord Fawkland! Still, the thought of a lifetime with a man she could not abide, made her quake in her shoes.
“You should go to the soiree tonight,” Lady Charity urged. “It will do your heart good to forget your worries for a while. I’m sure one of your sister’s fancy maids can get something ready for you to wear.”
“I cannot,” Julia said as she poured the tea. “I am still sore from bumping about in that awful coach for three days. The trip was ghastly.”
“You made good time,” Charity offered.
“I wish we could have made it in two.”
“Traveling in what? A mail coach?” Charity teased.
Julia scowled at her and continued to demolish her tea cake with her fork. Some did indeed travel with the mail coach, but not ladies of quality.
“At any rate, your problem has a simple solution,” Charity said, lifting her teacup daintily.
“Pray tell. What is that?”
“Fall in love with a man who can buy the house with pocket change,” Charity said airily. “It is after all, not a very big house. Any gentleman above a baronet should be able to afford it. Request it for a wedding present.”
“I do not want to marry a baron or a baronet,” Julia protested. “I just want this house.”
Charity hummed her sympathies, “Do not fret, my dear Julia. We shall think of something I am sure. Now I must go and prepare for this evening’s festivities. If I am late my mother will never forgive me, and I want a bit of time to visit with Father before he retires.” Charity stood as she spoke and Julia stood with her, but they did not leave the garden. “You may not go to the soiree tonight, but I will expect to see you tomorrow. My mother is hosting a musicale and she has engaged the renowned Mister Andrew Lodder. You cannot miss it.” Charity shook a finger under her friend’s nose. “I shall be very vexed with you if you should do so.”
“Oh, very well,” Julia agreed. “I shall endeavor to be there.”
Mister James Poppy is escorting me. You know the Poppy family, do you not? James has a brother…Michael.” Charity’s eyes seemed to brighten as she considered. “Perhaps Michael could…”
“I do know the Poppy’s,” Julia said. “But sadly, I do not think they could afford my house in Bath along with their other expenses and their many sisters’ dowries.”
“So you would accept Michael then?”
“No. Oh, I don’t know,” Julia said miserably. “He’s handsome enough in a broody sort of way.”
“You are the one who is broody,” Charity accused with a laugh.
“I am not,” Julia said pouting.
“Why not let Lord Fawkland woo you?” Charity said. “He is a baron. For all that he is a rake; he is so terribly good looking. Or there is always the Earl of Wentworth. If you must choose a rake,” Charity said plainly, “and are to be caught out, you should choose the man with the higher title.”
“Charity you are awful,” Julia said with a laugh. She knew her friend was only teasing in an attempt to cheer her. “I would never do such a thing. Besides, if I wanted to marry a rake, why not choose the one I am already engaged to?” she said. “Trapping a man cannot be a good way to start a life together.”
“You would not be the first woman to catch a man so.”
“Not a gentleman,” said Julia.
“No. Not a gentleman,” Charity agreed.
“Oh, what was Father was thinking!” Julia cried.
“He was thinking to save you from gossip when he could no longer protect you,” Charity said wisely.
“Jane said much the same thing,” Julia confided as the women moved towards the door together. “But I cannot think The Baron can protect my reputation when his own is so sullied. Oh Father…” she sighed and looked at her friend for a moment.
“I miss him,” she said softly, and Charity who had a special relationship with her own father, put a hand on her friend’s in comradery. “Do not think of anything sad,” Charity counseled as she hugged her.
If only Julia could do that. “I wish I could.”
“I shall endeavor to help you on the morrow,” Lady Charity promised. “I believe the Gruger brothers are invited to the musicale. I do not know if they have replied, but I will check with my mother.”
Julia nodded and went inside to help Jane with setting up the household for the summer. She would worry about husbands tomorrow.
~.~
Chapter Three
When Julia awoke early the next morning she was still plagued with disquiet. She decide
d to paint. It would settle her. She could forget everything while she painted. She went up to her attic studio and laid a canvas on the easel.
Julia bit her lip and studied the scene outside of her window. She loved this view. She could not lose it. No matter what Charity said, she was not broody. She was usually an optimistic person; only the fact that she could see no way out of her circumstance was depressing her.
As she chose the colors and immersed herself in the art she imagined the scene was her life: calm and beautiful and still, just like the picture she was creating. She clung to that thought. If not prevented, she would have endeavored to jump into the picture and sit quietly in anonymity, feeling the sun on her face and smelling the sweet air of Bath; the air of home.
The door stood open to allow the breeze to circulate, and soon the sounds of the house awakening carried up the stair, as well as the smell of baking cakes and brewing tea. She heard the shuffling and laughing of the servants and considered going down to breakfast, but she wanted to come to a convenient stopping place in her painting.
Perhaps a lighter blue and a bit of yellow for sun, she thought. She knew the sky would turn lighter as the day progressed and the light would change. She mixed the paint with a bit of white on the palate. She paused; brush in hand thinking her canvas looked more cheerful than she felt.
The sky was a pure azure with no clouds at all, but she debated whether she should put them in anyway. The blue today didn’t have the nuances she loved so much. It could be painted a single hue with just a bit of yellow and white for the sun. Well, perhaps even the stark blue had some hint of gradation. One only had to look for it more diligently. She knew that later today, the sun would shine strongly, delineating the clean lines of the town. The pure white marble would shine like a gem under the bright summer sun. It would look different than it did now. Did that make it necessarily less beautiful, she wondered?
As she painted, Julia remembered poking about the history of Bath with Charity and Lavinia. Lavinia could always make her laugh. Together they imagined they could see the Roman commanders rolling down the cobbled streets in their chariots. She and Charity often made up stories about those proud Romans, and laughed at their fantasies.
She had even once painted the chariot scene from her very vivid imagination and Lavinia teased her about the strong arms and set jaws she painted on the Romans. They fell into giggling as they compared the picture with real-life men, and could barely breathe with the merriment as they lay across Julia’s bed and laughed, their stays reminding them that rolling about and laughing was not a ladylike activity. Julia had managed to roll off the bed to her feet, but Charity lay stuck on her back like an upturned turtle, snorting with mirth, and flailing her arms as her bosom shook with hilarity. Julia stood choking with laughter and could not even manage to pull her friend upright. Instead she just stood there laughing until her stomach hurt.
“Fie!” Charity exclaimed. “You are unkind. Help me up.” She waved a hand at her friends.
Julia and Lavinia continued laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. But at last together they had managed to pull their friend up and then, Charity had accosted them both with her fan saying, “You are horrible friends, both of you; leaving me to lie there stuck like a round backed tortoise!”
Lavinia giggled telling Charity, “But you are rounder than I am; you should have rolled right off of the bed!”
“Rounder! Am I?” Charity exclaimed. “Do you think I am accustomed to rolling in and out of bed?”
Julia gave her a look, and Charity reddened as she realized her words, “Oh! Don’t you say a word. You are too cruel.”
That was how Jane found them, wrinkled and flushed in the summer heat and still giggling with mirth. Julia had a bit of paint on her nose and the maid had to crawl under the bed to retrieve the paintbrush Julia had lost.
Jane chided them for their appearance. “Pray, what is so funny?” she demanded.
“Romans,” Charity had said.
“Men,” Lavinia replied at the exact same time.
The girls could not share the cause of their mirth with Julia’s upright sister, Jane, but every time they looked at one another they burst into renewed giggles. Why were the men of today not like those stout Romans? Lavinia lamented.
“Men no longer have that sort of masculinity,” Julia said, “and if they do, then they are unkind.”
“I do not think the Romans were kind,” Charity proposed and Julia agreed that was probably true, but the gentlemen she knew who were kind, were somehow less charismatic than those Romans.
“I do not think those two traits come in the same man,” Julia said. The three friends sighed and continued imagining the perfect men who were obviously born too early in time for them to appreciate.
But no matter how vivid her imagination, Julia could not imagine a life without the Bath home. Almost as unsettling was the thought of the brash, overbearing Fawkland calling the house his home. He was charismatic. That was certainly true. Dare she think he had any kindness within his character? He may surely have passion, but how could she have peace if kindness was not in his temperament? She sat and stared out of the window, her paint brush still loaded with paint in her hand. How would it feel to have her home invaded? Perhaps it was better to let it fall to Cousin Rupert, but she did not want to live on her sister’s charity, although Jane would never complain. The problem was, Julia wanted to be married, but did not think there was a worthy man alive. Her sister told her she was too particular.
“May I come in, Julia?” Jane stuck her head into the room and Julia startled. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts and her painting she did not see nor hear her sister until she was at the door.
“Are you coming down for breakfast?” Jane asked. “I feel as though I have not seen you since we arrived yesterday. Miss Grant has come to call.
“Oh!” Julia said excited to see her friend; Lavinia would cheer her.
“I will be down in a moment,” Julia said looking back at the painting with longing. She wanted to at least finish the sky.
Lavinia with typical curiosity had followed Jane upstairs to the attic retreat. One could not really leave Lavinia behind. Julia heard her light foot on the stairs.
“Why that is beautiful,” Lavinia said. “My paintings always look like they were done by a clumsy child. You really have such a talent, Julia.”
Lavinia was not being entirely truthful. Her paintings were not as detailed but she could draw passably well, and she was much better at needlepoint. More than that, Lavinia was a graceful dancer, beautiful and personable, with curls that were never out of place and a smile that never wavered. Her hair could be damp with perspiration or even wet and it would still curl. It did not fall straight or puff up into a head of fuzzy dandelion fluff as Julia’s did. Lavinia never groped for conversation or did anything out of place. Even when she did, everyone found it quaint or droll; a talent Julia lacked. Julia envied that poise more than Lavinia’s beauty, but she also loved her friend, so she did not fret. Lavinia was only Lavinia.
“I know your future husband will find your painting most endearing,” Lavinia added.
“Please, Lavinia, can we not talk about husbands.” Julia set her paintbrush down on the palette, beside the splotch of summer’s day blue. It was clear that her sister and her friend would not let her finish.
“Julia, we must speak of husbands,” Jane said gently.
“Yes,” Lavinia commented. “Lady Charity spoke to me at the soiree last night and told me of your …engagement, and your melancholy. Oh Julia, you must not leap to the conclusion that all is lost. You are not married yet.”
“And you must not stay in your attic studio with no company but your own bitter thoughts,” Jane said.
Julia sighed.
To her sister finding a husband had been a breeze. Jane was a beautiful woman with all of the necessary qualities, a fine dancer, a skilled hostess, and soft speaker
“Julia, you must at least
meet him,” Jane coaxed.
“Hmm?” Julia said distractedly. The sky was still off. Perhaps she would have to wait until it dried a bit and try to soften it with clouds.
“Julia, please finish,” Jane said urgently. “Put the paint brush aside and listen to me.”
Julia applied herself more diligently to her painting. “I have met him,” She replied bluntly
“When Lord Fawkland was a child. He is a man now. There is a difference between the boy and the man,” Jane said. She put her hand on Julia’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be cross with you, but this is why we came to Bath. You must meet with him.”
Julia began to clean her brushes while Jane spoke. There was no hope to finish her painting. Jane would continue to pester her until she had her way. Jane did not know the meaning of defeat. She was talking in her matter of fact way, and Julia had to listen, but her eyes kept straying back to her painting. When she painted she forgot all about the issues in her life. She forgot about the house and husbands and balls, but Jane did not.
“Julia do you hear me?” Jane said in exasperation.
“I hear you,” Julia said lifting a shoulder in a shrug and looking back at her sister. “I just believe that I have not changed so much. I am sure he will not have changed. I did not like him as a boy. I will not like him as a man.”
“Julia, you cannot know that,” Lavinia urged. “I was just telling Charity last night.” Lavinia paused and Julia got the impression that she was the subject of much discussion between Charity and Lavinia. “You should meet him,” Lavinia continued. “If he is not to your liking, find another. Many gentlemen in His Majesty’s Service are currently in town. Some are quite handsome.”
“None could afford the townhouse,” Julia said.
The Baron in Bath - Miss Julia Bellevue: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 4) Page 2
