"I knew it," Charlotte thrilled, before falling silent as her husband did some elbow poking of his own.
"I love him, but I have hurt him greatly," Julia continued, before explaining to the pair of what had happened with the duel between Thomas and Lord Michaels.
"Oh, dear," Charlotte sighed, as Julia finished her tale.
"All is not lost," Penrith responded, his blue eyes offering Julia hope, "Montague is not the type to withhold forgiveness, when it is asked for. Though he does appreciate..."
Penrith trailed off, and looked momentarily pained, before he continued, "He is the type who appreciates a grand gesture."
"A grand gesture?" Julia mused, before she made the connection in her head between Penrith's words and his momentary look of mortification--The Proposal in The Pond.
Penrith's own grand gesture was so well-known, that it now even had an official name. The papers referred to it often, much, according to Charlotte, to Penrith's embarrassment. Julia had witnessed the duke's sodden declaration of love, and at the time had thought him fit for Bedlam. Now, here she was, standing in his metaphorical shoes, and she would gladly throw herself into the nearest body of water if it meant that Montague would forgive her.
"I do not know where he is," Julia whispered to Penrith.
"I do," the duke replied, "And, if you like, I may take you to him at once."
"We may take you," Charlotte interrupted, keen to be included in the fun.
"What--" Julia began, as fear overtook her, "What if he says no?"
A grand gesture was a perfectly fine thing for a duke to perform, given that society would forgive him almost anything. As a single woman, with no fortune or power of her own, Julia's grand gesture might lead to her ruin. If she were to publicly humiliate herself, and Montague refuse her, then she had nothing to fall back on--she would not even find work as a governess, such would be her fall.
"Montague will not let you down," Penrith assured her, seemingly reading her mind, "Put your trust in him, and he will not fail."
Trust; that was the crux of the issue. Julia had not trusted Montague when he said that he had changed his ways. Now she must put all her trust in him, and hope that he would come through.
Love makes anything possible, a voice whispered in Julia's ear.
"Take me," Julia agreed breathlessly, "Take me to Montague."
Charlotte let out a squeal of excitement and bounced along beside Julia as Penrith led the way. At the ducal residence, he called for a carriage and four, and before Julia even had a chance to rethink her decision, she was being spirited away through the streets of London.
"Montague comes here to watch lesser known plays," Penrith explained, as, a spell later, he led Julia and Charlotte into a small theatre in Covent Garden, "It's small enough to not be intimidating should you wish to stand up and proclaim your love."
"On stage?" Julia whispered, suddenly filled with fear.
"Well," Charlotte was tactful, "As you explained it, you did rather betray him. A grand gesture ought to be grand, should it not?"
Charlotte trailed off uncomfortably, but Julia smiled to let her know there was no hard feelings.
"I did betray him," she said, as she squared her shoulders, "And now I am ready to sacrifice myself on the altar of love."
"Metaphorically sacrifice," Charlotte whispered in her ear, as she drew Julia into a hug, "That dress is too pretty to get covered in blood. Now go, break a leg. We shall be here waiting."
Julia nodded and made her way up through the rows of seats. The play had not yet begun and the stage was empty, and with each step she took, she could feel the eyes of the audience following her.
All the world's a stage, Julia thought, as she braved the curious stares to clamber up the steps to the waiting boards.
The room fell silent, as what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes fell on Julia. For a second, she allowed fear to overwhelm her, but then one pair of eyes--darkest brown, but paradoxically bright and sparkling--met hers, and all of her fears fell away.
"O Romeo, Romeo," she began, her voice faltering slightly as a member of the audience gave a loud titter. "Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. And I'll no longer be a Capulet--I mean, Cavendish."
"Julia," Montague rose to his feet, but Julia was determined to continue.
Unfortunately, she could not recall the next line, and instead resorted to spouting out the next romantic prose she could remember.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" she began, blushing as the sound of even more laughter filled the room, "Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date--"
"Julia," Montague said again, as he crossed the theatre to reach her. In three long strides, he had reached the stage, was now clambering up toward her.
Was he going to tell her to be quiet? Fear filled Julia's belly, as the man she loved looked at her, his expression unreadable.
"What are you doing?" Montague whispered, as he placed a hand on her elbow, as though to pull her aside out of view.
Grand gesture, grand gesture, Julia repeated to herself, as her legs turned to jelly.
"Lord Montague," she said, her loud voice carrying across the auditorium, so that all could hear her; "I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest. If you will forgive me, for all of my transgressions, I would humbly request--"
Julia swallowed; what she was about to do was the very opposite of what ladies did. It was not the act of a proper society miss, nor what a sensible, practical lady might do.
But when it came to Lord Montague, Julia knew that there was nothing sensible or practical about her love for him.
"--I would humbly request your hand in marriage," she finished, wondering if perhaps she should drop to her knee. Since she had gone so far, Julia decided that she might as well make the full journey, and took a knee before Montague, whose face was a picture of confusion.
Excited whispers broke out, rising to a sharp crescendo, as the watching crowd waited with bated breath for Montague's reply. Julia was certain that there were some amongst them who were praying that the marquess would refuse her, just so they could say that they had been there when the ice-cool Lady Julia fell so spectacularly from grace. Fear and doubt threatened to overwhelm her, but Julia held her nerve.
Trust him, she told herself, as she closed her eyes and awaited his reply.
A second--so long, it felt like eternity--passed, but then Julia felt Montague take her hands, and she opened her eyes to find the marquess had joined her on the floor.
"I rather think you're messing up your lines. You have taken the male lead, Lady Julia," he whispered, his eyes dancing, his words an echo of their first meeting.
"I'm very versatile, my lord," Julia replied, with a watery laugh, "It's one of my many attributes; versatile, fit for Bedlam, and hopelessly in love with you."
"I'm afraid those last two attributes are mutually inclusive," Montague was, as ever, charmingly self-deprecating, "As a fellow Bedlamite, and a man who is hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you, what else can I say to your proposal, but yes."
"You mean it?" Julia whispered, not daring to hope.
"A thousand times yes," Montague emphasised, and then to convince her further, he leaned forward and planted a kiss upon her lips.
The crowd began to cheer, and Julia was almost certain she heard Charlotte burst into loud sobs of joy, but she paid no heed. Nothing else mattered, nothing else at all, except that she would soon belong to Montague.
The kiss was chaste, given their audience, but Montague's lips felt urgent with need and wanting as they pressed against hers.
"We'd best make haste," Montague whispered, pulling away from her with eyes that were dark with desire, "There is work to do, if we are to be married in the morning."
The marquess leapt to his feet and extended a hand to help Julia to
hers. The crowd applauded, as though they had been watching an actual play, and to Julia's surprise, she found herself offering them a curtsy, whilst beside her Montague gave a flourishing bow.
"Congratulations," Charlotte squealed, as Julia and Montague ran off-stage, "I must say, Julia, you've missed your calling--you were born for the stage."
"I am afraid the only role that Julia will now play, is that of my wife," Montague answered, putting a possessive arm around Julia and pulling her close to him.
"Well done," Penrith said, his cool demeanour breaking slightly, as he offered Julia a smile, "And my congratulations, Montague. I wish you a pleasant and bountiful marriage."
"This is the second proposal you have witnessed and the second time you have acted like you are a vicar, and not Montague's oldest friend," Charlotte huffed, "Hug the man, for heaven's sake--but do it quickly, a celebratory glass of sparkling wine is calling out for us in Penrith House!"
Penrith duly obliged his wife by gifting Montague with a hug--a tad awkward, but nonetheless heartfelt--and a kiss upon Julia's cheek.
"A most excellent grand gesture," Penrith murmured to her, "So grand, that it eclipses mine completely--or at least, I hope it shall."
Julia grinned, but as of yet she felt no remorse for having so publicly humiliated herself in the name of love. How could she, when the reward was a six-foot-two marquess who would be hers until the day that she died?
The quartet made their way from the theatre, through the stage-door, and out to the back-alley where Penrith's carriage was waiting. Montague tried to wheedle his way into having Julia travel with him, but Charlotte, who had appointed herself as chaperone, would have none of it.
"I know very well what you Upstarts are like, when you have a lady alone in a carriage," Charlotte sniffed, as beside her Penrith flushed with embarrassment, "We shall reconvene at Penrith House. Now, off with you, you are delaying my glass of wine."
Montague was reluctant to let go of Julia's hand, but she gave him a smile of assurance.
"The sooner we are home," she whispered, "The sooner we can make plans for tomorrow."
"And the sooner we can do all the things Her Grace says an Upstart likes to do in moving carriages," Montague agreed, with a wink.
Julia flushed; though she could not say that she was not sorely tempted to discover for herself what it was that gentlemen did with their wives when they were alone.
The carriage ride back to Penrith House felt far longer than the initial one to the theatre. Julia barely heard Charlotte, as she gaily planned out a future which involved the three wallflowers birthing dozens of babies, whom would all play together and be as firm friends as their mamas and papas.
"Perhaps," Charlotte continued, her eyes bright, "If we each have a boy and a girl, they shall marry each other."
"Calm down, dear," Penrith grinned, "We are yet to receive a child, yet here you are, marrying them off already. Do you know, in this light, you remind me a little of your grandmother?"
"Take that back," Charlotte cried, though there was no anger in her voice, in fact, she looked rather thoughtful. "Though, I must say, it is splendid fun, seeing people married off. I can rather see where the appeal lies in being a matchmaking mama."
Once they reached Penrith House, Charlotte summoned the footmen to fetch sparkling wine, and the newly minted Duke and Duchess of Orsino.
There was much cheering and hugging as the three wallflowers and three Upstarts were united, and everyone was in such good humour that no one even thought to tease Orsino about the three undone buttons on his shirt.
"Isn't it wonderful," Charlotte breathed, as she Julia and Violet chinked their glasses together, "We shall all live together on the square, and be friends for life. Everything has come together just perfectly!"
Well, almost everything, Julia thought with a pang.
As though her very thoughts had summoned them, Lord and Lady Cavendish arrived unannounced, having presumably barged past the helpless butler.
Julia paled, as Montague broke away from his friends, to come stand beside her.
"You," Lord Cavendish said, as pale-faced as his wife beside him.
Montague squared his shoulders, and Julia followed suit, preparing herself for an awful argument,
"You," Lord Cavendish continued, his eyes fixed on Montague, "Are not the husband we would have chosen for our daughter, but as she seems to have made up her mind to marry you, then we have no choice but to--"
Julia closed her eyes, preparing herself for the worst.
"--to welcome you into the family," Lord Cavendish finished stiffly.
"Papa?" Julia questioned, as her eyes flew open.
"I have but one daughter," the marquess said, his eyes watering slightly, "And I have no desire to lose her to a feud so old that no one can recall why it started."
On slippered feet, Julia ran the length of the room to her parents and threw herself into their arms.
There was much hugging, and crying, and when Montague joined them, Lord Cavendish offered him a stiff, formal handshake.
"Oh, Mama, I am sorry if I have upset you," Julia whispered, as tears slipped down her mother's cheeks.
"What would have upset me more than losing you to Montague," Lady Cavendish sniffed, "Would have been losing you forever. And we must look on the bright side."
"Oh?" Julia questioned.
"Well, one day he will be a duke, dear," Lady Cavendish whispered, much more cheerful now, "Which will make you a duchess. Just wait until I tell Lady Jersey; she thought she had pulled quite the coup, in marrying her niece off to an earl. I'll show her how it's done."
Julia resisted rolling her eyes at her mama's snobbery; she should be thankful for it, really, she thought, for it would smooth the waters for Montague's entrance into the family.
"Your mother is trying to convince me to build a house adjacent to theirs in Kent," Montague whispered, having been caught in conversation with the marchioness for a good fifteen minutes.
"Perhaps that is a little bit too close for comfort," Julia whispered back.
She loved her parents but, Lud, she was looking forward to having a little distance from them.
"Well, actually," Montague gave a smile, "I was thinking of building us a new home. John Nash lost a game of billiards to me in White's some years ago, and he promised to design me a grand new house, in lieu of actual money--the tight-wad."
"Oh?" Julia raised an eyebrow, for she could see that her husband was planning something from the devious glint in his eye.
"Yes, and I have the perfect plot of land for it," Montague grinned, "It is the very field that our ancestors fell out over, some five hundred years ago. There's a certain poetry to it, don't you think?"
"I do," Julia agreed, "But what will your father say?"
"He will agree to anything, once he thinks the line is secured," Montague gave her a lusty smile, "And I feel we shall secure it a dozen times over, my lady, once we are left to our own devices."
Julia flushed, as a ripple of desire coursed through her. How she longed for the night to be over--as much as she was enjoying it--for tomorrow, she would be married to the man that she loved.
"I must be gone," Montague called to the room, his hand still lingering on Julia's waist, "I must call on the Archbishop and secure a special license."
They were parted briefly, as Montague made the rounds of the room, shaking hands and kissing cheeks. Julia's parents also made noises about wishing to take Julia home for her last night under their roof.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," Julia quipped, as Montague came to bid her one final goodbye.
"Ah, but we shall not wait until the morrow," he replied, his eyes dancing, "Wait for me on the balcony, and I shall come and kiss you goodnight."
"You might come through the front door," Julia argued, but Montague shook his head.
"Where's the fun in that?" he asked, and the sensible, practical Lady Julia, found she was inclined to agree.
Epilogue
Julia frowned at the mirror as she surveyed the wrinkles which lined her eyes.
In times gone by, a good nap might have cured them, or a dollop of Olympia Dew, but now nothing would budge these lines, they were hers forever.
"Why is Her Grace frowning?" the Duke of Staffordshire called, as he bustled into the room, "Especially whilst looking at her reflection? A more beautiful woman has never existed, I forbid you to scowl at her so."
"I look old," Julia smiled, pointing to her eyes, "See? Lines, everywhere."
"Laughter lines," Staffordshire countered, "And most becoming ones at that."
"If they are laughter lines, then I have someone at whom I can point the finger of blame for their existence," Julia replied, turning to her husband and poking him playfully in his broad chest. Every day, her husband made her laugh and smile in some way, so the lines were his doing, she reasoned.
Never one to miss an opportunity for an embrace, even after five-and-twenty years, Staffordshire caught hold of her hand, placed it against his heart, and drew her toward him.
"I love each and every part of you," he said, as he dropped a kiss on her forehead.
Julia closed her eyes, breathed in his masculine scent of wood and tobacco, and smiled to herself as he kissed her eyelids and the lines around them.
"Every part," Robert whispered, "But I am especially fond of your mouth."
"Oh, you are?" Julia cocked a brow.
"Especially," her husband replied, and with a wicked gleam in his eye, he bent his head and caught her lips with his.
All thoughts of her dress and her hair fled Julia's mind, as her husband pulled her against him. It was heavenly to be kissed so. Utterly divine. Tremendously fun.
"Ugh," a voice called from the dressing room door, "If you're going to be so embarrassing, could you please put a sign on the door?"
"If you find us so embarrassing," Rob countered mildly, as he turned to their son George, "You might think of knocking first."
"No one else I know has to knock when they go looking for their parents," George grumbled, perfectly petulant at fourteen, "You're both incorrigible."
Wilful Wallflowers Collection: Books 1 - 3 Page 49
