The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 24

24

M artin rode his horse past the haberdashers and the library in hopes of happening upon Lady Julia, but luck wasn’t with him. It was late afternoon before he exchanged his mount for his phaeton and headed to Lady Blanche’s where he was promptly asked to wait in the parlor. Evidently, the lass had planned to be out all day, which he found oddly vexing. Before he’d established rooms for her at the boarding house, she’d been bent on returning home. But it certainly seemed as if the woman was unduly busy for someone who wasn’t planning to be in Town. Just yesterday when he’d suggested they pay a visit to the art gallery, she’d been unable to accompany him because of an appointment with a milliner.

With hat in hand, he sat where he could see the door. And it wasn’t long before any irritation he may have felt completely vanished. Her Ladyship entered, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been running, or at least walking very fast. She immediately saw him and smiled radiantly.

“Lady Julia,” he said as he stood.

She moved toward him as if she were floating. “Your Grace? What a surprise to see you here this early.”

Martin reached for her hand and kissed the back of her glove. Though he preferred it when she called him familiar, it was proper for her to refer to him formally here where nosy eavesdroppers may be lurking. “You have no package, no books in tow?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Mr. Smallwood indicated you might be at the library or the haberdashers,” he said, deciding to leave out the part of riding past to see if he might find her.

“Ah, yes. I was at the library where I sat and read for hours.”

“Entertaining reading, I hope?”

“Quite.” Julia ran one of the ribbons through her fingers and looked toward the settee. “Would you care for a refreshment? Lady Blanche allows us to pour tea for gentlemen callers in the parlor.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d accompany me to Vauxhall. I’m told there is an orchestra from the continent that’s quite good. I’ve hired a supper box in the rotunda where we can have a bite of dinner whilst enjoying the concert.”

“Oh, that does sound diverting—and you’ve reserved a box? I hear they seat eight or more. Will your mother and sisters be joining us?”

“Gratefully, no. To be honest, since Grace returned from Northbourne Seminary for Young Ladies, the lass has spoken about the school ad nauseum. It seems she’s taken Mama’s advice to heart and has employed a tutor to help her affect an English accent so she willna be out of place when she starts boarding in the fall.”

“Oh dear. I suppose there is a great deal of pressure on young girls to conform, is there not?”

“Perhaps, but if you ask me, I’m rather fond of my Scottish brogue.”

“As am I. In fact, I do like Charity’s lilt as well. It makes her all the more endearing.” Julia glanced toward the corridor. “Well, if we will be going to Vauxhall, I’d best hurry and change.”

He caught her hand as she turned. “Have you need of assistance, m’lady?” he whispered.

A pair of lassies giggled as they headed toward the door while Julia’s face turned scarlet. “You are awful,” she replied, though her eyes danced with mischief.

“Awful is it?” He dipped his chin low enough to graze her ear. “I’ll wager I willna be so dastardly in the wee hours.”

She snapped her hand away and held up her finger. “Not another word.”

Martin chuckled as she turned away with a swish of saucy skirts. The pink pelisse she wore over her day dress looked oddly familiar. He watched her disappear though the corridor. He didn’t pay a great deal of attention to his sister’s clothing, but he could swear Charity owned a pelisse that was an exact match.

Martin sat back while the Vauxhall waiter filled his glass with arrack punch, a particularly potent brew, the recipe fiercely guarded by the proprietor.

“There aren’t as many people here as I thought there’d be,” said Julia, taking a sip of her drink.

“I’m not. ’Tis Wednesday and most of the members of polite society are attending the ball at Almack’s.”

“Oh.” The lady licked her lips, making them moist and undeniably kissable. “Is that where Charity and your mother are off to this evening?”

He leaned in, considering what sort of scandalous reports he might start if he actually acted on his urges. “Aye.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go.”

“I’m not. Besides, my sister is in good hands and I happened to have somewhere else to be.” Deciding to save the kissing for later, Martin lightly brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Did you enjoy the music?”

“Ever so much. I think it would be incredibly diverting to be a musician.”

“Oh? I dunna believe I’ve ever seen a woman in an orchestra before.”

“True, and whyever not?” She swirled the pink punch in her crystal glass. “Women, or should I say ladies, are every bit as skilled at all manner of musical instruments as men, yet they must relegate their talent to private recitals and the like.”

“Hmm, I canna say I’ve given it much thought aside from the impropriety of the notion. Though I’d have to act the ugly elder brother if one of my sisters wanted to join an orchestra.”

“Why, pray tell?” she demanded setting the glass down and making a bit of liquid slosh over the side.

Martin puzzled for a moment. The lass seemed vexed and passionate about the subject, yet the implication that a sister of a duke might join a musical troupe was entirely absurd. “First of all, it simply isn’t done. Such a societal misstep would ruin not just the offending sister, but all of them.”

“Ah, yes. Ruination.” Julia sucked in her cheeks appearing as one does when they’ve just taken a bite of lemon. “That vile concept which keeps young ladies in check at all times.”

He sensed something more underlying her words. What in her past had made her so entirely fervent? “Have you not feared ruination?” he asked almost in a whisper.

Her Ladyship’s eyes darkened as if a tempest were brewing behind them. “Of course, I’ve feared it. No woman would ever willfully bring such shame upon her family. But?—”

“Hmm?”

She clapped her hands and gave her head a wee shake. “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m full of vinegar when it comes to the disparity that exists between males and females.”

“Nay, I sense you are quite impassioned when it comes to the subject.” He rolled his hand through the air to encourage her to say more. “Please, humor me.”

Hesitating, Her Ladyship stared at him, her lips parted giving him the sense she had a great deal to say yet was terrified to utter it. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “Sometimes a young lady has no choice but to do whatever must be done in order to survive.”

Martin considered her words for a moment. “But is that not exactly why men are put on this earth to care for women? It is our duty to honor and protect them.”

“Yes, that is the way of things most of the time, is it not?” she asked, with an arch of a delicate eyebrow.

“Aye,” he said, though the whole thing didn’t sit well with him. Earlier this evening he’d noticed how well Lady Julia dressed given her father was reputed to be on the verge of bankruptcy. But in no way could he broach the subject with her. Enquiring as to one’s finances was yet another taboo. “What say you we take a stroll through the gardens? I’ll wager we’ll find your favorite flower.”

“I’d like that.”

Martin let an exhalation whoosh through his lips, ever so happy for the change in subject. “What is your favorite flower?”

“Goodness, it is difficult to pick one. Hmm… Perhaps it is peonies.”

“What color?”

“Violet,” she said, gesturing to the color of her gown.

Martin stood and offered his hand. “I should have guessed. Lady Charity is fond of violet as well.”

If he hadn’t been watching Julia’s face, he would have missed the twitch of her lips. Perhaps his sister had helped enhance the lady’s wardrobe. “She has incredibly good taste,” she said.

“I’ll be sure to let her ken you mentioned as much.” He escorted Her Ladyship down the stairs of the rotunda. “Mama oft chides my sister for being a tad eccentric and far too Scottish. Knowing she has earned your favor will make her very happy.”

“Charity of all people deserves to be happy. I do believe her namesake is fitting.”

Martin smiled to himself. Aye, he should have known Charity had helped Her Ladyship from the beginning, bless her.

As they walked through the ring where only a few moments ago the orchestra had been playing a Bach minuet, Julia’s fingers tinkled a few notes on the pianoforte. Martin stopped abruptly. “Had societal norms been different, you might have joined an orchestra, aye? As I recall, Mr. Smallwood raved about your talent on this instrument. I do believe it is high time you played for me.”

“Here?” she blubbered out an unladylike snort, reminding him of the little steward. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“But did you not just hold forth with all the reasons women ought to be allowed to perform publicly? I say, you canna leave me in suspense now, lass.”

She brushed her fingers over the top of the instrument, the gesture one of reverence and appreciation. “I may have imparted a whimsical notion, but that does not mean I want to launch into a solo performance in the middle of one of the most fashionable venues in London.”

Martin threw out his arms, gesturing to the empty rotunda above and the handful of couples heading for the gardens. “Did we not also comment about how small the crowd is this evening since over three-quarters of polite society are attending a ball at Almack’s?”

“I do not believe three-quarters was mentioned.”

“Enough.” Martin thrust his upturned palm to the padded bench. “As the Duke of Dunscaby, I command a private performance and will entertain no more argument.”

The lady’s jaw dropped simultaneously with the widening of her luminous chocolate eyes. After a moment of hesitation, she groaned and slid onto the stool. “Very well, but if I am ruined because of this public display, you will be to blame.”

Martin turned full circle. “I do believe all the gossips have absconded to Almack’s as well.”

Julia splayed her fingers above the ivory keys like a painter addressing a canvas and trying to decide where her muse might lead her this evening. “Mozart, Sonata Number Eleven,” she announced.

His jaw dropped while he gaped. Though he played little, he was musically educated enough to know she had selected a piece with a high level of difficulty. Aye, the sonata began simply enough, quietly with an unassuming tune, but in true Mozart style, after a few bars, Julia’s fingers began to fly. Her expression grew more intense, her teeth biting down on her lower lip as she conquered the difficult rhythms for which the master was famous. Furiously she played, picking up the tempo when the music demanded, while easing back in the seat and allowing a moment of respite while the instrument resounded with higher, more delicate notes.

With her final chord, silence slowly penetrated the air, replacing the fading beauty that had mesmerized him.

“I’m speechless,” he uttered, clapping his hands together.

Her Ladyship smiled ever so shyly. “Rendering a duke speechless? Perhaps I’m not so badly out of practice that I’ve lost my touch.”

“Out of practice? You were stupendous. Dare I say better than the pianist who just regaled us with Bach?”

Closing the lid on the keyboard, Her Ladyship kept her gaze downcast. “You flatter me.”

“I am nothing but honest. I dunna believe you missed a note in the whole piece.”

“I’m afraid I missed more than one.” A lovely rose blush sprang in Julia’s cheeks. “It isn’t easy to sit down and play after months without touching the keys.”

“Months has it been?” he asked, offering his hand.

“Yes.” She placed her lithe fingers in his palm and stood. “I believe you were planning to find me a peony, though now dusk has fallen.”

“Not to worry, the pathways are lit with torches, and you definitely must have your flower, my dearest.”

As they started through the gardens, Julia stopped at a row of pink roses. “These are divine.”

“Do you prefer pink, red, yellow, or white roses?”

“All of them.” Bending forward, she gently cupped a pink bloom in her palms. “To me roses are miraculous.”

He pinched the silk ribbon at the back of her gown and let it slide through his fingertips. “But not your favorite?”

She took his elbow and together they continued along the path. “I think they’re most everyone’s favorite which is why I chose peonies.”

“A staunch non-conformist are you?”

“I’d agree with that.”

“Here we are,” Martin said, stopping at a bush filled with several of the desired blooms. He snapped one off and held it up. “A violet peony for a woman who herself is miraculous.”

“Oh, please, I’m merely a maid who happens to enjoy playing the pianoforte.” She took the flower and though the light was dim, he could tell she was blushing, a fact which made his heart dance with glee. What man didn’t revel in the knowledge he was able to give the object of his affection a compliment and make her blush? “Is it not against the rules to pick the blooms?”

“I beg your pardon? What self-respecting gardener is going to hop out from the shrubbery to chide a duke?”

“Just because of your exalted position does not make it right.”

“Consider it payment.”

“For?”

“Your performance, of course. Now I know why you’ve entertained notions about joining an orchestra.”

Julia held the flower to her nose and started off. “Alas, I was born a blessed female.”

Martin caught her elbow and tugged her just enough to encourage her to face him. “I, for one, am overjoyed that you are of the fairer sex.”

“Thank—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He sealed his lips over hers and drew her into his arms, ever so glad that they were alone on this pathway. He thrust his hips forward and pressed his erection into her softness as their tongues danced. With a wee moan, Julia melted against him, slipping her hands round his waist.

“You are brazen, Your Grace,” she said, her voice breathless.

“I am beguiled.” He slid a hand up and down her back while his heart squeezed. He’d spent every moment possible with this woman, knowing full-well half of their time together had already passed. The problem was he didn’t want it to end. Good God, he almost wanted to marry her.

Almost.

Though he wasn’t yet ready for marriage.

Am I?

Perhaps if they had more time, he might be. Perhaps he could convince her to come to London next Season. She might even stay at the town house as Charity’s guest.

“I’ve been thinking about the future,” he heard himself say, completely without forethought.

Julia immediately tensed in his arms. “Oh?”

“Aye, well, once our fortnight has come to an end, I would like to see you again and was thinking?—”

“No.”

The intensity of that one word uttered took him aback. “No?”

“I cannot.” She scooted away. “You must understand.”

He didn’t understand at all. “Yes, I understand that your father needs you home, but you are here now, and he seems to be coping, is he not?”

Not meeting his gaze, she gulped. “It’s not exactly about his ability to cope when I’m away.”

“No? Then what is it?”

“I.” Turning, she hid her face in her hands. “I cannot say.”

He reached out, wanting to place his hand on her shoulder, yet stopping himself. From the night he’d met Julia at the masquerade, he’d sensed her inner turmoil, some unspoken anguish that seemed to be tearing her insides apart. “I ken it is uncouth to ask, but please tell me, is it the money?”

“Yes and… Oh my word, it is too awful to utter.” Without a backward glance, she ran.

Martin hastened after her. “Lady Julia, I dinna mean to upset you.”

Stopping, she grabbed his upper arm with a very firm grip, her eyes filled with torment. “If you care anything for me, you will not attempt to discuss this again. All I have is one more week. Please, do not spoil it.”