Chapter Eight
Highfield Hall
Yorkshire
Afternoon sun sparkled off the crystal chandeliers, throwing tiny rainbows across the walls of the music room at Highfield Hall. Most of the chairs in the music room were occupied, and a pleasant hum of chit-chat filled the air.
“Viola?” Lady Whickham addressed her daughter and then glanced at the piano.
Miss Viola Aitken, youngest daughter of Viscount Whickham, nodded her understanding and rose to her feet, prompting Julian, who had been seated beside her, to do the same.
She gave him a smile, and then wandered over to the pianoforte, where she settled onto the piano bench, arranged her skirts, and straightened the music sheets on the rack. Julian took his seat again.
The audience, such as it was, fell into a respectful silence in anticipation of what was to follow.
Something special, according to Julian’s mother, who herself was accomplished at the keys.
Julian shared in the anticipation, though in his case it encompassed a little more than the young lady’s renowned musical proficiency.
Having spent much of the afternoon in Miss Aitken’s company, he dared to consider he might, at last, have found someone suitable.
Suitable.
The impassivity of the word gave him pause, for it simply indicated a measure of approval, as might be applied to a new item of clothing or a room at a roadside inn.
It was a start, however. Suitability, at least in Julian’s world, was generally gauged by the practicalities of wealth and social standing.
Such things had their place, of course, but for Julian they were merely a precursor to what came next.
What came next would be the rest of his life and possibly, in this case, the rest of Miss Aitken’s.
With that in mind, he did not think it unreasonable to strive for other things in a relationship.
Mostly frivolous, impractical things, such as affection, contentment, passion.
And love.
Highfield Hall was currently playing host to Lord and Lady Whickham, their younger son, Mr. Frederick Aitken, and, of course, Miss Viola Aitken.
Lord Whickham, recently returned from India, was a lifelong friend of Julian’s father, and Julian was under no illusion his introduction to Miss Aitken had been a chance encounter.
Without a doubt, it had been pre-arranged, and the one responsible was unquestionably his mother, Grace.
Even now, Julian felt his mother’s eyes on him, though he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze, knowing she would raise a triumphant brow as one might raise a victory banner.
Too soon for that, as far as Julian was concerned.
He understood why she wanted to see him married and settled, but the tangible thought of a life-long commitment to Miss Aitken had not even begun to materialize in Julian’s brain.
For now, such possibilities were mere suggestions.
He and Miss Aitken had only got as far as sharing pleasantries.
Certainly, Julian wanted to spend more time with the girl, to get to know her a little better.
Instinct told him she felt the same. As if to bear that out, she regarded him and spoke.
“I wonder, Mr. Northcott, if you would be kind enough to turn the pages for me?”
“With pleasure,” he replied, rising and going over to the piano, where he stood at her side and regarded the piece of music she would be playing.
“Für Elise,” he murmured. “A favorite of mine.”
Miss Aitken answered him with a smile, one that caused Julian to regard his mother at last. Grace smiled at him in a similar fashion… and arched a brow.
*
The knock—a single but confident rap—came to Julian’s bedroom door later that night.
Julian, who was already abed and about to lower the wick on his lantern, frowned at the interruption.
After a day of continuous socializing, he’d been looking forward to his bed and the solitude that came with it.
For a moment, he toyed with the idea of pretending to be asleep, but then the door creaked open, and Josiah stuck his head around it.
“Good, you’re still awake,” he said. “Hoped you would be.”
Julian bit back a sigh and sat up. “And if I hadn’t been? Oh, and yes, come in, by all means.”
“Thanks. And I’d have woken you if you’d been asleep.” Josiah bounced onto the bed and sat cross-legged, much as he might have done as a child. “Because we need to talk, brother.”
“About what?” Julian stifled a yawn. “I’m tired, Joe, and possibly not quite sober. Can whatever this is not wait till morning?”
“No, it cannot. I haven’t had a proper chance to talk to you all bloody day, in case you hadn’t noticed.
Since the moment I arrived here today, I’ve been appropriated by parents, offspring, and a couple of our illustrious guests, not to mention the couple of hours I spent playing dominoes with our uncle.
I’m not complaining about that part, however. ”
Julian smiled. “I’m glad you’ve had the chance to meet him. He’s remarkable, isn’t he?”
“He’s magnificently tragic,” Josiah replied, glancing away for a moment.
“A part of his shattered mind remains wholly intact and shines through that one blue eye as brightly as the sun. It was humbling being in his company. And yes, I’m also glad, very glad, I’ve had the chance to meet him.
The journey here was worth it for that opportunity alone. ”
“Nicely put.” Julian cocked his head, already toying with an inkling of what had brought his brother to his door. “All right, come on. Out with it. What cannot wait till morning?”
Josiah glanced about the room. “Is this new wallpaper? Looks good.”
“No, it isn’t.” Julian sighed. “Get to the point.”
“Right-oh.” He waggled a brow. “Miss Viola Aitken.”
Julian groaned and flopped back on his pillow. “God, I knew it. What about her?”
Josiah shrugged. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“I’m sure you are. Go on, then. Let’s have it.”
“Is she ‘the one’?”
Julian hesitated. “She might be.”
Josiah wagged a finger at him. “Ah! See, that ‘might’ bit bothers me.”
Julian grimaced and rubbed his forehead. “I only met her yesterday, Joe. In fact, the girl has not even been officially debuted because Whickham has been in India for the past eighteen months. They’ve only been back in England for three weeks.”
Josiah waved a nonchalant hand. “Yes, I’m fully aware of that. So, you’re currently first in the marriage queue.”
Julian chuckled. “I think that’s the idea.”
“She is quite the prize, I must admit.”
“Yes, she is. Jealous?”
“You know I’m not.” Josiah tipped his chin up. “Describe her to me.”
Julian huffed. “What for? You already know what she looks like.”
“Yes, but pretend I don’t. Humor me. Describe her.”
“Do you actually have a point to make?”
“I do,” he replied, with a nod. “A very important point, I promise.”
“Very well, let’s get this foolishness over with.” Scratching his jaw, Julian gazed up at the bed canopy. “Viola is pretty. No, she’s lovely. Charming and intelligent. Well-mannered. Quite tall, I suppose. Fair hair. A nice body. A very nice body, actually. And she has a delightful smile.”
Several moments of silence followed, interrupted by a snort from Josiah. “Is that it? You’re all done?”
Julian linked his hands behind his head. “What more do you want?”
“Lord, help us,” Josiah muttered, “Detail, Julian, I want detail. We did this once before, remember? Paint me a picture.”
A memory stirred to life, as did the tightness in Julian’s throat that always came with it. “What is this about, Joe? What’s going on?”
“I’m waiting for you to describe Miss Aitken.”
“Which I believe I have already done.”
“In an inanimate fashion, I suppose. Is that the best you can do?”
“Yes, it bloody well is. You said there was a point, so get to it, will you?
“I’m about to, once you’ve told me the color of the lovely Miss Viola’s eyes.”
Julian groaned again. “I’m not sure what color they are, exactly. Brown, I think. Or maybe green. I don’t know, to be honest. That’s it, Joe. No more games.”
“Well, then, it appears I was right.” Josiah shrugged. “Usually am, of course.”
“Right about what?”
“You, failing the test.”
“What bloody test?”
“The one that might have proved your undying attraction to this girl.”
Julian scoffed. “Like I said, I hardly know her, but so far, no complaints. I like what I see. Either make your point, if you actually have one, or leave and let me get some sleep.”
“All right, all right, keep your voice down.” Josiah cleared his throat.
“Thing is, I have some interesting news. Wanted to share it with you as soon as I arrived, but never had the chance, and then I found out you were pursuing the lovely Viola, and I wondered if sharing this news was even…” He tapped a finger on his bottom lip and appeared to ponder.
“Um, did Mama arrange it, by the way? You and Viola? I have a suspicion she might have.”
Julian sighed. “The point, Josiah.”
“Right. So, then I wondered if sharing this news with you was even necessary. I am now of the opinion it most certainly is, since we have just ascertained Miss Viola Aitken is not for you.”
Julian sat up again, leaned forward, and touched the back of his hand to Josiah’s forehead. “It’s rather odd,” he said, frowning. “No fever, and you don’t appear to be drunk, yet something is clearly wrong with you.”
Josiah clucked his tongue. “Maybe it has something to do with this.” He pulled a slip of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to Julian. “Here. Read it.”
Julian took the small piece of newsprint and squinted at it in the low light. “What’s it about?”
“Just read it,” Josiah replied. “I wondered, at first, if it was all just an incredible coincidence, but the dates and the names match, as does the poor fellow’s profession. It has to be her, brother. Has to be.”