Chapter Fifteen
Friday dawned in a more agreeable mood than its Thursday predecessor, though gray skies lingered.
The endless crunch of carriage wheels on gravel began mid-morning as a variety of guests arrived at Myddleton House, resulting in a fluctuating wall of wooden and leather luggage outside the confines of the portico.
Julian, who’d barely slept a wink, stood in the window of his aunt’s private sitting room and observed the proceedings.
Or at least, that was the impression he gave.
In truth, his mind was otherwise occupied with thoughts of Annabelle.
He wondered if she’d lain awake as well, and what she might be doing at that moment, and was she thinking of him as he was thinking of her.
Evie’s voice, laced with a hint of impishness, meandered into his ear. “Are you waiting for someone special, brother dear? You’ve been standing there for ages.”
“Not particularly,” he replied, and then corrected himself.
“Well, actually, since you took the time to ask, yes, I am. I’m looking forward to seeing Uncle Edmund and the cousins.
We haven’t all been together since Christmas.
What about you, Evie? Is there a secret beau’s name somewhere on Aunt Eleanor’s guest list? There better hadn’t be.”
“Wouldn’t admit it if there was.” She wrinkled her nose at him, turned back to the window, and parted with an exaggerated gasp.
“Oh, now, just look at this next arrival. What an impressive conveyance! The matched set of grays is absolutely splendid, don’t you think?
Mmm, that crest is awfully familiar, too.
I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere before. Whose is it, I wonder? Help me out here, Jules.”
Julian watched as the Whitcombe carriage drew to a halt beneath the portico.
“You’re beyond help, Evie,” he replied, somewhat surprised Miss Aitken’s arrival had not stirred his conscience in some way.
Then again, he’d done nothing to justify any kind of self-castigation.
No promises made, no obligations pending.
If anything, he felt a measure of relief knowing he had not committed himself, despite the subtleties of parental and peer pressure.
He had little doubt there’d soon be a private discourse between the respective parents, during which time a certain situation would be made clear.
“Seriously, though,” his sister continued, “aren’t you looking forward to telling Miss Aitken she’s no longer suited?”
“Evie Beatrice Northcott, for shame!”
Julian glanced over his shoulder to see his mother approaching, her face wearing a rarely-seen scowl. “Oh, you’re in for it now, missy,” he muttered, giving Evie a nudge. “And rightly so.”
“I beg your pardon, Mama.” Assuming a contrite expression, Evie gave Julian a retaliatory prod in the ribs. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I should hope not.” Grace peered past them to where the Whitcombe’s were exiting the carriage. “There’ll be no more such comments, young lady, spoken, whispered, or even thought of. Understood?”
Evie nodded. “Understood, Mama.”
Grace regarded Julian. “It’s just as well no promises have been made,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “Even so, your father and I feel obliged to inform Lord and Lady Whitcombe of your change in circumstance.”
“Of course, Mama,” Julian replied. “And I’m certain Miss Aitken will not be lacking future suitors.”
*
The sun put in an appearance that afternoon, tempting a number of Myddleton’s guests to venture outside, where they now mingled on the Grand Terrace.
Julian, leaning against the balustrade, straightened as Miss Aitken approached.
They had spoken briefly at luncheon, which had been a casual self-serve affair, but the opportunity to speak privately had not presented itself.
Till now.
“At last,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her as she halted beside him. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you alone, Mr. Northcott. I’m not intruding, am I?”
Julian breathed in her subtle floral scent. “Not at all, Miss Aitken. Would you care to walk with me, perhaps?”
“A pleasant thought, but I regretfully must refuse.” Chewing on her lip, she glanced away briefly and then turned back to him.
“Thing is, I am not one for beating around the bush, so I shall simply say that the young lady who has stolen your heart is very fortunate, and I wish both of you much happiness.”
Unprepared for such forthrightness, Julian stumbled over a response. “Miss Aitken, I never meant… that is, I hope you don’t—”
“You are not obligated to atone, sir,” she replied.
“After all, there has been no agreement between us. But I have been made aware of a change in the potential of our situation. That being the case, I wish to acknowledge it now, so we may place any awkwardness behind us and enjoy this splendid party. I trust this meets with your approval?”
Julian regarded her, his frown dissolving into a resigned smile. “Yes, it does, Miss Aitken, and I appreciate it. Thank you.”
She returned the smile, though a touch of regret seemed to linger in her expression. For a moment, Julian had the impression she was about to say something else, but she merely turned and walked away.
Julian filled his lungs and then breathed out, slowly.
“Well, that’s that, I presume,” said a familiar female voice. “How do you feel?”
“Somewhat winded, but relieved, Your Grace,” he replied, turning to see the duchess approaching from behind. “How much did you hear?’
“Just that last part.” She moved to his side. “No regrets?”
“None at all.”
Head cocked, she regarded him. “You’re besotted with this flower girl, aren’t you?”
“I am certain of her,” he replied, after a moment. “There’s a lot to be said for not having any doubts.”
The duchess parted with an audible sigh. “Yes, I should imagine there is.”
Julian cursed inwardly. “Forgive me, Duchess. That was thoughtless of me.”
“Nothing to forgive.” She snapped open the parasol she’d been carrying.
“No one, male or female, has ever forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do.
I have calculated, I have considered, and I have made my choices, admittedly not all of them good.
Any doubts I’ve had, however, were set aside in favor of those choices.
Now, walk with me, will you? I overindulged a little at luncheon and besides, I believe you owe me a story.
I want to hear all about this young lady; where you met, how she came to be arranging flowers at Myddleton, and why she ran off the way she did. ”
Julian smiled and presented his elbow. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“What a remarkable coincidence,” the duchess said, sometime later, as Julian finished his tale.
“And so deliciously romantic! I’ve always been curious about what attracts a man to a woman.
And before you say anything, I’m not talking about the frivolous bits, although they do, of course, play a part. ”
Julian arched a brow. “Frivolous bits, Duchess?”
Eyes twinkling, she peered up at him from beneath her white lace parasol. “The bits that stimulate a man’s body rather than his brain.”
Julian frowned. “Ah, those bits. There’s no denying their appeal, but they’re not necessarily an indicator of a woman’s authentic beauty.”
The duchess gave a soft whistle. “Gracious. I’m beyond impressed, Mr. Northcott.”
Julian laughed and paused by one of Myddleton’s fountains, its perpetual cascade sparkling like liquid diamonds in the afternoon sun. “I used to play in here as a child,” he said. “Invariably got into trouble for it as well. I’m still tempted to jump in, even now.”
“I dare you,” the duchess replied.
“I will if you will.”
“There was a time when I wouldn’t have hesitated, but those days are gone, I’m afraid.” The duchess settled on a nearby wrought-iron bench and patted the empty seat beside her. “Sit, please.”
The sound of laughter, subdued by the fountain’s waterfall, drifted down from the terrace and snared Julian’s attention. “I think we should consider getting back to the party, Duchess. You’ll be missed.”
“Nonsense! Just five more minutes.” She patted the seat again. “Humor me.”
Julian voiced a sudden suspicion. “Is it because I’m his brother?”
She flinched. “What? My wanting to spend time with you? My God, Julian, is that what you think?”
“Just a suspicion. Am I correct?”
“Of course not,” she said, scowling. A moment later, the scowl vanished, and she blew out an unladylike breath.
“Oh, very well. In the beginning, yes, I’ll admit I was drawn to you because of your relationship to Joe.
But, as it happens, I genuinely enjoy your company.
You don’t fawn, which is refreshing. One can grow weary of the sniveling and groveling by those who claim admiration, most of which is insincere. ”
“Understandable. I dislike pretentiousness myself.” He settled beside her. “Does Joe fawn?”
Her mouth quirked as she shook her head.
“Your brother neither snivels nor grovels, yet he possesses a remarkable knack of making me feel as if I’m the most important woman under Heaven.
And it has nothing to do with my title. But enough about me and your shameless brother.
I want to know what it is about this mysterious flower girl who made you choose her over the daughter of a viscount. ”
“I’m not sure I can give you a precise answer, Duchess.
” He grimaced. “It’s simply that I feel…
unburdened, I suppose, when I’m with her.
Being in her company is effortless. Natural.
There’s no pretense, no doubts. I enjoy her intelligence, her forthrightness, and her naivety.
Physically, she is lovely, but she is also beautiful in all the other ways that matter. ”
“An authentic beauty.”
“Yes.”
“Miss Aitken never stood a chance,” the duchess mused.
“Under the circumstances, no, she didn’t.”
“And it seems the family is in favor?”
“I have no reason to believe otherwise.” His mouth quirked.
“Granted, my aunt and uncle were bound to be gracious. They always are. The stumbling block may be my grandmother, who probably won’t put in an appearance here till Monday, when things have quieted down.
As for my immediate family, I’d venture to say they approve.
My mother trusts my judgment, at least.”
“Then it had better not be misplaced.” The duchess rose to her feet. “So, when will you next see this young lady of yours?”
“Monday,” he replied, rising also. “I’m here till Tuesday but I may stay a day or two longer.”
“I needn’t ask why. How old is the young lady? Will there be a chaperone?”
“I’m not sure of Annabelle’s age, but it’s certain she’ll be chaperoned, probably by her ever-vigilant maid.” An idea slid into his head, and he looked back toward the terrace. “Unless…”
The duchess followed his gaze. “Unless?”
“Just considering another possibility. Perhaps I’ll invite the twins to join us.
Annabelle’s maid is a little over-bearing, and the other lady who was here yesterday—Janet is her name, I believe—made it quite clear she disapproved of my being anywhere near Annabelle.
Not sure why.” He frowned. “I hope she hasn’t had a miserable time because of it. ”