Chapter Twelve #2
Lawrence’s eyes sparkled. “Mr. Madgwick, if you do not mind, for this evening.”
He breathed the words, a glint mischief in his eye that made Julia grin.
Well, they had managed it so far, tricking her mother that the man before her was no prizefighter but instead a gentleman of the highest order. The trouble was, would he similarly impress Miss Banfield? Would he be able to maintain the charade for the entire evening?
“Ah, what a shame.”
Julia’s ears pricked at her mother’s words. “What’s a shame?”
Mrs. Dryden was passing a notecard to Donald. “Miss Banfield. She has taken a chill and so will be unable to attend tonight. Such a shame.”
Julia swallowed. “How unfortunate.”
Unfortunate? It was glorious. Though she had met the poor Miss Banfield, as she would undoubtedly be described by her mother for the rest of the evening, only a few times, Julia had remarked on her pretty expression and elegant figure.
Not, now she came to think of it, a woman she wanted to dangle under Lawrence’s nose.
Not that he would look at anyone else. Julia shivered as his intense gaze returned to her. No, he would do no such thing.
“How very sad for Miss Banfield,” said Lawrence with a slight smile. “I know how easily a young lady can catch a chill in London during the winter.”
Heat scalded Julia’s cheeks, and she looked away in the hope of not revealing herself. Though she could not be sure, she was convinced Lawrence was recalling a few words that had slipped out from her lustful mouth just days ago.
“You’re a temptress, Julia Dryden.”
“Not enough, it seems.”
Well, she could not help it. Who could when looking at Lawrence?
“Shall we go through?”
Julia blinked. Lawrence had asked something, but the words had not made sense. “Go where?”
He was holding out his arm, a smile on his lips. “Through. I assume the gong means that dinner is served?”
Looking about wildly, Julia saw to her surprise that the gong must have been rung. There was no other reason for her mother to be putting down her embroidery and accepting Donald’s arm.
“You did not hear it?”
She shook her head with a laugh at Lawrence’s question. “No! No, I must have been…distracted.”
When she met his gaze, she knew he understood; that he was the distraction, the one making it impossible to concentrate. Was she having such an effect on him? Was it possible the heat she felt between them was not only emanating from her, but—
“Julia! Really, your manners, girl!”
“Yes, yes, right,” Julia said hastily, grabbing Lawrence’s arm and striding forward. “Sorry, Mama.”
Excited tingles curling between her collarbones, between her breasts, and lingering downward overcame her senses at being so close to Lawrence—and in her own home, too!—but this pleasantness gave way to horror as they entered the dining table.
Oh, Mama! Julia was not foolish enough to exclaim aloud, but if she could have done, her tone would have dripped with disappointment.
It was always the way with their mother. Whenever a new guest came to dine at the Drydens…well. She had to make a spectacle of them, didn’t she?
Julia stared, crestfallen, at the complexity of dining apparatus her mother had evidently instructed the housekeeper to have laid out.
More forks than one could shake a stick at, a complicated sort of knife that looked, her heart sinking, like the implement used to remove snails or oysters from their shells, and four spoons.
Four! What on earth could they need four spoons for!
Donald stifled a laugh as he sat down. Julia glared, wishing she was seated opposite him so that she could give him a fine kick.
But as it was, her mother had contrived to place her beside her brother and opposite Lawrence.
It was on the tip of her tongue to request a change of seating, but as Lawrence helped her into a chair, a shiver rushing down her arms as his breath gently warmed them, Julia knew it would do no good. Her mother would only ask questions.
Questions she certainly was not going to answer.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” Mrs. Dryden said brightly. “A nice informal dinner.”
Julia rolled her eyes. Well, really! Her mother was always trying to impress, always hopeful a gentleman at her table would take a liking to her daughter… and that her daughter would take a liking to the gentleman.
The trouble was, Lawrence did not need to be impressed. Why, his two rooms alone would probably fit in this room! And now he was faced with—
“Ah, we are having oysters, then?” Lawrence said smoothly, permitting the Drydens’ only footman to place his napkin on his lap. “From Whitstable, I trust? I hear the best oysters have to be sourced from Whitstable.”
Julia tried to prevent her jaw from falling as Lawrence and her mother entered a lively, yet respectable debate about the best seaside town to purchase oysters from—her mother favoring, Brighton, far more fashionable.
This could not be happening.
At least, it was happening, and she had no idea how.
“—simply must visit Whitstable, not only for the oysters but for, and do forgive me Mrs. Dryden, but for the bathing,” Lawrence was saying most cheerfully as quail eggs were brought through for the next course.
He nonchalantly cracked them with one spoon and scooped them out with a second.
“Most invigorating and excellent for the feminine health.”
Julia’s mouth was open. She attempted to cover up her inelegance by shoveling a mouthful of food inside it. Then she choked. She had spooned in an entire quail’s egg, shell and all.
“—delightful to hear a gentleman converse on the subject of the feminine health,” her mother was saying, clearly charmed. “Why, I have told Julia if I have told her a thousand times, it is imperative she prevents any hint of a chill…”
Julia flushed into her napkin as she attempted to hide her face at such words.
How was this happening? If she’d had any forethought, she would have armed Lawrence with the three safest topics to discuss with her mother: the weather, the importance of loyalty to His Majesty, and the dearth of good silk. That would have been that.
The evening would have been dull, to be sure, but it would have been safe.
This was unprecedented. How did a man who earned a living by his fists know where to get the best oysters from?
Or that Whitstable had bathing? Or, as she listened in part horror, part glee at their continuing conversation, that Mozart was best when listened to in the evening, but Bach better in the morning?
“It is all about resonance,” Lawrence was saying airily, ignoring the footman as was expected by a gentleman as his plate was removed and the next course, a complicated sort of roast chicken with vegetables to be served by platter, brought through.
“Bach’s tonal choices, as I am sure you know, Mrs. Dryden, are such that—”
“How on earth did you quiz him on all this?” muttered Donald beside her.
Julia stared at her brother, then back to the man she was fast realizing she could not spend her life without. “I…I have no idea.”
It seemed safer to say nothing. As the meal progressed, Julia recovered herself enough to partake in the conversation—at least, to attempt to—but each passing moment offered her a fresh opportunity to marvel at Lawrence.
His cover—that he was a gentleman of the north, infrequently in London—appeared to be perfect.
She could not fault him, not in the way he held his wine glass, by the stem as it was white, nor how he bowed deeply to them both she and her mother withdrew, nor how charmingly he played the pianoforte when the men joined them.
Julia swallowed, hardly daring to breathe in case the mirage of the gentleman Lawrence disappeared.
“Well, I must say,” said her mother in a low voice approvingly as Donald rang the bell for Lawrence’s greatcoat and hat to be retrieved at the end of the evening. “I was a little concerned when I had not heard of your acquaintance, Julia, but I am delighted to find him a gentleman.”
Julia almost laughed. “Yes. Yes, so am I.”