Chapter 3 #2
Julia had never seen such splendor before; the lawns were green and lush, the trees blooming into life, and the tinkling fountains dotted around bore reliefs of interesting and exotic creatures.
“Who’s hosting the party?” she asked. “Do we know them?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you? It’s exciting,” her aunt said with a mischievous smile.
“The Duke of Pridewell is hosting us at his estate. It’s the first time he’s done anything like this.
Most of us have never been invited before.
Everyone is eager to see what he has planned.
There is already talk that he may finally be looking for a bride. He is thirty now, after all.”
“I’ve never heard of him. Is he handsome? Kind?” Julia felt a spark in her stomach. Her mind began racing. It was ridiculous to hope for anything for herself, but at thirty, the Duke was closer to her age than Poppy’s, and at this stage, she would take any chance she could get.
“Both, I hear,” Lady Bendon said with a wink. “And rich enough not to care about a dowry.”
Julia smiled. “Then we should make an effort to introduce ourselves.”
The entrance hall rose high above them; its arched ceiling painted with foreign frescoes. Her gaze drifted to the grand staircase, where a stone crest crowned its peak.
The same crest she had seen on the carriage yesterday.
It cannot be.
“There he is,” Lady Bendon whispered.
Julia followed her aunt’s gaze and froze.
A tall figure stood across the way, draped in a deep red coat. His hair was as unruly as she remembered, falling carelessly in every direction. His eyes moved over the crowd with quiet authority.
“They call him the Lion,” her aunt murmured. “The moniker suits him, does it not?”
Julia nodded, though her stomach had already dropped. She forced a smile and glanced at Poppy, whose expression was just as strained.
So that was why he had been so certain they would meet again. He had known.
She turned away before he could notice them.
She steadied herself as disappointment roiled within her. The man had already proven himself rude. Better to know it now. Poppy deserved someone kind.
The image of her sister in such a house faded at once.
“Come, Poppy,” Julia said, taking her arm. “Our host must be occupied. Let us go to the ballroom. I can already hear the music.”
Lady Bendon hesitated but followed as the sisters made their way inside.
The ballroom was lavishly adorned with flowers, waiters moving easily through the crowd with trays of wine and delicacies. Whatever his manners, the Duke had excellent taste.
“I’m rather nervous,” Poppy admitted once they were inside. “There are so many people. I feel as though everyone is watching me.”
“Ignore it,” Julia said gently. “Anyone gossiping about us is not worth our time. Let us find a place to observe the dancers.”
They crossed the room, but Julia felt it then. A prickle at the back of her neck.
She looked up.
And met his gaze.
The Duke of Pridewell stood across the room, watching her.
Julia quickly looked away, her pulse quickening. She fixed her attention on Poppy, though she could still feel his eyes on her.
What could he want? He had made his dislike clear.
She lifted her chin. He was not worth her attention.
The dance floor blurred before her as couples moved in perfect time. Conversations came and went, each as empty as the last. Julia forced a polite smile, though her patience thinned.
No one asked Poppy to dance.
She cast a quick glance at her sister. Poppy still smiled, but it no longer reached her eyes.
Please. Just one dance.
“
Lady Bendon appeared at Julia's elbow, her expression brightening as a gentleman with a round, open face made his way toward them. His jacket hung slightly loose, one cufflink askew.
"Lord Blackwell," her aunt said warmly, "how delightful. I have been hoping to introduce you to my nieces. This is Miss Julia Norish, and her sister, Miss Penelope Norish. Girls, Lord Blackwell's mother and I have been friends since we were hardly older than Poppy."
"Indeed, Lady Bendon." He bowed before turning to Poppy and then Julia. "Ms. Penelope. Ms Julia. It is a very great pleasure."
“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Julia said with a curtsey.
“It is indeed,” Poppy said, her voice brightening. “How are you finding the evening?”
“Marvelous,” he said warmly. “It is quite something to finally see this place. I never imagined it like this.”
Julia let them speak, taking a piece of cheese from a passing tray. It was a relief to see Poppy at ease, even for a moment.
When Lord Blackwell excused himself to fetch refreshments, Julia allowed herself a small breath of hope.
It did not last.
Footsteps approached.
A tall blonde girl in pale green stopped before them, her expression far from friendly.
“Excuse me. Is one of you Miss Poppy Norish?”
“That is my sister,” Julia said, stepping forward. “I do not believe we have met.”
“Miss Catherine Burbank,” she replied, her lips curling. “I am soon to be engaged to Lord Blackwell.”
“Oh,” Poppy said, glancing at Julia. “My congratulations. We were only just introduced.”
“I am aware,” Miss Burbank said coolly. “I have been told you have taken an interest in him.”
“I would not. I mean, I am not,” Poppy faltered.
“He simply asked her for a dance,” Julia said evenly. “We expected nothing more.”
“Of course, he did not mention the engagement. He does not know of it yet,” Miss Burbank said sharply. “But our families have been arranging it for weeks. You would do well not to accept that dance.”
She stepped closer, her voice low.
“You will regret it if you do.”
The music shifted. The dancers parted as the next set began. Across the room, Lord Blackwell caught Poppy’s eye and inclined his head toward the floor.
Miss Burbank’s expression hardened.
Poppy gasped, and Julia stepped in front of her without thinking.
Miss Burbank gave a sharp cry and pulled the brooch off her dress.
“Miss Norish,” Her voice rose loudly behind the action. “What are you doing?”
Julia stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“You just tried to steal my brooch.” She held her palm open for everyone to see.
“No. I did nothing of the sort.” Julia knew her face had gone white. She looked around the room. To her horror, some faces had already schooled to judgment.
How could they believe her?
“Did you come here to steal trinkets to pay your father’s debts?” Miss Burbank said, her voice rising. “I am surprised you were admitted at all. One must be careful now. It seems Mayfair is no better than Whitechapel.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Julia felt every eye turn toward her.
She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
Miss Burbank met her gaze with a satisfied smile.
Julia’s chest tightened.
She turned, fleeing from the whispers and the stares and that awful harpy Miss Burbank. She knew the rumor that she was a pickpocket would already be spreading rapidly, but she didn’t know what she could do about it. If it were her word against anyone else’s, she already knew who would be believed.
She found herself in an empty room somewhere off the main hall.
In her haste to get away, she hadn’t looked at all where she was going.
It seemed to be some sort of parlor or a study, with bookshelves at the back and several vases displayed on pedestals throughout.
She picked one of them up, looking at the intricately painted patterns on the smooth porcelain.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that their father had suddenly disappeared, and they were left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone.
It wasn’t fair that their uncle would rather throw them out on the street than risk associating with them.
It wasn’t fair that Miss Burbank would make such heinous accusations, just because Poppy wanted to dance with someone who had asked her.
It wasn’t fair that the stranger who had been so rude to them should have such extraordinary wealth that he wasted it by buying French cheese and statues of lions and porcelain vases, while they were about to be penniless through no fault of their own.
She raised the vase high above her head, wanting nothing except to slam it and see the pieces shatter.
She should do it. Right now. Take out all her anger, her indignation, her frustration on this unnecessary decorative object, even if it was just to feel a tiny bit vindicated, like she’d taken something back for herself.
Instead, she took a deep breath, letting her arms go limp before placing the vase carefully back on its pedestal.
To smash it would be to prove them all right.
To show the world that she was a thief, or at the very least a vandal who didn’t belong in polite Society.
No - she was better than that. She was better than the person they branded her, and one day, she would find a way to show them.
“I knew you didn’t have it in you,” a deep voice said from the doorway.
Julia whipped around so quickly that the edge of her dress knocked the pedestal. The vase she had just replaced tittered, and she reached forward, grabbing the rim to steady it. Leaning against the door frame, looking amused, was the Duke of Pridewell himself. The Lion.
Her heart hammered.
"You startled me," she said, because it was the truth and because she needed something to say while the rest of her composure caught up.
"I imagine I did." He did not move from the doorway. "Though I would remind you, Miss Norish, that this is my home. I am at liberty to go where I wish in it."
She had no answer to that. He was right, and they both knew it, and the amusement had not left his face, which made it considerably worse.
"I will leave you to it, then," she said and released her hold on the delicate vase.
"Before you do." His voice was unhurried. "I have an offer for you."
She stopped, unable to control the sudden shiver that ran through her entire body.