An Improper Suitor (16 page)

‘I was afraid of this,’ said her cousin, peering at her closely. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I took you home.’

On the verge of accepting his offer, she caught sight of Lionel with the blonde-haired lady on his arm. Julia had recognized her
immediately
as the turbaned lady at the theatre. They talked in the way of intimates, heads together and bodies close, though not so close as to be improper. The sight stung Julia, sending her thoughts in a completely different direction.

She would not simply disappear. She had told Lionel she was going in with her cousin, and did not want to appear a liar by not even going in to supper.

She pulled herself together. She had heard the truth about her father, and the truth hurt. But it was nothing new, after all. She had never actually known him, had no recollection of ever meeting him, so she could not really mourn his loss. She swallowed down the pebble. It settled in her stomach, hard and heavy.

She turned to her companion. ‘Shall we?’ she asked, chin up and back like a stake. She rested her hand on his elbow. His solid
familiarity
reassured her, and some of her sorrow slid away.

She would think about Nicholas’s news later.

In the darkness of the carriage, Catherine leaned against him. He inhaled her seductive perfume, heavy and promising, and passed his lips along her hair. She turned and raised her head. Her hands moved up to his face. She caressed his cheek, gently, then, licking her lips, she passed her thumb across his lower lip.

He pulled her towards him, too impatient to wait. He wanted to take her, here and now. His lips closed down on hers.

She pushed him away, laughing.

‘What’s the hurry?’ she said. ‘We’ve got all night.’

Again she outlined his face with the tips of her fingers. He took her hand gently in his, and held it. She peered at him through the dim
light shining through the windows.

He examined her beautiful face, ghostly and shadowed in the
darkness
. Her lips were perfect, curved and sensuous. Her large blue eyes brimmed with life. Her delicate nose curved just slightly at the tip, the nose of a fairy tale princess.

He thought of the time they had spent the night together. It brought a smile to his lips.

He kissed her again, lightly this time, and then let her go.

The carriage stopped in front of her house. She started to rise.

He did not stir.

‘So, are you joining me later?’ she asked, laughter in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to say, yes, of course. Instead, he said, ‘I don’t think so.’

She sat back down on the carriage seat and regarded him intently.

‘When did this change of mind happen?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. I’m sorry.’ He had not expected this at all. In fact, he had prepared himself for a long night of
enjoyment
.

‘It’s that brown-haired girl, isn’t it?’ asked Catherine, with a touch of sadness.

‘What brown-haired girl?’

‘The one you kept watching all through supper.’

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about. He examined her face. There was no malice there, no anger, only ruefulness.

He ran his fingers through his unruly locks, stared out of the window. Anything rather than look at her.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’

She smiled, putting her hand to his cheek. ‘You don’t have to spare my feelings, Lionel. They are not engaged. I simply enjoy your company.’

He appreciated her warmth and her generosity. He put his arms out and drew her into them, a tight embrace full of affection.

‘You’re a fine lady, Catherine,’ said Lionel. ‘I hope you will find someone worthy of you some day.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, echoing his words. But she sounded uncertain.

He watched her descend from the carriage and walk slowly to the
townhouse, watched the footman open the door. It was not until the door had closed completely behind her that he signalled the
coachman
to move.

The carriage creaked, a thin, high-pitched whine that strained her nerves to screaming point. The horses’ feet struck the pavement, clip clopping in her ears. Even with all the padding and velvet, the seat was hard, so every time the carriage jolted, it rattled her to her very teeth. And Granmother was entirely uninterested.

‘You heard what I told you,’ she said. ‘Nicholas saw my father.’

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘And he isn’t in the least interested in me.’ Her voice came out as a petulant bleat. She did not like petulant bleating. She despised it, in fact.

‘Yes.’

Julia turned on her. ‘Don’t you have anything else to say?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Lady Bullfinch, unperturbed.

Julia threw her head back against the seat in disgust. She would have thought Grannie would understand what she was going through. Instead, she just sat there like – like a
fish,
staring, with big round eyes and no expression. Fish didn’t care for anything except opening their mouths and swallowing food.

She had never cared about her father. Had never tried to help her find him.

A particularly deep rut in the road caused the carriage to lurch unpleasantly. She rubbed a bruised elbow. Why couldn’t anyone have invented something more comfortable for people to ride in?

She wanted nothing more than to fling open the door and jump out. She needed to walk, to clear her thoughts. But it was three o’clock in the morning.

She would have to wait until she could go riding, later.

As if to convince her, a handful of raindrops flung themselves against the window, followed by another. Within moments, long teardrops raced down the window.

A childhood dream, destroyed. Her father had found another wife, another set of children to care for. She had followed a pipe dream, nothing more, and she had only herself to blame.

Grandmother had always told her to forget about her father. Yet she had persisted in wanting something from him that he could never give.

‘Did he ever hold me?’ she said, abruptly, into the darkness.

Her ladyship did not pretend not to know whom she meant. ‘I believe he did. He remained with your mother until you were about one and a half, after all, even though he dallied with other women.’

‘How could he just forget about me, in that case?’

Grandmother regarded her evenly. ‘Some people are simply selfish. Men or women. They aren’t capable of true love. They’re too taken up with their own needs to care for those of others.’ She sighed into the darkness. ‘Don’t try to puzzle them out, child, because you can’t.’

Julia remembered her little girl self, the nine year old who thought she would remind her father of her existence by writing a few letters.

Her cheeks burned for that little girl.

Her eyes fell on the old lady. Huddled in the corner of the carriage, she appeared frail and tired. Julia’s heart went out to her.

Much as the information Nicholas had revealed had upset her, he had told her nothing new: nothing had changed. She had Grannie. Grannie who had cared for her every step of the road.

‘Thank you, for being there,’ she whispered.

Silence met her, then a gentle snore. She was asleep.

Thorwynn’s grandmother returned to London from her country
residence,
and Lady Bullfinch went immediately to call on her. Left to her own devices, Julia took the opportunity to go out. She needed to overcome the sense of dejection that had assailed her the night before, and what better way than to refocus her efforts on finding herself a suitor. A
suitable
suitor.

Unlike Lord Thorwynn. Who was as unsuitable as could be. With
a lady clinging to his arm wherever he went. He had left the ball with the turbaned lady, their heads close together, laughing. She had no doubt where they were going.

That was not the kind of husband she needed. Any more than she needed a father who considered her very existence an irritant.

So she went to Montague House, to the British Museum. It was a good place to find herself someone earnest like her, who shared the same interests, whom she could
talk
to, for heaven’s sake.

Besides, she had offered to show Amelia the Elgin Marbles.

She met her in the exhibition room. Amelia, gaping with open curiosity, appeared discomfited at the sight of so many naked men.

‘I’m so glad you arrived. I felt very strange standing here alone with all these – figures to look at. I asked my maid Hannah to wait outside in the carriage, you see.’ She slipped her elbow into Julia’s and began to walk around the hall. ‘I told Mama I was going to a museum with you. She wasn’t very happy about it. I think she’s worried that being a bluestocking will rub off on me.’ She grinned at her companion. ‘She agreed to let me meet you, because she thinks that if you go somewhere, Lord Thorwynn is bound to turn up. She still has high hopes for me with him. As if I’d look at him
twice.’

Julia raised her eyebrow.

‘Well, I wouldn’t, and I’m not going to pretend, just because you like him,’ she said, incorrigibly.

Julia wondered if she had done the girl a favour by encouraging her outspokenness. But her high spirits amused her, and were a balm at this moment when she needed something to soothe her bruised
sensibilities
. Amelia would certainly cheer her from her fit of the doldrums.

‘Your mother’s wrong about Lord Thorwynn. He would certainly never meet me here. I doubt very much he is in the habit of visiting museums,’ said Julia.

Amelia clearly had not the slightest interest in Thorwynn’s habits. She was examining the marbles surrounding her. ‘Mama could
not
have seen the marbles,’ giggled Amelia. ‘She certainly wouldn’t approve of
him.’
She pointed to a nude male figure with nothing like a fig leaf anywhere in sight. ‘Is that really what they look like?’ she asked. ‘Men, I mean?’

The blood rushed up to Julia’s face. She had seen the statues and the friezes many times, but had always examined them as one should, as supreme examples of Classical Art. She had never been unladylike enough to stare as Amelia did. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said,
embarrassed
by Amelia’s directness.

Amelia tilted her head and inspected her with a directness that was disconcerting. ‘I thought perhaps since you were older – and Mama is always going on about how you could corrupt me, and you were
kissing
Lord Thorwynn in the library …’

Julia met that direct gaze with difficulty. ‘I – no, I have not.’ She admitted it with embarrassment. It was as if Amelia had discovered something shameful about her. She realized she was not proud of her lack of experience, even if it was only what was expected of her.

Amelia’s eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. ‘Well,
good
. Because now you can’t act as superior as you like to do.’ She lowered her voice to a near whisper. ‘So we might as well take advantage of the fact that there’s no one here, and examine those statues rather
closely,
don’t you think? I’d like to know what men actually look like, wouldn’t you?’

The expression of mischief on Amelia’s face was irresistible. Julia glanced around the gallery carefully to be sure they were completely alone. Then, drawn in by Amelia’s little game, she followed the girl, and before she knew it, she was giggling along with her.

They were engaged in viewing a particularly intriguing male torso, consumed with hilarity, when the sound of footsteps caused Julia to jump back and look elsewhere. Amelia, similarly, clasped her hands in front of her and looked cherubic.

The footsteps came closer, accompanied by the sound of male voices. One of the men was explaining the origin of some of the
statues.

As the men came around the corner, Julia stared, her mouth
opening
in shock. Her whole universe shifted, turning upside down.

‘Oh,’ said Amelia, in a hoarse whisper. ‘He
did
come. Mother was right.’

Julia pulled herself together. She closed her mouth, and her brain raced. She knew both men. The notorious Lord Elgin, his misshapen
face looking like one of his broken friezes. And Lionel, who had not yet seen her, but who was engaged in a serious discussion regarding one of the metopes.

For a moment Lionel was too involved in his conversation to notice her. The moment he saw her, however, the serious expression
disappeared,
replaced quickly by one of cynical amusement. He
interrupted
Lord Elgin, directing him over to where Julia stood.

‘A very pleasant surprise,’ he said, bowing to Julia and Amelia in turn. ‘May I present Lord Elgin, Miss Swifton, Miss Neville?’

Amelia, who did not seem bothered by Lord Elgin’s unfortunate looks, was thrilled to learn she was meeting the very man who had put the collection together. She began showering him with questions, some of them revealing that she knew far more about the marbles than she had let on.

‘So, Miss Swifton, do you find the male physique intriguing?’ said Lionel, in an undertone.

Julia stiffened. He could not have heard them giggling before their arrival.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Julia, frostily.

Lionel indicated the frieze in front of her. It was of a naked man. Heat rose up to her face. She knew she was turning a very
unbecoming
shade of purple.

‘I – I was examining the minotaur,’ she said quickly.

‘Ah,’ said Lionel, suggestively. If possible, she turned an even darker purple. She knew without looking again that the horse displayed properties that would have made him a good stud.

He grinned, enjoying her discomfort. ‘I am sorry to hear you find us poor mortal men lacking. You may perhaps be disappointed, however, if you were hoping for a minotaur to appear in your life.’

She glared at him. How typical of Lionel to
rub
it
in
.

‘It so happens,’ she said, stiffly, ‘that I am interested in Greek
sculpture,
and the minotaurs of Phideus are of particular interest to me.’

‘Is that so?’ said Lionel, his eyes twinkling. ‘I beg your pardon for misinterpreting your interest. I thought I heard laughter when I was entering the hall. But perhaps I misheard.’

She ignored him, pointedly changing the conversation. ‘How is your mother faring?’
With the aid of her concoctions, I believe, she is keeping herself alive,’ he replied, with a smile. She tried to stay serious, but she could not. In spite of herself, her mouth began to curl. ‘I’m certainly glad to hear it,’ she said, her eyes dancing in turn.

Lord Elgin excused himself, inviting Amelia and Julia for a personal tour of the marbles, and withdrew.

‘If you’ve finished with your scholarly perusal, ladies,’ said Lionel, ‘perhaps you would care to accompany me to something less’ – he paused, apparently in search of the right word – ‘dusty.’ He threw Julia a mischievous glance, making it clear he had not meant dusty at all. ‘Since the weather is so pleasant, shall we go to Gunter’s, for some ices?’

Amelia shot Julia an amused glance. ‘Certainly,’ she replied, very prettily, ‘my mother – I mean – I would be delighted.’

Julia glared back at the girl. She really had to speak to her about watching what she said.

Amelia dismissed her waiting carriage with a message to Lady Medlow that they were going to Gunter’s with Lord Thorwynn. She was clearly relishing the situation.

In Berkeley Square they sat inside while Lionel sprang down to stand outside the barouche. Julia watched the waiters scurry to and fro as she always did, marvelling at their ability to carry heavy salvers and trays across the busy road. Today their waiter was a very thin, snakelike man who slithered through the traffic, emerging
miraculously
intact to take their order.

They ordered a selection of fruit glaces and. frozen punches. When the confections arrived, Amelia exclaimed enthusiastically over the perfection of the frozen forms.

‘If I didn’t know we were at
Gunter’s,’
she said, refusing to let anyone touch them, ‘I would have thought this was a
real
apricot!’ She stared at them so long, Julia protested that they would melt in the sun.

Lionel’s manners left nothing to be desired. He was perfectly correct. He ate his ices outside, as was the custom, leaning gracefully against the railings. The three of them exchanged pleasantries and laughed as Amelia tried to salvage a large piece of her confection
which slipped out of her reach.

All was well, until Julia asked him playfully about his presence at the museum.

‘I did not know you had an interest classical studies,’ she said. ‘It seems you have more of an interest in such things than you are
willing
to admit.’

The shuttered look that was starting to look familiar swept across his face, a curtain keeping her out.

‘Lord Elgin was kind enough to offer me a private tour. I could not refuse,’ he replied.

Julia wanted to mention that she had overheard one or two of his remarks, and they revealed more than a casual interest, but she held back.

A tension filled the air which had been completely absent only a few heartbeats ago.

Amelia, impervious to the sudden atmosphere, launched into an exuberant account of some of Lord Elgin’s revelations to her. Lionel listened with a clear expression of boredom on his face. Julia,
wishing
more than anything to disprove Lionel’s earlier conviction that she knew nothing about the marbles, plied her young friend with questions.

Amelia finally put an end to the conversation. ‘La! It’s a very good thing Mama isn’t here. If she heard this conversation she would be
convinced
I had turned into a bluestocking.’

Lionel, of course, politely refuted that possibility. ‘No one could possibly think such a beautiful young lady would carry a thought in her head,’ he said, gallantly, but he laughed as he looked up at her in the carriage.

Amelia gave him a corresponding laugh. ‘Perhaps I have a
few
thoughts in my head,’ said Amelia. ‘But it would not do to reveal them, would it?’