Lord Barry's Dream House (18 page)

“How, er, interesting,” Lord Carlingford said with a narrow look at Lord Barry that seemed dubious to Juliana.

“She is indispensable, you know,” Lord Barry said in an odiously patronizing manner. “Wouldn’t know how to go on without her advice. She will be occupied most days—at least until we have selected all the furniture needed for the house. It’s a rather large place, you see, so it might take some time.” Juliana did not dare to say a word, or she might explode and frighten poor Lord Carlingford into the next county.

“In that case, I can but hope to see you at Almack’s next Wednesday evening,” Lord Carlingford concluded before making his farewell bow and leaving.

“Lord Barry,” Juliana snapped, rounding on her patron with a wicked gleam in her eyes, “if you ever do anything like that again, I will take great pleasure in denouncing you to every presentable female within miles of here.”

“Now see here, Juliana,” he sputtered.

“Oh, no, you see here. You are only my patron. Why, you were behaving like a proprietary lover, sirrah!” With that pithy remark she stormed from the room and marched upstairs, leaving the dratted man where he was without so much as a good-bye.

Edmund shook his head, strolled past the butler and on to the front door, meeting Miss
Tibbles
coming in as he was about to go out.

“Now what?” she demanded. “You look upset.”

“I believe I just made a fool of myself,” he said, wondering how on earth he could have uttered such words and where they had come from in the first place.

“Is that all! Juliana perturbed?” she inquired at the sound of a door being slammed somewhere in the upper regions of the house.

“I believe she is a little annoyed with me at the moment,” he confessed.

“Well, tomorrow is another day and I obtained the vouchers we desired. I have an invitation for Juliana to a little party this evening. It is last minute, of course, but it ought to make her more cheerful. Lady Jersey is having a few friends in this evening. The cream of Society will be there, and I hope Juliana will make new friends.” Miss
Tibbles
gave Edmund a significant look.

“By new friends, I gather you mean gentlemen friends?”

“Naturally. I mean for her to find a good husband. Her mother will never be bothered, silly goose that she is. Juliana is my dearest niece and will inherit my portion once I’m gone. I care a great deal about her and her future. I mean to see a few great-nieces and nephews before my time is over.”

With that she bid him good day, saying that they needed to decide what they would wear this evening to such a grand affair.

“Grand affair,” Edmund grumbled as he strolled along the street in the vague direction of his hotel. He had been accepted as a member of his father’s club and decided he would spend the evening there. Perhaps he might renew a few friendships made while at Oxford years ago. One never lost old school ties. It would help take his mind off a radiant Juliana in that white gauze thing with the pale roses nestled at her delightful bosom and looking like a piece of confectionery. How could any man with half an eye fail to appreciate such beauty? Of course he wouldn’t know about the sharp tongue or devious mind that went along with that beauty. Edmund righteously decided he would be only to
o
happy to tell any fellow who elected to court Juliana just what was in store for him. All in the name of fair play, naturally.

Juliana was delighted at the news of a party at Lady Jersey’s that evening—even if it was the last minute.

“For the more people I meet, the better, do you not agree?” she earnestly inquired of her aunt.

“By all means,” her aunt agreed, then said, “Now please tell me just what went on before I arrived back here.”

Juliana dutifully explained, with much indignation and waving of arms as she stalked about her lovely room on the second floor.

“My, it sounds as though Lord Barry was a real spoilsport. You’d think he cared about you, the way he carries on,” Aunt
Tibbles
said thoughtfully, watching her niece absorb this scrap of insight.

“Well, he cannot,” Juliana declared. “All he wanted was to have me go with him to look at some sideboard.” And then it struck her. “The blasted man did not even stay to take me to
see
the sideboard that was so very important that I could not go for a drive with Lord Carlingford.”

“You did take a rather frosty leave of him, my dear,” her aunt said mildly. She turned Juliana’s attention to the treat in store for her this evening and a choice of gown, for Madam Clotilde had sent around two of the dresses that had been ordered.

The two women slipped out for a bit of shopping—reticules and slippers and gloves, mostly—then returned home to dine and prepare for the party.

Juliana wore a delicate sea foam sarcenet with an overdress of sheer aerophane crepe. A jeweled clasp caught a green riband at the front where the neckline dipped. A pretty ruffle that went around her neck saved the dress from seeming too daring. Juliana fingered her pearls where they nestled against her skin. “I look rather nice, if I do say so,” she concluded before they were to depart.

“Pity Lord Barry could not see how feminine you look this evening. He’d not speak as he did,” Aunt
Tibbles
said with a nod and a gleam in her eyes.

“I doubt if it would make a scrap of difference,” Juliana grumbled before accepting her wrap and joining her aunt on what promised to be a wonderful evening.

Chapter
Sixt
een

“If
there is a maker of furniture east of Tottenham Court Road that we have missed these past weeks, I vow I cannot imagine who it could be,” Juliana said, sounding rather cross as she paced back and forth in the Hamilton town house drawing room.

“It does seem as though I have viewed a goodly number of sofas and chairs, not to mention tables this past month and more,” Aunt
Tibbles
agreed from the sofa, where she perched, waiting for his lordship to arrive for the day.

“I am fully convinced that every piece of furniture he actually needs for that house has been ordered—most on their way by now. And I do believe he must have met every eligible young lady to be found in London. So why?”

“The delay?” Aunt
Tibbles
queried. “More young ladies, perhaps? I did think Lady Caroline Putney, with all that chestnut hair and being quite a beauty, stood a chance.”

“What about the heiress, Miss Smythe-Easton? He danced with her three times at Lady Sefton’s party.”

“What do you propose, dear?”

“We shall leave! Almack’s is over and done. Even Parliament will soon be closing, the members heading for their country homes. Why not us? I have had a feeling
...”

“It has become rather warm in London,” Aunt
Tibbles
confessed.

“Well, he cannot require my advice any longer. I truly fail to see why—” She broke off when Hilsom entered the room, bearing a letter on the salver.

“Your mother has written, my lady,” he said, sounding quite as stuffy as usual.

With a glance at her aunt, Juliana picked up the letter, hastily broke the seal, and gasped at the first lines she read.

“Do not keep me in suspense. Tell me the whole of it,” her aunt demanded.

“Kitty has eloped with Sir Peregrine! They flew off to Gretna last week! How dreadful!” Juliana exchanged an anxious look with her aunt. “Had I been there, I feel certain I might have talked her out of such foolishness. Mama is rightly upset—although she worries more about the impression such news might have on Barbara’s come-out.”

“But Kitty and Sir Peregrine are much attached, planning to wed once mourning is over,” Aunt argued.

“That is true, but still, elopement—it is not a good way to begin a marriage, I believe.”

“What is it you so firmly believe this hour of the morning, Lady Juliana?” Lord Barry said from the doorway, Hilsom having allowed him to come on his own since he had practically been living in the ladies’ pockets all this time.

“Kitty and Sir Peregrine eloped! It is my fault, for I did not convince her of the folly of such behavior. Had I remained at Beechwood, I could have stopped her.”

“Do you really think so?” he said. “It seems to me they were determined on the course of their future and did not wish to wait for six months to begin their life together.” He strolled across the room to make his bow to Aunt, then turned to face Juliana again.

“We are leaving at once,” Juliana declared.

“What good will that possibly do? They are most likely well married by now and on their way home again. She will be living with Sir Peregrine, where she doubtless has longed to be for some time.”

“What do you know about it?” Juliana said quietly, thinking he probably had the right of it.

“I have eyes in my head. You would think the same if you stopped being elder sister for a bit.”

“What an abominable creature you are, to be sure,” Juliana said with more spirit. “What did you wish today? More manufactories? Upholsterers? Decorators? I vow I have seen all there could possibly exist in London.”

“Well...
I thought perhaps a drive in the park.”

“Nonsense,” Juliana said impatiently. She wondered which of the young ladies he wished to make jealous by parading her in his new carriage. “Since we have done with the shopping and your leather-covered bergere chairs and the plum-covered sofa, not to mention that sideboard you finally ordered have been sent north, we are no longer needed.”

“True,” he admitted. “But I would miss your company.”

“Very civilized of you to say so,” she replied politely. With a glance at her aunt, Juliana moved forward to shake his hand, adding, “My solicitor will settle the final bill with you, if you please. The house is complete, I feel certain. Any details can be handled with my cousin, Henry.”

“Your
cousin
?” This one word seemed to impress him a great deal.

“Henry is like a brother to Juliana, for so her father treated him,” Aunt
Tibbles
said, watching the two who eyed one another so warily. “Trained the two together.”

“What you do is, of course, up to you,” he said. “The Season is drawing to an end; London grows dull, I suppose.”

“You must have solved your dilemma—that of finding a wife?” she boldly inquired, knowing it was far too impudent a thing to ask, but aching to know the awful truth.

“I narrowed the field some, but if you mean—have I asked a lady to be my bride, the answer is no. I am not certain the one I want would have me.”

“Fainthearted? I’d not have believed it of you,” she said with a sorry excuse for a laugh.

“Women are not the only ones to nurse doubts, harbor fears, my lady,” he concluded. “If you wish to leave now, I had best depart. I shall see you when we return to the country?” He paused by the door, hat in hand, to give her an oddly questioning look.

“Perhaps. I do not know what my future plans are.”

Once he had left, Juliana turned to her aunt and said, “I wonder who the nitwit is?”

“Probably does not know he cares for her, what with him being tongue-tied and all,” Aunt said blandly.

“Who would have thought it?” Then, depressed by the knowledge that even if he hadn’t asked a girl to marry him, that he had actually selected her, Juliana briskly said, “Come, we have much to do. How quickly can we leave here?”

With a summons to Hilsom, then the maids, action commenced, and the move from London began.

Edmund strolled away from the Hamilton town house deeply in thought. What a dunderhead he was. Why had he not considered the possibility of Henry Scott being a relative, and an innocuous one, to boot? Now, he feared that he had burned his bridges behind him, treating Juliana with far too much familiarity and relying on her in a way that might not be pleasing to a potential bride.

“Idiot!” he declared, causing a passerby to stare at him in alarm.

Pulling himself together, Edmund decided he had best finish his business as soon as possible, then return to his new home. Perhaps he might find another lady of spirit and charm to grace the halls? Never mind that he had inspected the finest crop of the land at Almack’s and found them all wanting one way or another. There must be someone.

It did not take long to conclude the payment for his house. He felt a fraud when the solicitor commended him for his prompt settling of his accounts—so many gentlemen allowed them to drag on for months, even years. Edmund just wished to be done with all that had to do with the project.

By the time he traveled to his home, he found that Beckworth, his newly hired butler, had efficiently disposed of all the furniture that had arrived, placing every item precisely where Juliana had indicated on the floor plan Edmund had providentially sent along. Even the drapers had come, measured, and returned to hang the various festoons and curtains required. The carpets Juliana had argued about with him—and won—most handsomely adorned each room. And that landscape paper in the drawing room was exactly right, just as she had predicted.

He missed her.

He walked slowly up the stairs, recalling his arguments
with Juliana over the design and stability of them. They seemed most solid under his feet now. At the landing he turned and wandered slowly along the hall, although he knew where he was headed. Once at the door to the Etruscan room, he entered, pausing to again study the paintings on the wall, marveling at the freshness of the scenes and the exquisite detailing. Of course the wardrobe she had spotted
was perfect for the room, as were the dainty chairs, so right for a lady.

He was not quite so sure of the looking glass, but if she liked it, he supposed it could remain.

In the master suite he came to a dead stop. There against the center of one wall was the massive bed he had ordered according to a Sheraton design he favored. It was quite splendid, almost awe-inspiring, in fact. He walked over to it, sat down to test the mattress, then stretched out, contemplating future nights on this most comfortable of spots—all by himself. It was unthinkable.

He missed her.

Rising from the bed, unable to halt the flow of wishful dreaming that had taken hold of him, he continued on his inspection of the next room, the dressing room for the mistress of this household.

She was everywhere—from the marble bath to the crisply skirted dressing table, the gilt wall sconces above it, to the delicate torchere near the bath, not to mention the amazing wardrobe she had insisted he purchase. It had two generous compartments for gowns to hang in—one to either side, centered by shelves for clothes to lay flat on and drawers for other garments. Magnificent in mahogany.

Oh, how he missed her.

“My lord, I was just told you had arrived. Is it all satisfactory?” Henry Scott stood in the doorway, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Indeed, indeed,” Edmund said, trying to seem pleased
—
which he was, actually. Then, with a genuine smile, for he had always wanted to like the chap, he walked over to clasp Henry’s hand. “There is not money enough to pay you for all you have done here, but I will try to compensate you for your
good stewardship. You are a fine man. If there is a letter of commendation you might wish, you have but to ask.”

Seeming a bit taken aback at this heap of praise, Henry studied his patron, then said, “I gather all went well in London? From the looks of it, you bought out a furniture manufactory or two.”

“Yes. Lady Juliana”
—
Edmund had to clear his throat at the sound of her name—“was most helpful.”

“She arrived home yesterday. I suppose you know about Kitty—now Lady Forsythe?”

“They returned?” Edmund paused in their stroll back to the stairs, for he had found it necessary to leave the room that contained so much of Juliana in it.

“They have. Kitty is as happy as a duck in a pond, taking capable control of the Forsythe home. Things needed a strong hand there, for the last Lady Forsythe had been gone aloft for some years. Since Kitty hasn’t the slightest inclination to go to London, Lady Hamilton has forgiven the runaways.”

“As I suspected she might do.” The two men exchanged a look that said much about their understanding of Lady Hamilton and her desires for Lady Barbara.

“You said once—just in passing, mind you—that you hoped to find a wife while in London,” Henry said most hesitantly.

Knowing what he did now, Edmund could see the fellow’s dilemma. Henry cared for Juliana while she considered him no more than a brother. Edmund would not wish that position for himself.

“I certainly surveyed all that the
ton
had to offer at Almack’s and the various balls and parties. But, no, I did not find a wife among them.” If Henry thought the phrasing of that reply odd, he gave no indication. Edmund figured that he was quite safe with his foolish love for a woman who most likely wished him to perdition.

He had once said, with Sallust, that every man is the architect of his own fortune. Perhaps had he any common sense he ... Was it Voltaire who had written that common sense is not so common? At any rate, Edmund could not think of a way out of his stupidity at the moment.

“Pity, that,” Henry said with every evidence of sympathy.

“Mr. Teynham been around?” Edmund inquired, the beginning of an idea stirring in his mind.

“Not recently,” Henry said, then gestured to the back of the house. “Would you come with me to have a look at the outbuildings that have been finished while you were gone?”

“Certainly,” Edmund replied with no hint of the impatience he felt.

They strolled along over the neatly raked ground awaiting a coating of gravel to reduce the dust and mud.

“The ice house is half hidden over there, and before that is the kitchen gardens.”

“Very neat brickwork on the walls, I must say,” Edmund said with obvious approval ringing in his voice while he stood, hands behind him, studying the pretty pattern of it.

It earned him a curious glance from Henry, but they went on. With each building came strong appreciation of all that Henry Scott had done while Edmund was flitting about London, hunting for furniture and someone to take Juliana’s place. Fat lot of good that had done him.

“Do you dine as usual with the family this evening?” Edmund said casually when Henry indicated he had finished the tour of inspection.

“Yes, I do,” Henry replied, looking nonplu
s
sed.

“Would you be so kind as to tell George Teynham I would like to see him on the morrow?”

With a wondering expression Henry agreed, then left.

Edmund returned to his house, standing in the entryway, trying to envision any other woman joining him here and he could not. And hoped it would not be necessary.

A loud knock on the door sounded, and Beckworth, as efficient as evidence had given, sailed across to open the door at once.

“We have come to welcome his lordship back to the country,” trilled the unmistakable voice of Lady Rosamund.

“Is the dear man to home?” Lady Titchfield inquired.

Edmund nodded wryly to Beckworth, and in moments found his ears assaulted with enthusiastic praise of the furnishings, the chairs and sofas, not to mention the mahogany dining table with its delicate ormolu inlay work.

“Such taste!” Lady Titchfield exclaimed when she viewed the landscape paper on the drawing room walls. “Such divine proportions,” as she fingered the tails of the draperies. “Simply elegant!” she concluded.

“Any woman would be proud to be mistress of such a house,” Lady Rosamund blushingly offered.