Never Less Than a Lady (18 page)

Julia shook her head. “He married me mostly to protect me from Crockett and Daventry. That protection isn’t needed any more.”

“He could have protected you without marriage. He’s the noble sort, but he wouldn’t take a wife he didn’t want,” Mariah said crisply. “Though your fortunes are unequal, he was raised as a gentleman and you as a gentlewoman. That’s more important than who has the greater inheritance. You are closer in background than Adam and I were.”

Since the Ashtons’ marriage seemed to be flourishing, Julia hoped Mariah was right. “I came up with a plan to get rid of some of that disturbing money. I’d like to create shelters for women so they have somewhere to go when they are threatened or abused.”

Mariah blinked. “What a splendid notion. May I be a sponsor?”

“Of course,” Julia said, startled. “The Duchess of Ashton will lend luster to the enterprise. But where do we start?”

“Right here. Right now,” Mariah said, eyes gleaming. “Tell me more!”

As they threw ideas back and forth, Julia’s nerves began to calm. She wasn’t sure how good she would be as a wife or a society lady, but helping women was something she knew how to do.

Julia was on her third cup of tea and regretfully thinking the modiste would arrive soon when the door to the breakfast room opened. A beautiful young woman swept into the room, the skirts of her scarlet riding habit foaming around her.

“Good morning, Mariah!” the newcomer said gaily. “It started to rain, so I thought I’d take refuge here and see if you have any of that lovely kedgeree available.” She stopped in her tracks. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you had company, Mariah.”

“You’re always welcome, Kiri.” Mariah rose and hugged the young woman. “Julia, you’ve met Adam’s sister, Lady Kiri, haven’t you?”

“Indeed I did. Last spring.” Julia rose with a smile. Like Ashton, Lady Kiri was half Hindu, and she had his dark hair and startling green eyes. Unlike her brother, she was outgoing rather than reserved, and her voice had a hint of musical accent. “London seems to agree with you, Lady Kiri.”

“Mrs. Bancroft,” the younger woman said with pleasure, “will you be staying in London longer this time? I should like to become better acquainted.”

“She’s Lady Julia Randall now,” Mariah said. “She and Adam’s friend Major Randall married in Scotland and are now in London for the autumn season.”

Kiri’s eyes rounded. “I do hope all of Adam’s handsome friends don’t marry before I’ve had a chance to look around! Well done, Lady Julia. Randall is a truly splendid specimen. But—
Lady
Julia?”

“My father is the Duke of Castleton, but he disowned me.” Julia gestured toward the sideboard. “Don’t let me keep you from the kedgeree. Mariah said earlier that the Indian branch of the family loved to eat here.”

Lady Kiri laughed as she picked up a plate and helped herself. “Neither I nor the kedgeree are entirely Indian, but this is much better than porridge.”

Mariah poured tea for her sister-in-law. “We shall have to leave shortly when the modiste arrives. I’m holding a ball for Julia and Randall in a fortnight, so there’s no time to waste in ordering a suitable gown. You’re invited, of course.”

“Splendid!” Kiri seated herself and attacked the kedgeree with enthusiasm. “I have been longing for excitement. May I stay for the fitting with the modiste? I love looking at the fabrics and style books.”

Mariah looked thoughtful. “Would you mind, Julia? Kiri has a marvelous eye for color. She also does custom perfumes, including the scent all the young fortune hunters wanted to copy.”

“Would you like it if I blended a custom scent for you, Lady Julia?” Kiri asked. “As a wedding gift.”

Kiri looked so eager that Julia said, “I should love that.” Which meant she must allow the girl to come to the fitting. Not that Lady Kiri was precisely a girl; she must be in her early twenties. But her happy directness was youthful. When Julia was in her early twenties, she’d felt eons older.

The modiste, Madame Hélier, arrived just as Kiri was finishing her second breakfast, and the fitting began in Mariah’s private parlor. Madame was accompanied by three assistants loaded with fabrics, trims, and fashion books. Two Ashton House footmen were pressed into carrying still more bolts of fabric upstairs.

Elsa appeared, looking intimidated by all the grand ladies. While she found a spot in a corner of the room, Grandmère swept into the parlor, commandeered the most comfortable chair, and began speaking to the modiste in rapid French.

Luckily, it was a large parlor.

Mariah produced a sturdy wooden stool for Julia to stand on so the seamstresses could work more easily. “Care to step onto the sacrificial altar, your ladyship?”

Julia laughed as she stepped onto the stool. “I feel rather like a lamb for the slaughter. I’m really only here to provide a cause for this gathering.”

“Nonsense,” Grandmère said firmly. “You are here to be made utterly dazzling. Girl”—she collected Elsa with a glance—“help your mistress remove her gown so we can start draping fabric. So fortunate that you aren’t a young chit who must wear insipid white muslin, Julia.”

“A deep, rich blue,” Lady Kiri suggested. “With a touch of green in it.” She crossed the room to the bolts of fabric and tapped one with a long forefinger. “This one.”

“A fine color,” Madame Hélier said approvingly. She gestured to one of the assistants, who obediently collected Kiri’s choice and several other blue fabrics.

Julia held out her arms so Elsa could unfasten the gown and pull it over her head. Julia was not uninterested in clothing, but at the moment, most of her attention was engaged by the shelter project. Perhaps a woman and her children could be moved to another city if there was a danger that a brutal husband might pursue her? What kind of arrangements would be needed for that?

Grandmère said, “You have a fine little figure,
ma petite,
and you should show it off. Girl, tuck your mistress’s shift down so it’s like a ball gown.”

Julia hardly noticed Elsa’s gentle fingers turning down the edge of her shift. Then the maid gasped, shocking Julia back to the present. She glanced down, horrified to find that her maid had uncovered the scars.

Julia wanted to cover herself and flee. Instead she clenched her fists and stood stock still, grateful that her back was turned to most of the women. Only Elsa and Mariah could see the ugly ridged tissue.

Mariah’s brown eyes showed an instant of shock, swiftly followed by understanding. She gave Elsa a sharp hold-your-tongue glance before saying easily, “I don’t think Julia should wear low décolletage.” She stepped forward to raise Julia’s shift over the scars. “She has a perfectly good husband, so she needn’t advertise her wares. I think a style of rich but modest elegance will suit her best.” She grinned. “Not like me. I prefer to look like a refined trollop.”

“Your grace!” Madame Hélier exclaimed, horrified. “Never, never would anyone call you a trollop!”

Kiri laughed. “A trollop, yes, but certainly the most refined sort! It is a style I aspire to!” Grandmère permitted herself an amused shake of the head.

Mariah’s comments had drawn attention away from Julia, for which she was profoundly grateful. Elsa couldn’t be her maid without knowing about the scars, but Julia couldn’t bear for her humiliation to become public knowledge.

After Julia’s breathing steadied, she asked, “If I am permitted an opinion, I like Mariah’s suggestion. I’m much more comfortable with quiet elegance than with being a glittering belle of the ball.” She inclined her head to Mariah. “Or a golden duchess.”

All seven women studied her, weighing her words. Julia felt like a side of beef being priced for the market. Madame Hélier, unintimidated by so many duchesses and duke’s daughters, gave a decisive nod. “
Très bien.
A modest décolletage, but perhaps cut lower than usual in back because you have such beautiful skin, Lady Julia. Like porcelain. To reveal a little of your back will be more subtle, but most effective. Betsy, drape the Chinese silk around Lady Julia’s shoulders.”

As an assistant moved forward to comply, Julia joined the discussion to ensure that she didn’t end up tricked out like a circus pony. The ball gown was settled first with an exquisitely simple style suited to her lack of stature. Julia was swaddled in at least a dozen fabrics, but in the end they all agreed on the silk Lady Kiri had singled out.

The fashion team swept onward to walking dresses and cloaks and riding habits, and all the other accoutrements of a grand lady. At midday, Mariah rang for refreshments for all, from dowager duchess to assistants to lady’s maids. The atmosphere of feminine frivolity was enough to drive any male mad, as was proved when Ashton stopped in, took one appalled look, and headed for safer precincts.

When all the decisions of fabric, style, and trim had been made, Julia descended from her perch. Lifting a bolt of fabric, she tossed a length over Mariah’s shoulder. “I’ve noticed you eyeing this changeable mantua silk. The way the green shimmers gold is perfect for you.” She glanced at the other women. “See how the gold brings out the gold flecks in her grace’s eyes?”

Mariah stroked the silk. “Adam says I should spend more on myself.”

“By all means, spend more of my brother’s money.” Lady Kiri smiled mischievously. “He will be very happy to see you in that silk. With emeralds.”

“Onto the stool, Mariah,” Julia ordered. “Now it’s your turn.”

Mariah complied, choosing a style that would allow room for an expanding figure. By the time Madame Hélier and her minions had left, Grandmère and Lady Kiri had also chosen fabric and ordered gowns.

Julia poured herself a cup of tea. “Since I never had a proper season before I married, I didn’t realize how much work it is to dress like a grand lady!”

“The polite world must recognize your rank,” Grandmère proclaimed. “After that, you may dress as badly as you please and merely be considered eccentric.”

“I wish to be unobtrusive, not eccentric, Grandmère.” Julia exhaled. “I hope I needn’t do this again!”

“That shouldn’t be necessary now that you have laid the foundations for a proper wardrobe,” Mariah said reassuringly. “You have chosen classic styles that will always look splendid.”

Grandmère rose and gave Julia a hug. “Madame Hélier has been instructed to send the bill for today’s session to me,” she said quietly. “My gift to my favorite granddaughter.”

“Grandmère, it is too much!” Julia gasped.

“I have many years to make up for.” A quaver sounded in the older woman’s voice. “I haven’t enjoyed a day so much since…since your mother died,
ma petite.
Though I am proud of how you kept yourself all these years, I am so very glad that you’ve come home.”

Julia blinked back tears. “So am I, Grandmère. So am I.”

Randall had half-forgotten how beautiful Roscombe was. He halted his horse on a hill that offered sweeping views of the Cotswold hills, and of the mellow stone manor where he had been born. Roscombe was a gentleman’s residence, not a grand castle. It had been home to generations of his mother’s family.

After his parents were gone and Daventry became his guardian, Randall had spent little time at Roscombe. How long since the last visit? Good God, more than two years, since before being wounded.

He set his horse down the hill. Most of his recuperation had taken place in London. From there he traveled to Scotland in search of Ashton, and afterward he’d shipped out to the Peninsula again.

Yet even though he’d spent little time at Roscombe in recent years, it was still home as nowhere else could ever be. He rode through the old iron gates which were never closed, then up the long drive that led to the house and its outbuildings.

Small ornamental deer scampered away, not looking unduly worried by his presence. All was orderly and well kept. To Daventry’s credit, he’d hired a good man to look after the estate. Caldwell was so competent that Randall had never considered replacing him.

In the morning he would call on Caldwell to discuss tenants’ cottages and drainage and the cost of new farm equipment. He’d probably accept all of Caldwell’s recommendations, since the man had kept Roscombe profitable and the land in good heart for over twenty years.

There had been no real need to make this trip, but Randall wanted to get away from London for a few days. Gordon had looked plaintive at being abandoned again, but he’d recover soon enough with his Elsa under the same roof.

Randall circled the house to the stables and dismounted, leading his weary mount inside. The groom, Willett, was in the tack room, repairing a piece of harness. After glancing up, he rose and ambled out to greet his master as if Randall had been here just last week. “Good day to you, Major. Will you be stayin’ long this time?”

“Not long, but soon I’ll be living here.” Randall unsaddled his horse and began grooming it, enjoying the horseman’s ritual. His leg ached from the long ride, but was in no danger of collapse. Soon he would be taking his recovery for granted. “I’ve married, so I wanted to make sure Roscombe is in fit condition for my new bride.”

Willett’s expression sharpened. “Will you be needing more inside servants? My youngest daughter is almost ready to go into service.”

“My wife will do the hiring, but I’ll tell her your girl”—Randall searched his memory—“would that be Nancy?—might be interested.”

“Aye, ’tis my Nancy. You’ve a good memory, Major.” The groom turned back to the tack room, adding, “Welcome home, sir. ’Tis time the house was lived in.”

Time and past time. After Randall settled his horse, he headed into the house, surprising his cook-housekeeper in the kitchen. She was baking a shepherd’s pie for herself and her husband, and he assured her that a slice of that would do nicely for him.

Then he wandered through the familiar rooms, trying to see the house as Julia would. The place had been well maintained. There were no leaky ceilings, no dry rot nor woodworm.

But neither had any decorating been done since his parents died. On Randall’s rare visits, he’d liked the familiarity of knowing that his childhood home was unchanged. As a result, paint was faded, furniture needed reupholstering, and some of the carpets were worn. There was much to keep a new mistress busy.

Randall entered the drawing room and gazed out at the rolling vale, his hands clasped behind his back. What would his life have been like if his parents hadn’t died? He would have grown up here, perhaps had younger brothers or sisters. He wouldn’t have become such a difficult boy that he’d ended up at the Westerfield Academy.

Yet the friendships he’d made there had enriched his life beyond measure. Would he have become as close to his classmates if he’d been sent to one of the usual schools of his class? Probably not. Lady Agnes Westerfield’s damaged students had needed each other more than most schoolboys.

Would he have gone into the army? Not likely. If he had grown up here, he wouldn’t have had that angry edge of violence that made battle so appealing. Neither would he have felt such an intense desire to get away from England.

He would have gone to university and lived like most young men of his class. He would have learned the land from his father here at Roscombe, and spent some time sowing a few wild oats in London. He would be married by now, probably a father. But the mother of his children wouldn’t have been Julia.