Season for Temptation (10 page)

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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Temptation
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Chapter 11
In Which Plum Pudding Is Vulgar
Matheson House, in Cavendish Square, was large, cold, stately, and formal. The chill in the air came less from the sharp temperatures outside, which were tempered by a roaring fire in the drawing room, than from the dismissive expression on the Viscountess Matheson's face as she greeted her guests.
The room was elegantly trimmed with holiday greenery. Julia felt somewhat cheered as she glanced around, taking comfort from the familiar freshly cut mistletoe, laurel, and holly.
They'd be cutting those now in the country, she realized. She could almost imagine her mother and young siblings running around the house in excitement to decorate it. Her father, she thought, would carefully consider which goose the family would eat for their Christmas dinner. Ultimately, she knew, he would decide he couldn't part with any of his beloved animals, and would beg his wife to spare them all and order cheese for the family dinner. Then Lady Oliver would speak to the cook later, one of the geese (it didn't matter which) would be killed and delectably roasted, and tomorrow Lord Oliver would enjoy the Christmas feast with gusto, never thinking about the source of the delicious meat served to him.
Imagining the comforting family rituals, Julia felt very distant indeed from their home in Kent. A wave of nostalgia hit her with surprising force. Louisa had been right; they were a world away from that now. Why on earth had she come here?
She reached for Louisa's hand for support, but just then James spoke, and she remembered why she had come.
That's right, she recalled; it was for Louisa. And, were she to be honest, for herself, too.
James presented the visitors very properly to his mother and to his elder sister Gloria, a widowed viscountess herself, whose lovely face was stiffened into an expression of extreme hauteur. Gloria still wore the dark crepe of half-mourning, and James explained that Gloria and her young daughters now lived with his mother since her husband's heir, the new Viscount Roseborough, had acceded to the title several months before and taken possession of the ancestral property.
“Everyone is happier this way,” he explained. “My mother and sister truly enjoy each other's company.” He smiled encouragingly at them.
“I can see that,” Julia murmured into Louisa's ear, noting the unresponsive faces of James's female relatives. “They both look simply ecstatic.”
Louisa didn't respond aloud to her comment, but a nervous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
James hadn't been exaggerating when he said his mother would be eager for her dinner. The unconventional party of James and the five ladies (“just an intimate dinner,” the elder viscountess explained with a syrupy smile, “so we can all get well acquainted”) progressed downstairs to the meal almost as soon as introductions had been dispensed with.
“I'm sorry about the short notice on this,” James offered in an aside to the two young women. “It was, ah”—he shot a quick glance at his mother—“a bit difficult to get everyone's plans figured out. I'm so glad you could come anyway; I think this will be a very good opportunity for you to become comfortable with one another.”
His voice was hopeful. Already, Julia was less so even than when she had arrived.
It was through her dinner that Viscountess Matheson demonstrated the Christmas spirit, not with gladness of heart or generous statements of welcome, but with slices of tongue and generous portions of food. Besides the tongue—which Julia couldn't bring herself to eat, being just a bit too cognizant of its source due to all the time she had spent with Lord Oliver's livestock—their hostess provided the party with several lavish courses, including a succulent roasted goose, rabbit, pheasant, and quail.
This surfeit of dishes was accompanied by very little conversation. James's sister spiritlessly picked at her meal, while the elder viscountess selected and consumed her food with single-minded relish. She spoke mainly to James, and even then talked only of titled young women with whom she would like him to become acquainted.
“Lord and Lady Alleyneham will be in town soon after the new year,” she informed him, forking up a wafer-thin slice of quail. “I believe they're planning a ball to open the season in early spring. I'm sure it will completely eclipse their ball at the end of last year's season.
“That affair proved to be rather lackluster, wouldn't you agree, my son?” she asked, flashing a sweet smile at James. “But Charissa Bradleigh—that's the earl and countess's third daughter, you know—is a simply lovely girl. I am sure you would like to see her again and get much better acquainted.”
Louisa was cowed completely into silence by this barely cloaked insult, for it was at the previous season's Alleyneham House ball that she and James had met.
James, for his part, seemed to miss the hidden meaning of his mother's words. He simply replied that he had very much enjoyed every ball the earl and countess had put on, and expected this next would be much the same.
As the cloth was removed in order that dessert could be served to the silent party, Lady Irving finally came to welcome life at Julia's side.
“It's no wonder the late viscount suffered from gout, eh?” she stated, just quietly enough that their hostess could pretend not to hear, and just loudly enough to ensure that she
did
hear. This remark drew an answering sniff from the viscountess, but her attention was immediately distracted by the arrival of a variety of sweets, including syllabub, tarts, and a mince pie.
Julia had a nearly irresistible urge to shout “hell” at the top of her lungs and shove a tart into the arrogant faces of the two viscountesses. She knew this wouldn't be the most auspicious time to try out particularly unconventional behavior, but still—how had a man like James come from a family like this?
She felt annoyed at his relatives for being so unwelcoming to Louisa, a future member of their family. In comparison to that, their cool disinterest in Julia herself seemed unimportant. Louisa had been nervous before the visit; now she almost looked ill from distress. Julia wondered desperately what she could do to help her sister feel more comfortable.
Thus it was that Julia blundered. Her mind distracted, her eyes blankly cast over the desserts laid out on the table, and they noticed something missing.
“No plum pudding?” Julia's disappointed question slipped out before she thought.
Oh, dear. She'd done it again.
She met Louisa's dismayed gaze, stricken at her carelessness, and then bravely turned her eyes to the viscountess.
Lady Matheson looked her over coolly for a long moment, then returned her attention to the selection of sweets. “Pudding is vulgar,” she informed Julia.
Julia flushed, but raised her chin. “Really? I was unaware that such a popular tradition was vulgar. I must be dreadfully common, if so.”
“I find that very possible,” the elder viscountess replied matter-of-factly.
A shocked silence fell over the table. After a moment, James broke it. “Really, Mother; that's very impolite.”
“So is a guest who questions the spread laid before her by her hosts,” her ladyship replied, unperturbed.
“That's utter nonsense, Augusta.” Lady Irving verbally shoved her way into the conversation with the familiarity of a long-lost girlhood friendship. “If you don't have a pudding when you invite guests over on Christmas Eve, you're positively un-English. And if you insult your guests, you're positively rude. Now, shall we try this exchange again? I am sure you're eager to welcome us, seeing as how your summons was so urgent that we left family Christmas in the country in order to spend time with you instead.”
Her voice was calm, but her eyes were steely. Julia felt a whirl of excitement in her nervous stomach. Her aunt was often irritable, always opinionated, but rarely angry. She was a force to behold at this moment, tall and stately in her chair, the inevitable ostrich plumes adorning her crown of hair, sherry-brown eyes boring into those of her old acquaintance as she awaited a response.
Lady Matheson stared back at her, mouth slightly agape. Her eyes, as green as James's, goggled a bit. Lady Irving had, quite simply, flayed all the arrogance off her, and all that was left was surprise.
She wasn't an aristocrat for nothing, though; after a minute she recovered her composure. She drew herself up in her chair and ignored everything that had just passed. Almost.
Her stony face almost seemed to crack as she said in a carefully neutral tone, “I believe we've been at our dining long enough. If you would care for some dessert, I will have sweetmeats brought into the drawing room. Miss Oliver, you and your aunt may join me for some cards. Gloria, you will make up the fourth.”
It wasn't a question. Lady Matheson rose at once and made her way back upstairs to the drawing room. The others dutifully followed her, though Julia hung back to whisper to Louisa, “That's a good sign, right? To join her at cards?”
Louisa threw a skeptical look back at her. “Who knows?” she whispered back. “At least we know Aunt Estella can control her.” Her mouth twisted. “James obviously can't.”
“Since when did any mother, even a kind one, ever pay the least heed to what her son said?” Julia defended him in a furious whisper that made Lady Irving turn to look back at her expectantly.
Louisa nudged her. “You and your loud whisper! Come along; we have to join them. At least we'll be able to go home soon.”
 
 
The card table was set up for the four players in front of that lovely, luxurious fire, and the players prepared for a rubber of whist. James was at first occupied with settling Louisa and mediating between the two elder women. Lady Irving considered playing for Lady Matheson's suggested low stakes sadly flat; it was hardly even worth playing at all on those terms. Gently, James reminded her ladyship that they were at his mother's home, not in a gaming hell, and perhaps a family card game on Christmas Eve need not involve the exchange of large sums of money.
Idling nearby beside the fire, Julia overheard this, as well as Lady Irving's subsequent bark of laughter and her capitulation.
Notice that, Louisa
; she thought.
Maybe James tries to ignore his own mother's rudeness, but he won't let our aunt test him.
Temporarily left alone, she meandered around the large room, but found it chilly at the edges. She soon returned to the fire and sat as far away from the card players as she was able while still remaining warm. In her chair, she absently folded up her legs and wrapped her arms around them as was her wont at home.
She idly watched the two older women, partnered at whist, chatter spiritedly and with increasing warmth as they sipped at sherry. They clutched at James's sleeves to keep him with them—Lady Irving for Louisa's sake, Lady Matheson for her own. Louisa and Gloria, also partnered, played mechanically and with little spirit and even less conversation.
Julia was content to sit alone, but to tell the truth, she was growing a bit bored. She was relieved when a governess hesitantly entered the room with two young girls who appeared to be around eight and six years old.
She hopped up at once, interested in the young arrivals. The group at the card table took longer to notice them, but Gloria instantly rose when she did see them. With real, warm affection, she went over to the children and led them forward to meet the rest of the party.
“These are my darling girls,” she said with unmistakable pride in her voice. “Anne and Sophia.”
She introduced each of the other members of the party to her daughters in turn. Julia, last to meet them, watched in amazement to see the frosty widow thaw into eager life in the company of her children. Gloria, dowager Viscountess Roseborough, was positively transformed. Freed from her willful silence, she appeared a young and beautiful woman. Her daughters, in turn, clung excitedly to her as if they loved to be at her side.
Julia crouched to their level when they came to greet her. “Hello,” she said warmly. “I'm so glad to meet you both. I have sisters almost exactly your age, and I've been missing them very much today.”
The children were instantly fascinated by this adult who bent to speak to them from their own height. They asked her who her sisters were, and where they lived, and if they were in London now, and seemed disappointed to learn they were far away in the country. Anne, the elder, was very gratified to learn that one of the sisters in question shared a name with her, and both girls expressed so much eagerness to meet the Oliver children that Julia suspected they were starving for friendship.
“I would love to have you come visit us in the country sometime,” Julia offered, looking questioningly at Gloria to see her reaction. To her surprise, the young widow gave her a small smile and unbent a bit toward her.
“That's a very kind offer,” she murmured. “Thank you. Now, come, girls; you mustn't bother Miss Herington. Back to the nursery with you.”

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