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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Temptation
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“You're mad,” James said. “I don't care what the letter says. I'm not letting them leave without a word of explanation.”
He retrieved the note from the floor, smoothed the paper, and read it again. He still couldn't believe it. Was this really from Lady Irving? Was she so insulted as to wish to cut ties completely?
No; it couldn't be true. Something strange was going on here. “I'm going to marry Miss Herington,” he insisted.
“You can hardly do so if she is unwilling, which she apparently is,” his mother replied in a sugary, soothing voice, her eyes steely and exultant.
James had had about enough of this. He had no idea what was really going on, or who had written that letter, or what Julia really wanted—but he was desperate to find out.
Which meant that it was well past time for his mother to leave.
“Allow me to show you out,” he said, rising and attempting to pull his mother to her feet after him. “You can't possibly wish to say anything more to insult me or my intended bride. I don't believe you truly wish to hunt for rented lodgings, do you?”
As his mother stood unwillingly, he thought he saw a tiny shadow of . . . was that fear in her eyes? He felt a flash of remorse; he really wasn't cut out for this whole threatening-women-with-homelessness business. And after all, the woman
was
his mother, and it really
wasn't
her handwriting. Maybe she had done nothing worse than unseal and read his mail.
Still, he was more than ready to leave, and he certainly wasn't going to allow her to stay behind to wreak havoc in his house at her leisure. More gently this time, he tugged—well, call it
guided
—her arm toward the door.
Just then, Delaney entered with a tray of coffee. “Is her ladyship leaving?” he asked ingenuously.
“Yes,” James barked. “We're both going out, almost at once.”
His mother looked surprised, though she quickly covered it, and then reseated herself as swiftly as he'd ever seen her move.
“No, indeed I am not, dear.” She turned wide, innocent eyes to him—an expression he thought sat ill on her shrewd face. “Surely you wouldn't deny your own mother a cup of coffee? After coming all this way to see you, in chill weather?”
“I didn't ask you to come,” he replied ungraciously, folding his arms.
Her wide-eyed expression vanished at once, replaced by a look of annoyance. “Very well, so it was an unsolicited visit. Is there any reason why I can't visit my son?”
“Can't. Shouldn't. Haven't. There are hundreds of reasons,” he answered, eyebrows lifted in a hurry-up expression.
“Well,” her ladyship said primly, serving herself some coffee, “be that as it may, I intend to fortify myself with a hot beverage before venturing back outside.”
James turned away from her. “Be my guest,” he said. “I'm leaving.” He didn't want to wait any longer; he would just have to trust that Delaney could keep an eye on his mother during his absence.
“James,” the viscountess said, and this was a new voice. It was soft and beseeching; it held traces of the affection she must have once felt for him. It was a
mother
's voice, not a noblewoman's voice. He hadn't heard that voice for a long time. “James, my dear boy. Please . . . stay with me.”
He turned to face her, and her expression was pleading. “Just one cup. Drink one cup with me, and then I'll go. And then you can do whatever you want, and marry whomever you wish, and I won't say another word against it.”
This earnest mood was surprise enough, and James was struck by the novelty of it. She seemed sincere. Had he really hurt her feelings? If so, that would be the first time since his childhood that he'd managed to reach her heart in any way. He only felt sorry that it had to be for this reason, at this time of all times.
Hers was an offer worth considering. It would be well worth a few minutes of his time to win her promise to stop hassling him and hold her peace about his choice of a bride.
“Just one cup?” he said doubtfully.
“One will be plenty,” the viscountess replied with a small smile, giving her son's hand a squeeze as he sat down across from her.
“Just one,” he agreed with a sigh, and poured out a cup of his own. One cup, and then he would go to Julia. Surely these very few minutes wouldn't make a difference?
Chapter 31
In Which Proposals Are Rescinded
The inhabitants of the Grosvenor Square address passed an anxious hour waiting for James to reply to the pleading note Julia had sent. The minutes piled up with unbearable sloth, until Julia's jittery pacing around the drawing room had driven both her and Louisa to the point of snapping at each other.
“Please be
still
,” Louisa begged her sister from an uncomfortable chair near the fire. Her own back was ramrod-straight and her face quiet and calm, but her hands twisted anxiously in her lap, belying her nervousness.
“I can't,” Julia replied, sitting down and beginning to beat her heels against the legs of the chair. “I have to move. It keeps me from thinking. At least, as much as I would if I were sitting still.”
Kick, kick. Kick, kick. Louisa sighed heavily in annoyance, and Julia jumped up at once and began pacing again.
“Why doesn't he write? Why doesn't he come? What's the matter?”
She stopped pacing, struck by an idea. “I should just go to him and speak to him in person.”
This elicited a strong reaction from Louisa. “No!” she cried, rising from her chair to stand between Julia and the door. “Absolutely not. You must see that that's impossible.”
“Why?” Julia replied petulantly. “What on earth could it matter now? The worst is already done.”
Louisa rolled her eyes. “We are far from having had the worst happen. If you go to him now, your reputation as a loose woman will be confirmed in everyone's minds. You may never recover, even if he does marry you. But if the next news related to you is marriage, people will soon forget. They may enjoy a good scandal, but everyone knows that things are usually not as bad as they sound. They'll let it go.”
Julia felt mulish, and she folded her arms. She was desperate to do something. As she stepped forward again, Louisa spread her arms wide to block the doorway. “Julia. You must stay. We can do nothing else that does not strictly comply with propriety.” She swallowed and added, “If you won't regard that for yourself . . . will you think of me?”
Julia threw her hand up in capitulation. She had to give Louisa credit for not playing the “do it for my sake” card until she had to—but her sister had known that would absolutely work. Julia had been thinking only of her own impatience and apprehension, but of course Louisa was going through the same emotions, with an added dash of humiliation to leaven the mixture.
Julia dragged herself back to a chair and dropped into it spiritlessly, not even bothering to swing her heels against the chair legs this time. Why bother kicking? It wouldn't make James come for her any sooner. Why try not to think of it? How could she possibly hope to distract herself from something that would dictate the whole future course of her life? She
should
be thinking of it, unbearable though the suspense was.
Thankfully, a message came from James soon afterward, relieving both young women. Julia ripped open the sealed missive and read it, almost before Louisa had dismissed the servant who had brought it in.
She scanned the letter eagerly, but her hopefulness changed at once to stunned pain.
“No,” she whispered, turning white. “I don't believe it.” Her head felt light, as if all the blood had drained from it. With boneless legs, she sagged to the floor, drawing deep breaths to keep her vision from going black with terror.
“Good God,” Louisa gasped, staring at Julia in amazement. “What does it say?”
Julia squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the paper along the floor to Louisa. She heard the other girl pick it up and read it softly aloud.
Miss Herington:
Thank you for the honor of your letter. I regret that I am unable to oblige you in the matter you requested.
Sincerely,
Matheson
To hear this read aloud was an agony that Julia had never known before. She would have rather had her hand cut off than receive this chill, formal rejection. She was so stunned that she had nothing to say.
If it hadn't been so terrible, she might have thought it was rather funny. She, Julia, had finally been brought to the point of silence.
She wished she could vanish. Just blink out of existence, away from seals and notes and broken promises.
“What is this? Is this some kind of a cruel joke?” Louisa finally asked.
Her eyes still shut, Julia replied flatly, “How could it be a joke? It bore his seal.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at Louisa from her huddle on the floor. “What did I do? Why did he change his mind?” She could barely manage to whisper, her voice was so choked with pain. “Doesn't he love me anymore?”
“I don't believe in this,” Louisa said decisively, slapping the note against her palm. “Remember, I know James's handwriting, and this isn't it. And this doesn't sound like him, does it? He would never be so cold.”
A flicker of hope stabbed through Julia. “He didn't send that?” Then she thought of another possibility. “Perhaps he just had his valet write it.” A lump rose in her throat. “If he really didn't care.”
He'd already bedded her, after all. Perhaps that was all he had ever wanted from her. She couldn't really believe that of him, even now, but here was the terrible written evidence right before her, bearing his seal.
Such was the word of a viscount. A bitter laugh escaped her.
Louisa crouched down to look Julia in the eye. “You are overset. You know that can't be true. He loves you deeply.” She mused for a moment. “Perhaps he's not at home, and some guest took advantage of his absence to send this.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Julia said lifelessly. “Who bears me such a grudge? Not even Xavier. He didn't seek to single me out; I was just unluckily at hand when he came by.”
“I don't know,” Louisa said. “But it can't be from James. Let's show this to our aunt and see what she thinks.”
Lady Irving entered the room just then, drawn by the commotion of doors opening and closing. “Is he here?” she asked eagerly as she swept through the doorway. Then she noticed her two nieces sitting on the floor, a rumpled piece of paper between them.
“Ah.” She paused, drawing swift conclusions from the scene before her. “I wouldn't have thought it of the fellow,” she said, heavy scorn in her voice. “How bad is it?”
Wordlessly, Louisa handed her the paper and rubbed Julia's back. Lady Irving skimmed the message, then crumpled it and threw it in the fire. Despite herself, Julia gasped, and reached fruitlessly out for the burned paper.
“That was the last note I will ever have from him,” she whispered. She knew even as she said it that it was a pitiful thing to wish for. Why should she want such a dreadful message? But it had his name on it. She loved that name.
“Rot,” the countess snorted. “If you think that message was truly from Matheson, it's time to pack you off to Bedlam. The only thing is,” she mused, “how would someone have been able to send a note under his seal?”
“That's what I was trying to think,” Louisa chimed in. “Perhaps he's not at home, and some caller took advantage of his absence? Though I cannot imagine who.”
“We'll sort this out,” Lady Irving replied grimly. “I'll send Simone over to his place for a look about. If he's gone, we'll leave another message for him. And if he's home . . .” A martial light glowed in her eyes, and she finished, “Well, he won't treat my girls like this. I'll have his manhood for it.”
Both girls gasped in shock, and Lady Irving turned a sharp eye on them. “What? Let the punishment fit the crime, I say. Now get up off the floor and make yourselves presentable. Very likely we'll be having a wedding today after all.”
Her face relaxed into an affectionate smile, and she helped Louisa and Julia to their feet and into chairs. “There you go, my girls. This is all rather fun, isn't it?”
Fun? Julia stared at her aunt in amazement, and saw a similar expression of disbelief on Louisa's face.
Before she could even reply, a footman announced Sir Stephen Saville and at once ushered him into the room.
Oh, Lord. As if they were any of them equipped to deal with a caller at this time. Especially
him
. Why in heaven's name had he come? Julia wondered with a sudden prickle of apprehension if his chivalrous urges would lead him to “save” her from the distressing situation by renewing his proposals of the previous day.
Had it really all happened in only a day? Unbelievable.
Well, she hoped with all her might that he would say nothing of the kind. Her mind whirled even as her voice mechanically made the proper greeting and her head inclined for a curtsy, and she saw her relatives doing the same, their faces as bemused as hers must be. If he should offer for her again, what should she say? If James truly refused to marry her, this could be her only hope for social recovery. For a family of her own.
No, even so, she still couldn't do it. She
must
trust that things would work out with James.
Somehow.
From her position next to Lady Irving, Julia saw her aunt draw aside the footman who had shown in their guest.
“Fool,” her ladyship hissed in an undervoice. “We are not receiving callers at this time.”
The footman gulped, but replied, “My apologies, my lady. You had told me that Sir Stephen might be shown up at any time he called.”
With an expression of annoyed dismay, Lady Irving dismissed the servant and turned to their guest with a bright, false smile. Fortunately, Sir Stephen had noticed none of this exchange, as Louisa had directed his attention toward the choice of a comfortable seat and ascertained that he needed no refreshment.
“I fear this is not entirely a visit of pleasure,” the baronet intoned, “although of course it is always an honor to be in the presence of ladies.”
He nodded at Lady Irving and Louisa, and Julia felt a gnawing sense of doubt begin to grow in her stomach. What did
that
mean? Was he referring to the fact that Julia was the only untitled woman here, or . . . was this about that cruel news item that cast doubts on her respectability?
She couldn't think of anything to say, and apparently neither could her aunt and Louisa, because all three women just stared at him, waiting for him to come to the point.
“Yes, well,” he continued, looking a bit discomfited at having three steady gazes on him, “what I have to say is somewhat personal, for the ears of Miss Herington. I deem it only appropriate that you remain here as chaperone, Lady Irving, but I would like to give Miss Herington the opportunity to select the audience for this conversation.”
He cast his eyes from one woman to the next. Nobody budged.
Finally, Julia replied in a wooden voice, “Anything you have to say to me may be spoken in front of my aunt and my sister.” She couldn't imagine what was coming, but she knew it wouldn't be good.
“I see.” Sir Stephen hesitated, then began, “This is difficult for me to say, but I am anxious that there should be no confusion between us, Miss Herington. My proposals of yesterday, and my regard for you, were based upon an apparent misunderstanding of your character and proclivities.”
Julia gasped. The nerve!
Sir Stephen continued, “I am sure you understand to what I refer—the unfortunate, ah . . .”
“Yes, we know,” Lady Irving broke in crisply. “Come to the point, man.”
Sir Stephen cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Ah . . . very well. I, ah, wanted to let you know that I will not be renewing my proposal of marriage to you, Miss Herington. I do condole with you and your family for this very public embarrassment, but I am sure you understand that I am looking for a wife of moral uprightness.”
Julia stood, and her relatives echoed her movements at once. Sir Stephen looked doubtfully at them, and then slowly rose himself, as was proper.
Always, what was proper. Julia couldn't blame the man for being horrified, but
honestly
. Couldn't he have given her credit for enough tact not to run to him for a haven after she was publicly condemned for being with another man?
“Thank you for your extremely enlightening message, Sir Stephen,” she replied in a cool voice that fell just short of courtesy. “I assure you I had no intention of pressuring you into a renewal of those proposals you extended to me yesterday. As I mentioned then, and as must be abundantly clear to you now, I care for another.”
Sir Stephen flinched at her chilly reply, and pressed on inexorably, his eyes worried. “I meant no disrespect, Miss Herington. I do feel for you, most sincerely, to be used and cast aside by one whom I had regarded as a friend to us both.” He shook his head in sorrow. “I had thought Matheson would at least act honorably after exposing you to such public condemnation, but I fear I was mistaken in his character.”

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