“I see you have not changed. You’re still a spoiled brat.”
She wasn’t spoiled. He had ruined her. How was one supposed to act when all of society treated you like a leper? Not to mention all of the unwanted advances she had to endure because he didn’t feel she was worthy enough to marry.
“Surely, you’re not going to stay there with him? Julia, that’s social suicide, and your reputation is just recovering. I’m sure people will talk even if the duke and duchess are there to chaperone.” Pippa poured a blue liquid into a green one, causing the mixture to bubble.
“Let them talk. I won’t be chased away by him. He’s had control over my life for three years. He won’t control me or my life any longer.”
“Yes, but look at you.” Pippa waved her hand up and down in Julia’s direction.
Julia stared down at herself. Her pelisse was buttoned incorrectly, and her dress was slightly wrinkled from where she played with it constantly in the carriage due to her nerves and anger.
“Perhaps…” Pippa trailed off, pushing the large spectacles up. “Do you still love him by chance?” Though her voice was soft, Julia heard every syllable. The words coursed through her like they were shouted for all of London to hear.
Her heart began beating erratically and she felt a bolt of panic run through her. “No.” She stopped pacing and faced her friend. Julia certainly did not love him. She would not love him. “Because of him I will never love anyone again.”
“I don’t believe that is true at all. You will find someone else, one that won’t leave you for whatever reason—”
Julia clapped her gloved hands together, interrupting Pippa. “That’s it!”
“What is?” Pippa questioned as she began taking notes with a small pencil.
“I need a suitor. Someone who will annoy Henry the most. Someone who will prove to everyone that I don’t give a damn about Henry Livingstone.” Julia bounced with glee before going for the small door.
“Julia! That’s mad!” Pippa yelled out to her friend.
“No, it’s genius, and I know just the man for the task.”
The home of the Duke of St. Clara was a modest three-story townhome on Arlington Street, directly next door to Pippa’s aunt. The parlor was sparsely furnished with aging furniture that had seen better days. It was extremely feminine for a long-term bachelor such as St. Clara. He had never taken the time to redecorate after his parents’ death.
Julia walked around, going to the well-stocked bookshelf. Her fingers grazed over the spines that were older than her. She was sure Livie would’ve loved it immensely.
A large picture of a long-dead king stood over the fireplace, bold and demanding. Was it Henry VII or VIII? Julia couldn’t really tell, but she had never been good at history or books. A well-worn armchair sat in the corner, an empty glass and an open book on a small table beside it.
The thought of St. Clara sitting there like an old man caused her lips to curl into a half smile. It was a shame no one knew the real St. Clara. He was kind, funny, and had a direct way about him that was strangely appealing.
St. Clara was her friend when no one else would be. He had come and sat next to her, ball after ball. They would often judge other members of the ton from their perch in the corner, whispering about who was having an affair with whom. It was all rather scandalous and exactly what Julia needed after Henry.
During the winter, they would write letters to each other. She would tell him small things about her life, including information about Emily. Julia knew he would never dare ask, but she could tell he cared for his niece. In one letter, she informed him that the children were all ill, and then a rather large package of toys and books came to cheer them up. She needed his friendship now more than ever.
“Have you gone mad?” St. Clara asked as he strode into the room.
Julia took him in. He was tall and lean with a chiseled statue like face. His hair was on the long side, and his dark eyes were playful and calculating at the same time. There was no doubt he was handsome.
“Perhaps I have. I have a proposition for you. In return, I will gladly do whatever it was that you were going to ask of me today.” She folded her arms and held her head high.
She had to convince him and herself that this would work, but once everyone had forgotten about her and Henry, then what? She would think about it when the time came. If she learned anything the past three years, it was not to make plans for the future. For now, she would relish the look on Henry’s face when he realized she didn’t need him.
“You know being here could ruin you?” St. Clara asked before he walked over to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. “Whiskey? It’s O’Brien’s finest. The man charges a fortune for it.”
“Yes, please.” Julia sat in the armchair in the corner of the room and smiled at him. “I’m already ruined, St. Clara. Being here does nothing to my reputation, and besides, I don’t care either way.”
“Why are you here?” He walked over to her in two long strides and gave her a small glass.
Julia took a delicate sip, letting the strong drink burn her throat. She relished the feeling, welcomed it really. Anything was better than the ever-present darkness that threatened to take over since he had returned. “Lord Heartford has returned.”
For a moment St. Clara simply stared at her. She watched as his forehead wrinkled, his jaw clenching. Julia knew about their dislike for one another over their shared sister, but surely the mere mention of Henry wouldn’t cause such a reaction.
“I see. Has he begged for your forgiveness?” St. Clara asked, walking toward the sofa.
