“We came here planning to offer her a home for as long as she needs one,” his mother said. “We really are fond ofher, Augustus, and with Susan married and gone we wouldbe quite happy to fill the empty space in our family. AndViola has always been excessively fond of her, as have you.We do not object to her as your wife, Augustus. But notyet. Not for at least three or four years yet. You havescarcely finished university. You have had no chance to experience something of life.”
“I know enough,” Augustus said. “And I am of age, Mama.”
“Yes.” His father sighed. “You are of age, my boy. And so we cannot command, you see, only advise. We adviseyou to wait, Augustus. We advise you very strongly.”
“Because we love you,” his mother said. “And because we are fond of Julia too. We would hate to see either one ofyou unhappy.”
“I could make Julia happy,” he said. “And she could make me happy.”
His parents exchanged helpless looks.
“Well,” his father said, “we will say no more, Augustus. Just promise us one thing, will you? Don't marry Julia justto spite us, just to show us that you are a man now. Do it ifyou must only because you truly believe it is the right thingfor the both of you. Promise me?’
“Augustus?” His mother looked anxiously into his face.
“Parents!” Augustus said in exasperation, blowing air from puffed cheeks. “Do all parents believe their childrenare infants in perpetuity, I wonder? Credit me with somesense. All right, I promise. Besides, Julia may say no, youknow. I’m quite sure she is boiling mad over this wholething. 1 stole one look at her and I could tell.”
His mother smiled tentatively at his father. They wisely said no more.
Julia found a hiding place in the conservatory. It was her rainy day refuge, a room that was all glass on three sidesand overlooked a rose arbor and a lawn beyond it thatsloped downward toward the trees surrounding the lake.The lake was not visible from the house. This was no rainyday, of course, but she needed to be alone. She sat on oneof the window seats and drew a curtain across in front ofher. She drew up her knees, clasped her arms about them,and set her chin on them.
She tried to digest what she had just heard. And yet at the same time she did not want to think about it. He had lether down. Grandpapa had shown her that after all she wasnot one of his family. He had left her nothing. She wasgoing to have to go to her uncle in the north of England. But perhaps she would try to get a position as a governessinstead she thought, so that she would not have to rely onhis charity, as she had relied upon Grandpapa's all theseyears. It had been charity. She had no right to feel angrywith him for leaving her nothing.
She did not feel angry, she told herself. Only hurt and very, very depressed. She would leave immediately, shehad decided at first, when she was still in the drawingroom, instead of waiting for a month. But her journey wasto be paid for out of Grandpapa's estate. Probably Mr.Prudholm would not allow that payment to be made withinthe month. She could ask someone else to pay for the journey, of course. Uncle Henry would probably agree to do so,or Uncle Paul. Daniel probably would not—not that shewould ask him anyway. But it would be charity again. Ithumiliated her to know that she did not have even enoughmoney of her own to pay for a stagecoach journey to thenorth of England. She had never needed much money before. Grandpapa had paid all her bills, and she had neverbeen extravagant.
That insane—competition, for want of a better word! Despite herself Julia started to feel angry. How could Grandpapa have humiliated her so?
How they must be gloating, the five of them.Here is Julia, desperate for a husband and a home. Who will be thehighest bidder or the most convincing liar? She will begrateful for anyone. Anyone! Poor orphaned Julia. PoorJulia, one~and-twenty years old and unmarried. No onewants her. She has to be offered along with Primrose Park.The house and estate at least are attractive.
She was not angry, Julia thought. She was furious. If any of them tried to come near her with a gleam of triumph inhis eye . . . If any of them laughed at her . . . If any of them affected to have fallen madly in love with her . . . Well, let any of them try and see what they got, she thought. She hadnot lost the ability to deal out bloody noses and stingingears merely because she was one-and-twenty and supposedly a lady. Sometimes a lady had to defend herself.
If they wanted her to act like a lady, then they could jolly well treat her like one. They could leave her alone. Strictlyalone for one whole month. She hated them all anyway.Freddie had had a smirk on his face while the solicitor hadbeen reading. Daniel had been looking supercilious. EvenLesley had smiled when there was no occasion to smile.She had not seen Malcolm or Gussie, but she would wagerthat Gussie thought it all a huge joke.
Men! And Grandpapa too. What a cruel joke!
She could cry, Julia thought. Or scream. Or go galloping off on her horse, Flossie, in a straight line, dealing withhedges and gates and other obstacles as she came to them.The thought was enormously tempting. She might well have given in to it, but someone had found her sanctuary.The door had opened and someone had stepped inside the conservatory.
Julia sat very still for a few moments. But whoever had come in was not going out again in a hurry. She even hearda soft oath, the type of obscenity that Gussie liked to use,though it was not Gussie’s voice. Curiosity got the better ofher and she leaned forward to peer cautiously around theedge of the curtain. She sighed.
“I might have known you would be the first to find me,” she said out loud, not even trying to keep the sarcasm andhostility out of her voice. “Well, here 1 am. Deliver yourspeech.”
Then she flung back the curtain and swung her legs to the floor. She could not hide for a whole month after all.She might as well come out with fists swinging. Figuratively speaking, anyway.
4
The Earl of Beaconswood left his mother in the drawing room. But he would, he knew, run into other family members soon and they would all wish to share theirimpressions of the will with him. He would prefer to havesome time alone. It irked him to know that he was stuck atPrimrose Park for a whole month. He could, he supposed,leave and return to London for what remained of the Season. He did not intend to have anything to do with thecourting of Julia, and there was nothing physically stoppinghim from just leaving.
But other factors prevented him from doing it, of course. Although he was not the owner of Primrose Park and neverwould be, nevertheless in the absence of a real owner hemust consider himself the host since he was head of thefamily. It would not do for him to leave.It would be unmannerly to say the least, and he prided himself on hisgood manners.
And then, of course, his uncle had requested that they all stay for a month. It was a man's dying wish or dying command. Honor dictated, then, that he stay. Besides, there wasJulia. He was under no obligation whatsoever to her. Yethis uncle had accepted her as a responsibility and he washis uncle's successor. He must wait to see that she was settled somehow into a secure and satisfactory future.
Even if he did go back to London, he thought, he would not be able to participate in any of the social events of theSeason. He was in mourning. It was all very well for hisuncle to command them all to put off their blacks the nextday, and doubtless they would do so, improper as it seemed. Again it was a dying man’s wish. But that would apply only within the privacy of Primrose Park. If he returned to London, he would consider it essential both towear mourning and to curtail his activities as the man whohad inherited the deceased earl’s title and fortune.
And so he was stuck. He had thought at first when he had listened to the request that they all stay for one monththat perhaps he would invite Blanche and her parents tovisit Primrose Park. But the idea had died almost before ithad been conceived. How could he invite them to a homethat was not his own? How could he invite them to a familygathering that included no other outside guests? If he andBlanche had been betrothed, perhaps it might have beenpossible. But they were not.
By the time he returned to London, he thought, she would be gone. He would have to find out where she hadbeen taken for the summer and pursue her there if he wasprepared to make his intentions so obvious. Or he wouldhave to wait for next year and hope that no one else attached her in the meanwhile.
He was not in a good mood as he sought out a quiet haven, somewhere where he was least likely to be interrupted until everyone had recovered from the initial excitement of hearing the will. The conservatory might be theplace, he thought, opening the door gingerly and steppinginside. Yes, he was right. It was unoccupied. He closed thedoor gratefully behind him. He would give himself the luxury of an hour to himself. An hour that might have beenspent with Blanche if he were in London. He swore softly.
