Daniel had always had a way of looking contemptuously at his younger cousins—especially at Julia. She could remember bristling with resentment at the way he had alwayslooked at her when he saw her riding astride or swimmingin the lake or playing cricket, her dress tucked up at thewaist so that she would not trip over the hem. He had always given the impression that he would respect a wormbeneath his boot more than he respected her.
So she had always resented him. And set out to shock him whenever she could. And paradoxically she had alsotried to impress him. For despite everything Daniel had always been the older cousin, the very handsome oldercousin. When she was fifteen she had often spent an agechanging from one dress to another before her lookingglass until she was satisfied with her choice and dressingand redressing her hair until it was just so. But the onlytime he had noticed her that summer was the time when shehad come racing and giggling up onto the terrace a foot behind Gussie, her face flushed, her dress creased and dusty,her hair flying in all directions and Daniel had been standing there looking as immaculate as usual.
“Really, Julia,” he had said, his eyes moving over her in disgust, “isn’t it time you started to grow up?”
After he had strolled away, she had crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue and made Gussie hold his nose in anattempt to stifle his laughter. And she had been glad whenDaniel had not come back the next summer—or the next orthe next. She was glad he had never come back. She wishedhe had not come back now. Conceited, cold, humorless—earl. She hated now to think that he was the new Earl ofBeaconswood.
Frederick and Lesley Sullivan, sons of Aunt Eunice and Uncle Raymond, arrived the morning after the funeral, andseemed not one whit upset at having missed it. Or rather,Frederick did not. But then Frederick did not take anythingvery seriously. He was a rake. At least that was how Gussiedescribed him and Julia had no reason to doubt the truth ofit.
“Hello, Jule,” he said when he and his brother strode into the hall on their arrival and Julia happened to be crossing iton the way to the library and some needed solitude. Hetook her hands in his and kissed her cheek. “By Jove, butyou look appetizing in black. Doesn’t she, Les?”
Lesley smiled and nodded his head more times than were strictly necessary. “Yes, she does, Freddie,” he said. “Yes,you do, Jule.”
“I am in mourning,” she said pointedly. “For Grandpapa.”
“And so you are,” Frederick said, squeezing her hands and looking down at her from lazy, handsome eyes. “Theold codger finally worried himself into the grave, did he?You miss him, do you?”
“Do you, Jule?” Lesley asked in his gentle voice.
“Yes, I do,” she said indignantly. “I loved him, Freddie.”
“Ah,” he said, looking amused. He winked at her. “I always like them angry, Jule, and it never takes much effort,you know.”
“But he don’t mean to make you angry,” Lesley said. “Do you, Freddie? You loved Uncle, Jule. Sorry he’sgone.”
“Thank you, Les,” she said, releasing her hands from Frederick’s and setting them on Lesley’s shoulders so thatshe could kiss his cheek. He was perhaps an inch shorterthan she and at least six shorter than his brother. She smiledat him, making sure that Frederick was looking at her asshe did so.
He chuckled.
They had to wait another two days for the remaining members of the family to arrive. But Aunt Sylvia andUncle Paul Craybourne, sister and brother-in-law of the latecountess, had to come all the way from Yorkshire. Theybrought their daughters, Susan and Viola, with them. Theybrought their son, Augustus, too—always Julia’s favorite.
And so finally they were all gathered at Primrose Park and the final business connected with the passing of the oldearl could be proceeded with.
The family assembled in the drawing room for the reading of the will, the library being a little too small to accommodate so many in comfort. There was a great deal of shuffling around, most of it occasioned by Aunt Sarah, whobelieved that they should be seated somehow according totheir rank in the family. Her son, as the new Earl of Beaconswood, should of course sit in the center of the frontrow and as his mother and widow of the late earl’s onlybrother, she should sit beside him.
“After all, dear,” she was heard to say to her son, “if your poor papa had survived your uncle, then I would havebeen the countess.”
But then Aunt Eunice stirred up trouble by pointing out that Aunt Millie, as the elder of their dear deceasedbrother’s sisters, should have the place of honor, or at leastthe place beside dear Daniel. And perhaps she, as the othersister, should sit at his other side.
The new earl settled the matter by seating his aunts together in the front row with his mother beside them, while he took a chair behind the three of them next to his sister.Anyone who was observing the incident would have concluded that he had passed his first test as head of the familywith a cool head and good sense. Frederick Sullivan, lounging against the pianoforte and not yet seated, caught hiseye, grinned, and winked at him.
Julia sat in the back row of chairs, between Viola Craybourne and Susan, Lady Temple. Viola was three years younger than Julia, Susan one year older. They also hadbeen her playmates in former years, her friends more recently.
The servants, standing respectfully behind the chairs, were also jostling for position, though rather more quietlythan the family.
“I don’t know why we all have to be here, do you, Jule?” Viola whispered. “After all there can be nothing in Uncle’swill to interest our generation. Everything will have beenleft to our parents. I would far prefer to be outside strollingtoward the lake on such a lovely day. Are the boats ready tobe taken out yet?”
“I believe it is customary,” Julia said, “for the whole family to gather on such occasions.”
Viola pulled a face. “Almost everything is Daniel’s anyway,” she said. “The title is his and Vickers Abbey to go with it and Willowbunch Court. Those estates account forthe bulk of Uncle’s fortune, according to Papa.”
Julia felt herself fidgeting with a ring on her finger and stilled her hands. It was all very well for Viola to be uninterested in the proceedings and even bored by them. Matters were not so simple for Julia. She had no parents. Andno fortune.
What would she do? she wondered. Where would she go? Would she stay with Aunt Millie? Perhaps Grandpapahad left Primrose Park to Aunt Millie and Julia could staywith her there. Or perhaps Aunt Millie would be going tolive with Aunt Eunice, or perhaps even with Aunt Sarah. Ifthat were the case, then Julia would not feel comfortableabout going along with her. Grandpapa would have madeprovision for her, of course. She had no doubt about that.But where would she live? She was too young to live alone.Would there be enough money to buy or rent herself asmall cottage and employ a companion to live there withher?
Her stomach was churning with nervousness as the family members took a veritable age to settle in their chairs and quieten down enough that Mr. Prudholm could proceedwith the business of reading the will. She was foolish not tohave accepted one of the three offers that had been madefor her during the Season she had spent in London or one ofthe four offers that Grandpapa had arranged since her return home. Seven offers of marriage and she had not beenable to see herself married to one of the men who had madethem! There must be something wrong with her, shethought. At least she would be safe if she were married.Bored and dissatisfied perhaps, but safe. At this precisemoment safety seemed a very desirable state.
Mr. Prudholm coughed and silence fell on the drawing room.
