She was fully aware of her family’s situation. And her father had always been kind to her, letting her live the life she wanted. His guilt over her mother’s death ran as deep as her regret for being born female. If she had been born male, her father would be much happier and secure as he grew older.
“I have dreams.”
“We all do, my dear. But duty is something every woman must accept once she reaches a certain age. And you are no longer a child, but nearly twenty. How many daughters are wed at fifteen or sixteen? Your father is an excellent man for allowing you the time to mourn the loss of your mother and to mature into the wonderful person you have become.”
Within the span of a breath, Julia thrust herself into her arms, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I-I cannot accept just anyone for a husband,” she sobbed. “And I cringe to think myself married to a dandy like Alonzo Farrington.”
The countess nearly choked on her laughter. “Dearest Julia, the Duke of Pridegate is no dandy.”
Julia pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. “Will you help me, Lady Bradbury?”
“Help you what?”
“Find a suitable husband who will allow me to continue with my charitable causes and political meetings.”
“A man of principles would not wish his wife to be involved in politics, but I think we can find a man who approves of your various charitable projects. Give me some time to compile a list of potential suitors, then we shall sit down together and weed them out one by one.”
Julia nodded in appreciation and gave her another squeeze born from deep affection. “I am the luckiest girl in all of London to have you.”
Chapter Eleven
Anight athome alone was a rarity for Alonzo. He lounged on his zebrawood sofa in front of the hearth, one of his long legs dangling casually off the side of the furniture, a wine glass in hand, and the half-full bottle of French perfection on the floor beside him. Usually fanatical about his appearance, he had stripped off nearly all of his gentlemanly layers, left wearing his buff-colored pantaloons and a severely starched shirt which hung wide open, revealing his muscled chest.
His visit with Lady Julia had been a miserable failure. In fact, Lady Willa seemed a better match for him than the elusive daughter of a duke. He drank greedily, the sweet wine slowly numbing him to the discomfort of rejection. What had he done to deserve her spite? To earn her disrespect? To be treated as a subordinate? He groaned, his hunger for her overtaking him again.
He found that he did not care very much for the how or why of anything concerning the lady. That he had found someone who stirred his feelings on many levels seemed something to be grateful for. Though there were plenty of things to be cautious about. Men were intrigued by her aloofness and porcelain beauty—refinement that would crack if he went about seducing her the wrong way.
For the love of Christ, just finding the right opportunity to have a civil conversation with her had proven impossible. So, taking advantage of his connections, he designed the perfect plan to get her alone, or at least in a social setting that allowed him a chance to befriend her. In fact, the invitation to the Duke of Stanhope’s house party should be arriving at her father’s townhouse tomorrow morning. Sent by special messenger.
And the invitation included Lady Bradbury, Lady Willa, and Lady Julia—her best friend and the perfect chaperone. Everything must appear aboveboard if Alonzo was to get his one taste of her. Yes, his pride had suffered a couple of hard blows from the proud lady. No woman had ever resisted him so hard. Perhaps he was losing his mind and skills of seduction. Or maybe he had spent too much time with French and Italian women, who tended to wear their animal-passions openly like badges of honor.
Refilling his glass, he smiled. “What will you taste like, Lady Julia? I know what you smell like already.” The hint of lavender he’d encountered in the garden that emanated from her hair had intoxicated him, drawn him in. Yes, her taste would be bittersweet, reluctant and hungry, for the moment their tongues tangled, he’d bet half his fortune that something primitive would awaken inside her.
A woman such as herself needed to be caressed and kissed every day for the rest of her life. Doted on like a queen, but ridden hard like a romp.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and Alonzo rolled off the sofa, climbing to his feet. “Come,” he said, surprised his butler would disturb him after he had asked to be left alone for the evening.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” his servant bowed. “The Earl of Ganes is here.”
At well past ten, Alonzo wondered why his friend would show up so late and unannounced. Not that he’d turn him out, his door was always open for a friend in need.
“Show him in.”
The butler left quickly, and Alonzo worked on collecting himself, straightening his shirt and hair.
“Alonzo.” Graham swept into the study, unsteady on his feet.
“Graham. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” He assessed his childhood friend swiftly, noting the smell of spirits on him. “What gaming hell have you been to tonight?”
“Does it matter? I never go for gambling. Hazard is a boring game. I’m a sensualist, old boy, and prefer the company of a Bird of Paradise found among the tables.” He dropped himself into the closest chair.
“Brandy?” Alonzo offered.
“No. I’ll have whatever is in that exquisite bottle on the floor.”
Farrington rolled his eyes and grabbed a second wine glass from the nearby cabinet and poured his friend a generous portion of the outlawed, French wine. “What shall we toast?”
“Perhaps nothing. Or maybe the fact that you managed to get Lady Julia and her lovely companion, Lady Willa, invited to the duke’s house party. How does one go about that, Alonzo? The guest list has been set for six months with no room in the house to spare.”
