“I am your best friend. And you are a rebellious daughter of a duke who refuses to honor tradition and find a suitable husband, even though your father has threatened to cut you off if banns aren’t read by the end of the year.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “Papa is doing what my grandfather demanded, taking a stand against his shameful, bluestocking daughter.”
“Your reputation was intact yesterday. Has something happened?”
Julia let out a girlish giggle. “If Papa does cast me out, surely I have a place here.”
“You know you do.” Willa escorted her to the back of the store and opened a door that led to the comfortable suite of rooms she shared with her mother. “Mama will be back soon.”
Julia sat down on a velvet-covered, wingback chair, awaiting the tea she’d been promised. “I envy you, Willa.”
Her friend had disappeared around the corner, into the small kitchen. “Do not,” she advised. “For life here is vastly different than it was in our townhouse in Mayfair or our country estate, which I miss.”
Willa’s dear father, the earl, had died two years ago, leaving her mother little money for their support, and a half-brother who hardly acknowledged he had a sister, much less a responsibility to help her.
“I am sorry, Willa.”
“Think nothing of it.” She returned with a tray containing a lovely tea service and a plate of delectable pastries and lemon cake. “Now, about your new acquaintance, the duke. He must possess one redeeming quality. For I have never heard you carry on about any man before.”
Julia sipped her tea, then set the cup and saucer aside. She could think of several qualities that made him desirable—but nothing redeeming. Only characteristics that, if he truly was part of thebon ton, would attract innumerable debutantes and their scheming mamas. Such as broad shoulders, a fine pair of blue eyes, curly, black hair—though too long to be considered fashionable—perhaps even a pleasant smile… Wait! A devilish grin only confirmed her first impression of the man. He was a rogue.
And a complete stranger. She gazed at her friend. “He is no duke.”
“But what if he is?”
Julia leaned back in her chair and sighed, remembering the card he had given her. An invitation to a musicale of some sort for tomorrow evening. She reached for her reticule on the side table next to her chair, opened it, and withdrew the elegantly printed card. “Here.” She offered it to Willa.
She read it carefully, then looked up at Julia. “A coveted invitation to Matily Hall.”
“Hardly coveted, I think.”
“Julia, the countess’s soirees are the rage of London. Though I do not expect you to acknowledge such a thing.”
Should she take that as an insult, though she was sure it was unintentional? “I am not that out of fashion, Willa. I simply choose not to attend such events.”
“Yes.” Willa nodded. “And Mama would tell you there is a time and place for such thoughts.”
“And I am ever thankful for your mother’s help in raising charitable donations for the less fortunate.”
The dowager countess had been a staunch supporter of Julia’s causes before her husband died. Now she helped collect funds through the sales made in her bookshop.
Willa eyed the invitation again. “This is a real invitation, Julia. I think you should attend the musicale and find out if the duke is who he claims to be.”
It would take little effort to choose a proper gown for the occasion, as she had a wardrobe full of silks and velvets, headdresses, ribbons, and slippers just waiting to be worn. And her lady’s maid would finally get the chance to arrange her hair in a fashionable style instead of the simple chignon Julia preferred.
Her father, the duke, would be beyond pleased that she had agreed to go out in Society.
“You are stubborn, Lady Julia,” her friend observed mildly.
“Detached is a better description.”
“I wholly disagree, for this man has planted a seed inside your mind, hardly leaving you disinterested.”
She felt herself start to blush. Perhaps he had planted a seed—one that fell upon parched earth and would never flourish. Though the supposed Duke of Pridegate, Alonzo, a strange name for an Englishman, did have the mannerisms of a man of privilege. Or perhaps the skills of a nefarious criminal.
Regardless, he was no friend. He simply sought to shock her, to provoke her interest in the fame he so openly spoke of—arrogant creature.Arrogant, handsome beast, she added reluctantly.
“Are you well, Julia?”
