-The Morning Post
Julia had to restrainherself from pushing Sarah out the front door and into her carriage. She hadn’t told her she was having company over for the precise reason that her sister would look at her with her great big blue eyes and then say no.
Yet tired of being a saint and doing nothing but her good works, Julia wanted companionship and fun. Moreover, she’d decided she wanted both with the Earl of Marshfield since he was the most dash-fire man she’d met in London. Despite his rakish air, something about him reached inside her and gave her the most delightful tickle.
“Are you sure you won’t come?” Sarah asked for the umpteenth time, yet positively without enthusiasm. “The viscount won’t mind, I’m sure.”
Julia shook her head. “Go enjoy spending time with that handsome man, for goodness’ sake! I saw the white silk chemise your maid laid out and the rosy silk stockings.” She couldn’t help teasing her sister, making Sarah’s cheeks turn pink. There was no reason in the world two adults who were madly attracted to each other shouldn’t enjoy intimate relations.
No reason at all.Julia shivered.
That type of constraint was all very well for the upper-class women who couldn’t be trusted not to pass the wrong babe off as an heir to a title, but what had it to do with Julia or even the widowed Sarah or all the ordinary women of Britain? They shouldn’t have to wait interminably, with legs firmly crossed, for a husband when so many marriageable men had been killed during the wars with France. That meant perhaps never experiencing bliss in a man’s arms.
At leastnotif one waited for matrimonial bliss.
Besides, Julia’s prospects in that regard were sorely curtailed by the current company she kept — the English quality set. She couldn’t imagine a more insular, narrow-minded group of people when it came to marriage.
“Very well. I hope you enjoy your evening. I probably won’t see you until morning,” Sarah added, and then, realizing how brazen that sounded, her cheeks grew even redder as she yanked on her gloves.
Trying to urge her out, Julia picked up a posy from the glove stand in the hall and placed it into her sister’s hand.
“For the viscount,” she said, and then gave Sarah a firm little press to her back to send her on her way.
Finally, Julia was alone. Dashing back to the kitchen, she burst in, frightening the kitchen maid and making the cook exclaim loudly, “My word!”
“My apologies,” Julia said. “I simply wanted to make certain everything was going well.”
Both pairs of eyes stared at her, and she realized herfaux pasin doubting the expertly run kitchen of the Worthington home. She should have known better. After all the cook’s reputation was on the line.
As was Julia’s. She was playing with fire, and she knew it, prepared to be burnt if necessary. In fact, she was counting on it.
“Very good, then,” she said into the continued silence of the insulted kitchen staff. “I had best prepare myself and leave you to it.” She turned away, then looked back. “Thank you.”
The cook rolled her eyes, and Julia hoped the woman wouldn’t poison her meal.
Having learned her lesson, she wasn’t going to ask the butler if he had lit the exterior oil lamps, nor the footman if he’d swept the stoop, nor the housemaid if she’d lit a fire in the drawing and dining rooms. They all knew their jobs, and it was up to her merely to play the refined hostess and for the earl to show up.
Upstairs, she accepted the help of another of her sister’s maids to dress. She usually wore blue if she wanted to look her best but decided to change her appearance, since Marshfield had already seen her in blue.
Torn between a burgundy satin and a silver silk, she went with the warmer color until she looked at herself in the mirror and decided it was too gaudy.
“It’s not vulgar, miss, I promise you,” the maid insisted.
“Still, I think the silver is a better choice.” Julia would look less as though she was offering herself up as a tasty morsel of meat or a delicious glass of Spanish wine.
“Yes, miss.” With the maid’s help, she changed into a fine muslin petticoat, worn under the silver silk gown, which was embroidered with darker silver and topped with a small, snug plum-colored bodice.
Julia took another look at herself. The short full sleeves and the tight bosom trimmed with a thick silver border of ribbon were most becoming. She turned and twisted in front of the mirror, trying to see her back, and then gestured for the hand mirror so she could see it properly. Fluted lace over her rear kept the dress from being too plain and a silver fringe at her waist added an unusual touch.
“I think it’s suits, don’t you?”
“Yes, miss,” said the maid, who looked as if she wanted to move on to her next chore.
“I thank you,” Julia assured her. “I particularly like the way you’ve styled my hair. The curls are loose and not rigid and regular. Quite natural looking, and the pearl bandeau is perfect.”
Julia was babbling nervously, not sure why this one dinner mattered when the earl had already seen her in evening dress twice before.
Feeling a little like a hypocrite, she picked out a few pieces of her sister’s jewelry to complement the gown, a pearl necklace and pearl eardrops with silver bracelets on her left arm. And then immediately took them all off and made do with her single ruby ring that had belonged to her mother and which she never removed.
