“I hope you were sufficiently grateful.”
“I—” Julian paused. “I lost my temper with her.”
“Ah.” Aragon nodded. “That probably explains why she was crying when I saw her leave.”
Julian steeled himself against that image and scowled at his brother. “Then perhaps she shouldn’t have interfered. I had everything under control.”
“No, you didn’t,” Aragon demurred. “Have you any idea how many of your peers would love to see you brought low? They were practically salivating at the thought that you were a bad man. Why do you think I punched Calloway?”
“I have no idea.”
“And why do you think I’ve been pretending to be friends with Walcott for the past week or so?” Aragon prodded him in the chest. “Foryou.”
“What?”
“The ladies asked me to find out what Percival was up to. I was coming here to tell them he’d definitely planned something for the ball, but Mother held me up with one of her lectures about my moral turpitude, and I arrived too late to warn everybody.”
“Why does everyone around me assume I’m incapable of looking after myself?” Julian asked. “I’ve been self-sufficient since the age of five, when it became evident that my own mother couldn’t abide me.”
“Because we care about you. Is that not reason enough?”
Julian stared at him. He’d just accused Carenza of being incapable of caring and now his own brother was suggesting that he was the one who wouldn’t allow anyone to care for him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Julian said. He checked his reflection in the mirror. “We should get back to the ball.”
“You’re not serious.”
Julian swung around to look at his brother. “If I don’t go out there now, there will be people who think I have something to hide.”
“I understand that, but what about Lady Carenza? Don’t you think you should go and put things right with her first?”
“I doubt she’ll want to see me right now.”
“She’s very fond of you, Julian,” Aragon said. “Hector knew that.”
“What does bloody Hector have to do with anything? He’s dead!”
“I never told you this because you and Hector were such good friends, but I happened to be seated near him at the end of the night when he became engaged to Lady Carenza. He made a point of telling me why he’d chosen to marry her.” Aragon looked at Julian, all the usual humor gone from his face. “Hector said he knew you were in love with her and that it would be amusing to see if he could turn Carenza’s head before she realized it. He was laughing while he told me, but he was rather drunk.”
Julian blinked at him.
Aragon grimaced. “I never liked Hector.” He patted Julian’s shoulder. “If you insist on going back to the ball, I’m coming with you. Anyone who dares insult you will have me to deal with as well.”
Carenza reached home, ran up the stairs, and collapsed on the floor of her bedchamber in a storm of weeping. All she could see, all she could hear, was Julian’s disdain and fury for her. After a while, she blew her nose and contemplated the roaring fire. Despite his anger, all was not lost. If his reputation was restored then the rest of it—his wrath, his accusations that she was incapable of loving anyone—meant nothing.
Except she’d never forget him saying those things. Hector had taught her to guard her heart, but had she learned the lesson too well? Was she too damaged to reach out for happiness with the man she’d always liked and had grown to love?
Her door opened, and she turned, hastily wiping her eyes, to see Allegra coming in.
“Well.” Her sister sat on the chair next to the fire. “You certainly put the cat among the pigeons. I have a feeling that my chances of making a good marriage have significantly declined.”
“I’m so sorry, Allegra.”
Allegra shrugged. “There’s always India. Anton’s already there, and I hear the men are desperate for women to marry.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Carenza reached for her sister’s hand. “I can’t bear the thought of you leaving me.”
Allegra gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “You did the right thing, you know.”
