“She’d look wonderful on Apollonia,” Aragon continued. “Will you come with me and ask her if she’d like a ride in the park?”
“You’re perfectly capable of asking her without my assistance, brother,” Julian pointed out. He had no intention of helping Aragon make advances to the woman he was currently pursuing himself.
“But you’re so much better at all that useless social chitchat than I am,” Aragon complained.
“Then it’s high time you learned to do it for yourself.” Julian gave his brother a shove in the right direction and stood back to observe the fun.
Carenza was already surrounded by a bevy of men and appeared to be having a very pleasant evening indeed. By the time Aragon reached her side, she was already being led away on the arm of her next dance partner, the very eligible Lord Atworth, newly widowed and definitely on the hunt for a second wife who’d be willing to bring up his four children. In truth, a perfect match for Carenza, and one Julian would approve of if it wasn’t for his inconvenient desire to possess her himself.
Aragon returned, his expression doleful. “Some lucky stud took her off before I could even say hello and present my credentials.”
“You’ll have to be quicker next time,” Julian said.
“Or I could write her a note and invite her out for a ride without having to deal with all this nonsense.” Aragon brightened considerably as he waved his hand at the assembled guests. “That might work.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Julian agreed.
“You do?”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“You’re not making fun of me?”
“Not at all.”
Aragon nodded. “Good, then no need for me to stay at this ball any longer. Tell Mama I’m off to my club.”
“Tell her yourself,” Julian said. “She won’t take it well from me.”
Aragon grinned. “I do love it when she tells you off. Makes up for a lot of the other stuff—like you inheriting a fortune and putting me quite in the shade.”
“She adores you.”
“I know, which is why she’ll forgive me.” Aragon winked. “I’ll compose a letter to Lady Carenza and have it delivered tomorrow.”
Inwardly, Julian sighed. Then he made his way through the crowds to where his mother sat with the other dowagers and ladies who didn’t like to dance. Julian had inherited her looks and inscrutability, but little else. For some reason, she preferred both Aragon and Anton to him. After years of trying to gain her approval without success, Julian had learned to simulate her indifference and gave her nothing more than she offered him.
He bowed in front of her. “Mother, Aragon asked me to offer his apologies. He has left for his club. I will ensure that you get home safely in his stead.”
Her perfect brow creased. “Did he leave because of you?”
“Not at all.”
“Because you can be quite cutting,” his mother said. “And he is still upset over your inheritance.”
Julian smiled. “I believe he had a letter he wished to write, Mother.”
“If you say so.”
Julian inclined his head. “As soon as you wish to leave, just ask someone to find me and I will be instantly at your disposal.”
He heard her sigh as he turned away and ignored it. He would never understand why he was such a disappointment to her, but he refused to let it dictate his choices in life. He was so eager to get away from his mother that he almost bumped into Carenza and had to take her elbow to steady her.
“I do beg your pardon, my lady. I was woolgathering.”
She blushed to match her gown, and he found himself smiling.
“Julian, how nice to see you.” She looked desperately over his shoulder. “I was looking for Lieutenant Greenwood. I’m supposed to be dancing with him.”
