Chapter Two
Formal dress wasa costume unto itself. While on his travels, Sir Julian had taken on the garb of a local miner, a gentleman traveler, and finally, his own brand of explorer. But the one thing they all had in common was comfort and durability. This—the tightly tailored white waistcoat, the stiff collar—felt the most absurd. He’d rather smear on the greasy paint that protected his skin on the worst summer days of the high Andes than this.
Nicholas frowned as he stepped back. “Pardon me sir, but something still isn’t right, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is.”
“It’s me, Nicholas. I’m the part that isn’t right. My God, I feel ridiculous.” Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror, grateful for the man’s attentions. If it weren’t for him, Julian would feel a bigger fool. It was at Lady Rascomb’s insistence that he attend tonight. He was the support for her and Miss Ophelia, as it was their first outing since mourning.
He’d been visiting them on the regular for a few weeks, enjoying their chats—and their cake. At first he went because it was comforting to be amongst the women his mentor had loved. London felt more welcoming to him because of their hospitality. Over the weeks that had passed, he visited because they made him smile, and he, in turn, made them smile as well. They seemed to look forward to his regular visits, too, greeting him with plum cake and tea, books and maps. Now it was time for him to do his part to ease their discomfort.
Nicholas snapped his fingers. “It’s the details, sir. Have you a pocket watch?”
“Are you sure you aren’t trained as a valet?” Julian asked as he pointed to the dressing table in the corner, where his father’s pocket watch rested. It had not seen the light of day in ten years, stuffed down at the bottom of his trunks for safekeeping. At one low point, upon arrival by ship to Peru, he had considered selling it for the quick money he could get in order to buy food. But then he found his stories of adventure made him a prized dinner guest, and he dined out on his mountaineering experience for the rest of his time there, when he wasn’t nibbling on his provisions in the bush.
“No, sir,” Nicholas said, rummaging through the desk until he found the piece. He looked at it critically. “Needs polish. Do you mind so very much if I take a moment?”
Julian waved him off. “Take all the time you need. I am not looking forward to this evening.”
Nicholas straightened in surprise before continuing to rummage through a basket of polishes stowed in Julian’s dressing area. “I thought this was a much sought-after invitation. It made the gossip sheets.”
“It is.” Julian sighed. “I know I ought to be grateful. But I’m not accustomed to this type of life anymore. It’s been over a decade since I waltzed properly. The parties I’ve been to lately were raucous, and filled with a pidgin Spanish and English, inappropriate jokes, and inappropriate gestures. There was drinking and dancing, and often a fistfight, or at least those on nights where there wasn’t a knife-fight.”
Nicholas’s eyes grew rounded and he stopped searching for the polish.
“I don’t say this to scare or titillate you, Nicholas. I’m only saying that I don’t know how to conduct myself. I’m nearly forty, and I’ve forgotten how to be an English gentleman.”
The man found the polish and the rag and went at Sir Robert’s pocket watch. His legacy was one that Sir Julian benefitted from, but one he would like to distance himself from all the same. “If I may say, you are famous enough and handsome enough that it won’t matter your manners. The ladies will be dazzled all the same.”
His heart ached when Nicholas mentioned ladies. There was a Maria-shaped hole in his heart still, after all these years. Maria, which hadn’t even been her name, but was what the Spaniards had dubbed her, and that which she insisted he call her. At least, until she left him.
The gossip had named Sir Julian as an eligible bachelor, his baronet title a gilded treat on top of his reputation. But no one seemed to realize that he didn’t have a fortune of his own. Very little had come from Sir Robert, and Julian was beholden to the Royal Geographical Society to fund his exploration. He’d stretched his budget with gem-trading, sketch portraiture, and eventually, regaling the public with his adventures.
Whichever woman wanted him would have to have wealth of her own, because he couldn’t provide for anyone. Not that he wanted a wife. What would he do, settle down back in London for domesticity? He felt like a dog dressed up in finery.
Nicholas finished polishing the watch, affixed it to his waistcoat, the gold chain drawing a dashing line across Sir Julian’s lean abdomen. Then Julian got a cab to Lord Sutherford’s party, where he was ushered in amongst a crush of carriages, hansom cabs, and top-hatted dandies. The overpowering smell of ambergris, a dark animal musk used as the basis of most colognes and perfumes, gave Julian a hint of a headache. He’d rather be in the crush with everyone’s unwashed servants. They, at least, smelled like people.
Julian rode the wave of polite society like a balsa raft on the whitewater-plagued Amazon river, until he was deposited into the sea of people in the ballroom. Despite the fact that he was dressed as every man here, he still felt like he stuck out, obvious and foolish. But soon, his Royal Geographical fellows surrounded him, welcoming and congratulating him on his triumphs.
“Splendid article,” said one man whose name Julian couldn’t remember.
“The perfect balance between the scientific numbers and the conversant tale-telling we all long for in an explorer’s narrative,” said Lord Sutherford.
Sir Julian ducked his head in humble thanks as he was smothered with compliments he wasn’t certain were genuine. They probably were, but he’d lost his ability to read the subtle emotional range of the British aristocracy.
He could absolutely tell when a Spaniard was about to draw a knife in a tavern, though. Or when a nonverbal trade with a tribesman was going woefully wrong. And he could read the sky and a mountain and a river far better than any person.
“Ah,” Lord Sutherford said, maneuvering himself to a new position in their tight circle of gentlemen. “I would like to present to you Lord Rascomb.”
Julian’s chest caved in for a moment until he saw the tall man approach. The new Lord Rascomb. Arthur, as Miss Ophelia called him. Julian remembered him from before, when he hadn’t yet filled out, and was as gangly as any tall young man could be, with widely spaced eyes that gave him the look of some unfortunate sea creature. In fact, he recalled the younger brother calling him something dreadful but accurate during those dinners.
“Sir Julian, I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance again after all these years.” This new Rascomb inclined his head, to which Julian gave a low bow.
“Your father was an incalculable influence, Lord Rascomb. I give my condolences and my gratitude to your family for sharing him with me. At your service.” Julian heard the men around him give hums of approval. At least he was able to perform some of his manners correctly. The words were earnest and from the heart.
“I understand you have been calling upon my mother and sister since your return to London. Please let me extend my gratitude for keeping them company and sharing your relationship with my father with them while I was in the country. I know for my mother particularly, she finds your presence a balm.”
Lady Rascomb was only eighteen years his elder, but she treated him like another son. Her maternal affection was unmistakable. At first, it nettled him that he was treated like an adult child rather than an equal or even a potential suitor, but he soon realized that she would never remarry. Her husband had been the love of her life, and she had no intention of finding another man. Indeed, why would she?
He wondered how Miss Ophelia thought of his visits: if she felt his company to be a balm as well. She was still somewhat reserved in his presence, as if she were keeping a secret. But each week she smiled more, welcomed him more. She quizzed him on adventures and locations, mineral deposits and gemstones. Julian had noticed the smoky topaz swinging from Miss Ophelia’s ears, no doubt coming from the box of them he’d shipped to Lord Rascomb years ago, as thanks for helping him secure the funding for his adventure. It was gratifying to see them adorning a beautiful woman, but he dared not comment on it. He did not want her to think she owed him anything. As it stood, Julian owed her the stories of her father’s wisdom and generosity of spirit.
