Lord Lambourne's Forbidden Debutante
Auteur
Lucy Ashford
Lezers
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Hoofdstukken
19
Chapter One
As the clock in the corner of the drawing room struck ten, Lady Julia Annabel Emilia Carstairs counted off the chimes on her fingers. The clock was very old and its chimes stuttered with age. But she was only eighteen and so she had no such excuse for the way her pulse was jumping all over the place.
Her father cleared his throat, which was something he always did when he was about to issue a rebuke. ‘I hear from your mother, Julia,’ the Earl of Carstairs pronounced, ‘that there was an unfortunate incident this evening at Lord and Lady Bamford’s party.’ He stood with his back to the fireplace, looking every bit as tall and stately as you would expect of an eminent aristocrat. Next to him stood Julia’s brother, Charles, who was gazing at her even more disapprovingly than her father.
Oh, dear.
Julia, who was sitting on the velvet sofa beside her mother, swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat. She loved her family, truly she did—her father, her mother and her two sisters, Penelope and Lizzie, who would doubtless be upstairs waiting to sympathise with her over her latest misdemeanour. She even loved her twenty-five-year-old brother Charles, when he wasn’t being a pompous ass.
Everyone was waiting for her to speak. Even her father’s Labradors, Rex and Mollie, were gazing at her slightly sadly as they lay in their usual places on the hearth rug. ‘I did my very best to behave at the party,’ Julia said at last. ‘Only, you see, I didn’t really know anyone except Mama. So I was sitting in a corner, on my own.’
As usual, she silently added.
‘And then, I heard Lord Bamford’s son say something rude about me.’
‘What, exactly, did he say?’ demanded the Earl.
Julia had begun fiddling with some of the stupid bows and ribbons that adorned her yellow muslin dress. She hated it. She hated going to these ‘little soirées’, which her mother insisted she attend in order to prepare herself for her presentation to London’s elite as a debutante next May. That truly would be a day of doom.
She met her father’s stern gaze and said with a slight shrug, ‘Tristram Bamford told his friends that I resembled a stick insect wrapped up in a frilly yellow curtain.’
Her father’s frown deepened. Her brother Charles muttered an oath. Her mother moaned softly, not for the first time that night.
Charles said at last, ‘I must say, Mama, that Julia’s dress is a little over the top, you know.’
Her mother, who was dressed in a startling shade of pink and who very much prided herself on her taste in fashion, visibly bristled. ‘Nonsense, Charles! Julia looked perfectly delightful tonight—Lady Bamford herself said so. Besides, our dear Pen wore a gown that was almost identical when she attended Lord and Lady Bamford’s autumn party last year and she surpassed everyone there with her loveliness. No wonder she succeeded in winning the heart of a viscount’s son!’
‘Mama,’ pointed out Julia patiently, ‘my sister Pen is everything a girl should be. She’s blonde and beautiful. Men fall over themselves at the sight of her. But look at me! My hair is dark and straight, despite all your efforts to make it curl. I’m too thin for most men’s tastes. Worst of all, I like taking long walks by myself and reading books about far-off countries. I don’t like parties and I particularly dislike being insulted!’
The silence that followed was broken by her father. ‘Which is doubtless why,’ he said, ‘you spoke as you did to Lord Bamford’s son. I gather from your mother that you were not polite.’
Julia lifted her chin to meet her father’s clear gaze. ‘I told him he was an ignorant boor and looked like a toad. Which I’m sorry about,’ she added swiftly, ‘because actually I like toads, very much. They are exceptionally intelligent creatures.’
‘And then,’ put in her father softly, ‘you threw a glass of champagne over him?’
‘It was only a very small glass. I’m sure it will wash out of his shirt!’ She looked round at them defiantly. ‘After that, I went to collect my cloak and I walked home.’
‘On your own?’ exclaimed Charles incredulously.
‘On my own, Charles, yes. After all, Lord and Lady Bamford’s house is only a couple of hundred yards from ours and there were plenty of respectable people around. Besides, who is going to try to molest a stick insect dressed in a frilly yellow curtain?’
She gestured at her horrid dress and tried to laugh, but honestly, she felt more like crying. Rex the Labrador lifted his head to gaze at her mournfully, then padded over to lie by her feet. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she reached to stroke one of his silky ears.
‘Julia. You’re mad,’ Charles said with a sigh.
Her father, bless him, looked at her brother rather sharply. ‘Charles, I don’t like the way you’re speaking to your sister. Don’t forget, she deserves our loyalty in spite of this unfortunate incident.’ He sighed, too, and turned to Julia. ‘My dear, you must try to understand that we want the very best for you. We really want you to be happy, as Pen is.’
‘But I’m not my sister!’ cried Julia, almost in despair. ‘I’ve told Mama over and over that I hate parties and shopping for clothes. And I hate gossiping with other girls about eligible men and how they plan to ensnare them—it is truly sad!’
At which her handsome brother, the heir to the earldom and target of female wiles from every quarter, smirked a little. Which annoyed her even more.
‘Yes,’ she declared, ‘it’s all very well for you to laugh, Charles, because you’re a man. You can do as you please, spend your money as you please. Why, even after you’re married, you can carry on having mistresses—’
‘Julia! For pity’s sake!’ Her mother’s cheeks were as pink as her dress and she was fanning herself in agitation. ‘You shock me! You are eighteen and old enough to show the manners of a lady. You could have had your Season last year with dear Pen had you not broken your ankle riding your horse at a gallop in Richmond Park. And now—now, the scandal of tonight’s episode will be all around town by tomorrow. You need a wise husband to teach you to control your behaviour!’
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ said Julia rather desperately. ‘But I don’t want a husband to teach me anything. In fact, I’m not sure I want a husband at all and I doubt very much anyone would want me, even though I’m the daughter of an earl. I just want things to be as they used to be!’
Her father looked grave but kind. ‘What do you mean, Julia? What used to make you happy?’
She felt the tears welling up and blinked them back furiously. ‘I loved it,’ she said in a small voice, ‘when we lived most of the year at our house in Richmond. I loved it when Pen and Lizzie and I could go out and play all day in that big garden, or ride our ponies in the park. I don’t like being here in the middle of town. I don’t like the crowds and the noise and the way people talk all the time about money and marriage. I don’t want to have a Season at all.’ She gazed up at her father almost desperately. ‘I’m sorry. But I really don’t feel I can go through with it.’
Her mother was reaching for her smelling salts. Even Charles appeared a little shaken. ‘Look, Ju,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry you have such a bad opinion of men. But I assure you, you’ll find there are a lot of decent fellows who would make you a kind husband. In fact, if you like, I’ll look out for a few.’
‘No! I do not want to be married off! I would quite honestly rather be a—a spinster!’
‘Steady on,’ said Charles. ‘You’re not that bad-looking, you know.’
‘Charles,’ pronounced her father, ‘you are not helping matters in the least.’
‘No.’ Charles looked a little bashful. ‘I apologise.’
The Earl looked almost sorrowfully at his daughter. ‘I’m afraid that your mother is correct, Julia. There will be a good deal of talk by tomorrow about tonight’s unfortunate exchange with young Bamford. I think it may be as well if you stop attending these pre-Season parties, just for a while.’
Julia flinched. A scandal—that was what she’d become—and her dreaded Season hadn’t even begun. ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Really, I am.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s by no means the end of the world, but I do have an idea. I think that perhaps we ought to let you have a brief respite from London society.’
Julia’s eyes opened wide. ‘You mean—I can go to our house in Richmond?’
‘No,’ her father quickly said, ‘not to Richmond, since neither your mother nor I could leave London to stay there with you. But I’ve been wondering. I believe you’ll remember my elderly cousin in Somerset, Lady Harris?’
‘Aunt Harris, my godmother? Of course I remember her! We used to visit her for at least two weeks every summer. It was fun.’
Her mother frowned. ‘The journey there was a nightmare.’
The Earl just smiled. ‘You never were fond of travel, my dear, were you? But the children always found it a great adventure and you must admit you did enjoy the odd day trip to Bath whenever we were there.’
Julia listened to all this eagerly. Lady Harris, aged around sixty or so, had a splendid old house that was surrounded by wild woodland, like something from a storybook. Lady Harris was also outspoken, self-opinionated and distinctly odd, but Julia and her sisters used to love her company, not least because she was the only person they knew who dared to tease their mother about her rigid sense of propriety.
‘The last time I saw my aunt,’ Julia said, ‘was when she came to London for our grandmother’s funeral two years ago.’
‘Yes,’ said the Earl, ‘and she vowed she would never come to London again.’
Julia hid a smile. Lady Harris had always declared that she hated London and at the moment Julia was in complete agreement. She looked up at her father. ‘I like Lady Harris,’ she said, ‘very much. But why have you mentioned her, Papa?’
‘We correspond regularly,’ he replied. ‘She always asks after you, Julia, and I was wondering if perhaps you might like to go and stay with her for a while.’
Julia’s mother almost leaped from the sofa. ‘My dear husband!’ she cried. ‘Lady Harris may be your cousin, but she is surely no fit companion for Julia! She is eccentric. She shuns society.’
‘My cousin is much cleverer than most people give her credit for,’ said the Earl firmly, ‘and she does have considerable experience of life. She’s nobody’s fool, believe me.’
Charles was looking as amazed as his mother. ‘But Somerset! Are you truly serious, Father, about sending Julia so far away?’
‘It would be for a few weeks only, Charles. That would allow ample time for any gossip about Julia and Tristram’s unfortunate altercation to be replaced by something far more exciting. As further reassurance, we will of course send one of our most reliable maids to stay with our daughter during her visit—though I imagine even Julia would be able to get up to little enough mischief in such a quiet spot.’ He smiled down at her as he spoke.
Her mother still looked upset. ‘Oh, Julia,’ she cried. ‘I do declare that after staying there, you will surely come to appreciate what is on offer in London!’
Julia wasn’t at all certain about that. In fact, as her father explained his plan, she’d begun to feel a ray of hope. Yes, her godmother lived in a remote place, on her own, but she was happy—she’d told Julia so after the funeral two years ago. ‘Take no notice,’ her aunt had said, ‘of those who say you must be put on the marriage mart like a prize cow. You do what you want, my girl. You live the life you want!’
The life Julia wanted was certainly not the life of a debutante. ‘Papa,’ Julia said, a little hesitantly this time. ‘How do you know that my aunt will agree to have me?’
‘I will write to her first thing tomorrow,’ answered her father, ‘and I would be amazed if she did not wish for your company. She once called you a girl after her own heart. So...’ he looked around ‘...are we agreed on this?’
Charles shrugged. ‘If you say so, Father. Though I think my friends will be laying bets as to how soon Julia will be pleading to come back to London!’
Julia saw her father give his son and heir the kind of look that was guaranteed to put anyone firmly in his place. ‘Charles,’ he pronounced, ‘I hope very much that your last comment was made in jest. If any of your so-called friends should lay bets on the futures of my daughters, I trust you will show your disapproval instantly.’
Charles flushed slightly. ‘Yes, Father,’ he said stiffly.
‘Julia,’ said the Earl, in a far milder tone, ‘you may leave us now. Perhaps we can discuss my plan for you in more detail tomorrow morning.’
Julia rose and went to quickly hug him. ‘Thank you, Father,’ she whispered. ‘I’m truly sorry I’ve caused a stupid scandal. And thank you for thinking of Lady Harris. I should love to go and stay with her!’
Her father smiled and touched her cheek affectionately. ‘Off you go to bed, then, my dear. Sleep well.’
Julia dutifully kissed her mother goodnight, then dashed off before anything more could be said. Though as she climbed the grand staircase to her bedchamber, she guessed yet more questions awaited her—and she was right, because she found her two sisters sitting on her bed.
‘Julia!’ cried Pen, who was twenty years old and due to be married soon. ‘What has happened?’
Then Lizzie, who at fourteen was the baby of the family, burst out, ‘We heard Mama crying and Papa speaking sternly. Was it because of the Bamfords’ party? Was it just awful?’
‘Appalling,’ said Julia, as she tugged off her yellow satin shoes and sank into a nearby armchair. ‘Though I survived it until I heard that horrid Tristram Bamford say that I looked like a stick insect with frills, so I threw some champagne over him.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did. Though honestly, who can blame him for laughing at me?’ She pointed at her now very crumpled frock. ‘I hate this silly dress! Hate it!’
‘Is that what you were all arguing about downstairs just now?’ Pen asked with sympathy.
‘Oh, the truth of it is, I’m an embarrassment to them and no doubt Tristram will tell everyone around town what I said. But Father was superb. He stayed calm when Mama was on the verge of hysterics and told me he had an idea. He suggested that I could go and stay for a while with Lady Harris in the country.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. He did.’ Julia still couldn’t quite believe it herself.
‘But that’s amazing.’ Lizzie clapped her hands in glee. ‘We used to love it, didn’t we, whenever we went to visit her in that big old house of hers. She was such fun. She drove Mama wild because she encouraged us to roam in the woods and have adventures!’
‘She is rather mischievous,’ agreed Julia. ‘But Papa likes her and so do I.’
‘I wish I could come, too,’ said Lizzie. ‘But what does Charles think?’
‘Naturally, our brother was as horrified as Mama. But he disapproves of anything I want to do—and I’ve decided I really, really want to stay with Aunt Harris and to put my Season off for as long as possible. Especially as I’m quite sure it’s going to be a disaster.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Pen briskly. ‘You’ll have plenty of men falling for you if you only give yourself a chance! But Lizzie and I shall miss you dreadfully while you’re away. Besides, won’t you be lonely? I’ve heard that Lady Harris hardly sees a soul.’
‘Being lonely would be an improvement on being insulted at parties.’ Julia shuddered.
Suddenly their mother’s piercing voice rose from the bottom of the grand staircase. ‘Lizzie. Lizzie, darling, are you with your sisters? Your maid is looking for you. It really is time you were in bed!’
Lizzie jumped up. ‘Oh, no. I’d better go. But first, can the three of us have our usual hug?’ She held out her arms and the sisters embraced. ‘There,’ declared Lizzie happily, ‘that’s better. We’ll stick by each other to the end, isn’t that right?’ She popped a kiss on Julia’s cheek. ‘Dear Julia, some day you will find a man who is truly amazing. I just know you will!’
After Lizzie had scurried off, Pen sat down again slowly. ‘I suppose I ought to go as well. But, Julia, I just want to tell you something.’
Julia grinned. ‘Secrets? Oh, good.’
Pen blushed a little. Then she said, ‘Yes, it is a secret—sort of. You see, I’ve discovered that...well, it’s rather marvellous being in love.’
‘I can see that.’ Julia pretended to scrutinise her. ‘Pen, you positively glow with it.’
Her sister blushed even more. ‘Do I?’
‘Most definitely. You have a mysterious smile every time you mention Jeremy’s name.’ Jeremy, who was the son and heir of Viscount Dersingham, was going to marry Pen in less than two months. He was exceedingly pleasant and anyone could see that he adored his bride-to-be.
‘Oh, Julia!’ Pen sighed. ‘I really can’t help being happy. You see...’ and she lowered her voice to a whisper ‘...whenever darling Jeremy kisses me, it makes me just long for our wedding night!’
Julia sat on the bed beside her. ‘Pen, darling, I’m sure you’ll be terrible happy with him. You deserve to be, you’re so lovely and kind. But I’m neither and I do not want to marry the kind of man who finds himself an heiress, then goes off and grabs a mistress to have fun with, as soon as his wife has had a baby or two—Oh!’ Julia clapped her hand to her mouth at the look on her sister’s face. ‘I’m so sorry, what a dreadful thing to say. Everyone can see that Jeremy adores you and I’m sure he’d never take some silly mistress, ever!’
Pen nodded. ‘I know he won’t. But I’m also quite positive that Father will never make you marry someone you detest—so please, don’t give up before you’ve even started looking!’ She glanced at the marble clock on Julia’s dressing table and stood up. ‘I really must go, too. No doubt one of the maids has been waiting in my room for ages to help me out of my gown. Shall I help you with yours before I go?’
‘No, I’ll ring for a maid myself. Though I’d rather tear this dress off piece by piece!’ Julia tried to laugh as she, too, rose to her feet.
Pen studied the yellow gown sympathetically. ‘When it’s time for you to make your debut, I shall insist to Mama that she take you to the most fashionable dressmaker in town and I shall come with you both. There’ll be no yellow, no frills—but you will look gorgeous, I promise! Goodnight, Julia dear. Sweet dreams.’
With that Pen, after blowing her sister a kiss, flew off down the passageway to her own room.
Julia went to close her bedroom door, but halted when she caught sight of herself in her mirror. Gorgeous? Never. She didn’t have the feminine curves her sister had. She didn’t have the angelic blue eyes either; instead, her eyes were a strange shade of pale greeny-grey—‘rather like the sea on a cold day in midwinter,’ an anxious man trying hard to be polite to her had once said. Distinctly unappealing, in other words.
Otherwise, Julia supposed there was nothing exactly wrong with her face—in fact, a noted London artist had once wanted to paint her, because of her delicate cheekbones, he’d enthused. But even he had confessed that her hair was all wrong for a portrait, because it simply refused to curl.
Mama always insisted on her having it wound tightly in rags for hours before Julia was due to attend any social event. ‘Then,’ her mother would promise, ‘one of the maids will put it up in ringlets for you, just like Pen’s!’ But the attempt was futile because during the evening the curls would gradually flop, making Julia look like an over-warm spaniel with its ears drooping in the heat.
She shut her bedroom door and sat rather despondently on the bed. A moment later though, she jumped up again—because she’d just remembered that she’d left something rather embarrassing downstairs in the hallway.
She had put her beaded silk purse on the table there, the one she’d taken to Lord and Lady Bamford’s horrid party, and in it was her tiny diary. Well, it was more of a private notebook really, because there wasn’t room for all the engagements her mother dragged her to. But the worst thing was that she used it to keep a list of young men to avoid like the plague. She called it her Guide to the Gentlemen of London and it wasn’t a flattering list, because beside each man’s name she’d scrawled his deficiencies.
Sir Frederick Timms. Breathes garlic everywhere.
Lord Percival Sumner. Always lets his clammy hands stray to your bottom when he dances with you.
Viscount Clive Delaney. Walks like a waddling walrus.
And so on. Good grief. If her mother were to read it, she would faint.
Hurriedly Julia descended the broad staircase and sighed with relief to see that her reticule was still there. She was about to grab it when she realised her father and Charles were still talking in the drawing room—and they were talking about her. Sidling close to the not quite shut door, she listened carefully.
‘There’s another thing, Father, about this plan of yours,’ Charles was saying, ‘to send Julia to Lady Harris. You do realise, don’t you, who might be staying close by?’
There was a brief silence, in which Julia was convinced they would hear her heart thudding. At last came her father’s terse reply. ‘There’s not much chance of him being there, Charles, since the last I heard, the fellow had no intention of leaving Vienna any time soon. So you needn’t worry about him.’
Julia listened intently. Who did they know in Vienna? Why were her father and Charles worried about him? They talked on in lowered voices, though at one point her father spoke more clearly.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘that like the ladies, you and I ought to retire. But there’s one last thing, Charles.’
‘Which is?’
‘I fear there will be talk around town about Julia’s behaviour tonight. So you’ll do what you can to quell any malicious gossip about your sister, won’t you?’
‘Of course. But she really must learn to use some tact!’
‘She’s Julia,’ said her father. ‘We all love her dearly, but she’s different, Charles. She wants to feel she has choices in her life. Obviously she must learn to restrain her impulsiveness, but we must all do everything we can to support her, do you understand?’
Before she could hear what her brother had to say to that, Julia, clutching her reticule, fled back up to her room.
Different. In other words, she was an oddity who would probably end up a spinster—and all she could say to that was that spinsterhood was a far better fate than being married to someone like Tristram Bamford. Yes, she’d written about him in her notebook, too, only the other week.
His eau-de-cologne reminds me of mothballs.
She remembered a little despairingly what Lizzie had said to her. ‘Dear Julia, some day you will find a man who is truly amazing. I just know you will!’
Not at Lady Harris’s. Julia almost laughed at the thought. Not in the wilds of Somerset.
Absolutely no chance.
