Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection Page 9

  Would he ever be free of it?

  ***

  Lingering behind the partially-open door, Lady Julia Tate stumbled backward until she found herself crashing into a hall table. Horrified that her presence might be detected, she scrambled away toward the kitchens after her mother, wishing she could flee and never have to face them—him—ever again.

  But she couldn't bear to face anyone—not even her mother—so she hovered in a dark corner near the servants' entrance and tried to compose herself. Her body covered in cold sweat, she wrapped her arms around herself and blinked the tears out of her eyes.

  Julia had known from the first that Oliver didn't love her the way he'd loved his first wife. Frankly, she suspected the motive for his completely unexpected proposal had more to do with his pressing need to find a mother for his young daughter than any romantic interest in her. He'd not mentioned the words of love that most women wanted to hear from their suitors—the words she'd dreamed of hearing from him many years ago—but Oliver was so handsome in his gold-embroidered navy blue ensemble, and for a moment, she thought she'd seen an interesting sort of warmth in his eyes when he spoke of his regard for her and his conviction that they would rub along well together.

  She'd thought him lost to her forever after his marriage to Kate, yet here he was, in her mother's drawing room, asking her to be his wife! No, his offer of marriage had not been the sort that young ladies drool over in Mrs. Radcliffe's novels, but at twenty-seven, Julia was no silly young miss. Oliver was the only man she'd ever been interested in as a marriage partner, and while he was still unmarried, she'd hoped he might come to return her feelings. As the years passed, her hopes began to falter, only to be completely dashed when she learned of his betrothal to Kate. Kate? Betrothed to Oliver? When? Why? How? It was a devastating blow, a betrayal, really, by the woman she considered her best friend in the world.

  As always, she felt a twinge of guilt at harboring resentment of a woman who died so tragically young, especially considering that it was her death that had given Julia another chance to wed the man she loved.

  I'm sorry, Kate. I resented your marrying Oliver when you knew I loved him, but I'd never wish you dead. Oliver needs a wife and little Violet a mother… If it wasn't me, it would be someone else, and I couldn't bear to see that happen again.

  In the end, she'd been unable to refuse his offer. If they married, there was every chance that his feelings for her would grow and change afterward, while a refusal would mean giving up all hope forever. She'd been prepared to forego marriage and satisfy her desire for children with her sisters' offspring and her work with the Foundling Home, but how much better to wed the man she loved and have children of her own, as well as the opportunity to raise his adorable daughter, which poor Kate was unable to do.

  But… then she'd heard the drunken toasts of the gentlemen in the library and suddenly realized that she couldn't go through with it. Marry a man knowing it wasn't necessarily her he wanted, but merely any woman who could fill the position? Suffer the pain of knowing that whenever he held her in his arms he was wishing she were someone else? Sensing Kate's ghost between them every minute of the day? She'd rather remain a solitary spinster than doom herself to such a miserable future.

  How long she stood there she had no idea, but before long, she felt someone gripping her shoulder.

  "Julia! Julia! What is wrong with you? Has something happened?"

  Lady Pendleton scrutinized her with eyebrows drawn together. "A pity I haven't my hartshorn with me. I should have known it was a mistake to bring you here tonight when I needed to consult with the Stantons' cook about the wedding breakfast—both Sarah and Philippa suffered from wedding day jitters—but I thought—well, you and Oliver have known each other forever—"

  Julia took a deep breath. "I—I am well, Mama. I suppose the gravity of it all—I don't know—I just wish I had a bit more time—"

  Her mother hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. "What you need is a good night's sleep. The wedding will be over before you know it, and you and Oliver will have your entire lives together to look forward to, with little Violet too. Come, my dear, my business with Cook is finished, and it's time we started back to Grosvenor Square."

  Julia allowed herself to be led to the waiting carriage, but all the while she was thinking: I can't do it. I can't marry Oliver tomorrow. But I can't leave him waiting at the altar either. He'd never forgive me. There would be a scandal, and he'd eventually marry someone else, and that would be worse. Wouldn't it?

  Chapter Two

  Oliver Stanton couldn't remember a time when he and Lady Julia Tate hadn't been the best of friends. Their fathers' estates marched next to each other in East Sussex, outside Wittersham, and they had grown up doing everything together. Although the daughter of an earl, Julia was quite the hoyden in her childhood, preferring fishing and riding to needlework and music. Lord and Lady Pendleton were unusually indulgent parents to their three daughters, providing them with both a tutor and a governess, as Lady Pendleton believed in educational equality for both sexes. She also believed in encouraging a child's natural interests and was not at all distressed when Julia showed more aptitude for the male curriculum than that which was considered appropriate for a female. Her ladyship insisted that someday women would be given the right to vote and work in government and even be Prime Minister.

  Oliver thought the latter quite unlikely, but he agreed that Julia was quite as capable as he of studying Greek and Latin and philosophy. Although he studied with his own tutor, he and Julia often discussed their studies together as they lay on the grass by the lake, holding tightly to their fishing poles and waiting for the fish to bite. Oliver was a bit better at arithmetic. His grandfather was a banker, after all. They both loved reading and discussing books. Julia was the better storyteller, and Oliver wasn't the only one who enjoyed hearing her tales, usually concocted on the spur of the moment. Children—whether the offspring of tenants or villagers—brightened up when they saw her and begged her to tell them a story. He knew of several who had learned to read only because Julia had promised to write down some of her stories for them, and he'd heard that in London she'd been teaching the children at the Foundling Home.

  It wasn't until Oliver was thirteen and Julia ten that Kate O'Hara had come to town and become the third member of their lively band. Her clergyman father took over the living at the parish church in Wittersham—only a mile as the crow flies from the Stanton estate—and somehow, Kate managed to be everywhere they were. Younger and smaller than they she might be, but she could hold her own in the mischief department. And because she was the vicar's daughter and had such an angelic appearance, she was always presumed to be the innocent party led astray by the two older culprits "who should have known better."

  But behind that saintly facade of light blonde hair and bright blue eyes, Kate had a shrewd mind that she kept concealed from all but her closest friends. Her parents certainly never knew. As their only child, she was coddled and praised and her misdeeds ignored or justified. He and Julia would listen in open-mouthed admiration when she boasted of how easily her parents could be duped, since neither of them could say the same. Julia's parents, although possessing decidedly radical theories on the subject of education for females, were not blind to their daughters' faults and did not hesitate to apply discipline when necessary. His own parents—well, his grandfather really, since his mother died when he was three and his father was never around—could be a difficult taskmaster. Robert Stanton, the founder of Stanton's Bank, seemed to believe he could compensate for his failure to properly parent his own son by delivering a double dose of discipline to his grandson. It was well-intentioned, however, and Oliver grew up determined to become the antithesis of his dissipated, wastrel father.

  As the years passed and Oliver went away to school, spending more and more of his time in Town, the trio became a duo. At first, he missed the carefree innocence of those days, but he had a great deal to occupy his time t
hrough his studies and social activities, and then later as a clerk at the family bank. Indeed, he hadn't seen either of his childhood friends for nearly three years when he ran across Julia at a presentation ball for the daughter of one of his grandfather's closest friends.

  The striking redhead on the dance floor caught his attention from the moment he stepped through the doorway into the ballroom. Taller than most of the ladies in the room—and half a head taller than the red-faced youth who partnered her—she was lovely and regal in a gown of bottle green velvet and gold tassels, her fiery red hair swept up neatly into a knot upon her head, with a few adorable curls framing her face, crowned by an emerald tiara. He didn't connect her with his childhood friend until he caught a glimpse of the expression on her face—the unmistakable look of impatience he'd seen quite often in the past when Julia was forced to do something against her will. Julia? Could this beauty in truth be the hoyden who'd climbed trees and ridden astride and disdained all things feminine as "silly"? He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her as she and her partner promenaded between the other two couples in their set.

  It wasn't long before she sensed his scrutiny, and her gaze fell upon him. Her eyes widened in surprise when she recognized him, her face beaming with pleasure in a way that sent heat radiating through his chest. During the remainder of the set, she favored him with many such smiles, and when her partner led her off the dance floor to a group of ladies that included her mother, he made haste to join them.

  Lady Pendleton had not changed a great deal since he had seen her last, perhaps a few more white hairs among the blonde ones in her coiffure, but she was still her amiable, but carelessly unconventional self, in a cinnamon-colored gown with bright orange trimmings.

  "Mr. Stanton? Dear Oliver! It's been an age since we've seen you in Wittersham, although we hear your grandfather is pleased with your progress at Stanton's Bank." Lady Pendleton extended her hand, and he kissed the air above it. "Isn't it wonderful, Julia? Your old childhood playmate all grown-up and so handsome too!"

  "Indeed," Julia replied, with a welcoming smile. "You have so been missed in Sussex, Oliver. We—that is, Kate and I—have scolded your grandfather more than once about keeping you chained to your desk in London."

  Oliver couldn't keep his eyes from Julia's lovely face. "He can be a rather demanding taskmaster." He bowed over her hand. "But now that I see for myself what I have been missing, you can be certain I shall make the trip south more often."

  Julia's eyes sparkled. "Kate will be so glad to hear that. She has been sadly left to her own company these days. I believe she has been persuaded to assist her mother with the parish ladies' society."

  Oliver shook his head. "Poor girl! The Kate I remember would have managed to wriggle out of it."

  Julia grimaced. "Yes, but we cannot always be children, alas. Eventually, we must all grow up and face adult responsibilities, whether we wish to or not."

  Lady Pendleton put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "My dear, Lady Jersey is beckoning. I shall be gone but a moment. Dear Oliver, I shall entrust my daughter to you for a few minutes. I'm sure you have much to catch up on, far too much for one little ball. You must join us for dinner, perhaps Tuesday next? And your grandfather, too, if he is in health?"

  He assured her that the elder Stanton was well, and, when she had departed, turned to Julia. "Would you care for some punch?"

  She nodded. "It is rather a crush. Shall we lay claim to those chairs near the potted palm and have a bit of a coze?"

  "A brilliant plan!"

  Their old easy camaraderie returned immediately, and Oliver was pleased to discover that the girl he'd known was still there, although now housed in the form of a mature, elegant young woman. As he'd discerned from his first glimpse of her face, she did not enjoy the social whirl and had held it off as long as she could.

  "Philippa would be here as well, but she is laid up with a broken leg, and Mama insists my coming-out cannot be postponed any longer, as I shall be twenty next year and nearly on the shelf."

  Oliver grimaced. "On the shelf? Somehow I cannot imagine Lady Pendleton as one of those pushy, matchmaking mothers."

  Julia sighed. "All mothers are matchmakers. But you have the right of it—my parents are not the type to force me into an unwanted marriage. But they—Mother, really—do wish me to have a Season and see what comes of it, although I have sworn I shall never marry."

  Oliver tilted his head toward her. "Never?"

  She shrugged and waved an arm toward the dance floor. "Not any of these frivolous Freddies, at least. I should dislike intensely having to fritter away the rest of my life in ballrooms when there are so many more interesting things to do."

  He grinned. "Like pretending to be ghosts in the graveyard and frightening Mrs. O'Hara at the Twelfth Night celebration?"

  Julia snorted. "That was Kate's idea. As I recall, you thought it was a capital trick at the time," she said, relaxing back into the chair. "But no, it is just that I find the social whirl a dead bore and a scandalous waste of resources, when there are so many more worthwhile endeavors to occupy one's time."

  She told him about her work with the Foundling Home and the school she had helped organize for the purpose of providing the children with the skills necessary for earning a living for themselves. "I'd much rather be at tonight's meeting of the Royal Historical Society, if you must know. They were to have a discussion on the druids and the purpose of standing stones, like those at Stonehenge. Finding you here, of course, has made the sacrifice quite bearable."

  The smile on her pretty pink lips made his nerve endings tingle, and he wondered what it would be like to touch them with his own. He swallowed and forced himself to bring his thoughts in line.

  "I should have known that my Julia would prove to have hidden depths." My Julia? Where did that come from? "Meaning, of course, that the girl who used to help me with my Latin declensions would never be content being nothing but a social butterfly.," he added hastily. "I suspect there are still some traces of the impish hoyden I knew, no matter how skillful she has become at hiding them."

  She snorted in a very un-ladylike manner. "Oh, she's still here, I assure you. But she's learned to make herself scarce when it is in her best interests to do so."

  She waved a hand in his direction. "It isn't only me, Oliver. You are easily the most handsome gentleman here tonight. I can see at least half a dozen young ladies staring at you adoringly, and the rest are looking daggers at me for monopolizing your attention."

  Warmth spread through his body at her praise before he came to his senses and tamped it down. Julia was not for him. His old playmate, that was all.

  "Not the mothers, however," he replied, shrugging carelessly. "Most may aspire much higher for their daughters than a banker's son."

  She raised her eyebrows. "They are foolish indeed if they do. I shouldn't think you'd wish to wed their silly daughters anyway. You'll do better finding one in your own time. You've years yet before you have to worry about such things."

  At that point, their tête-à-tête was interrupted when a tall gangly youth in a canary jacket approached Julia to claim the dance he had bespoken earlier. Julia turned to Oliver with an apologetic expression and rose to fulfill her obligation. Rather than remain sitting alone, Oliver found a partner of his own from among the bevy of unengaged young ladies nearby, but could not keep his eyes from constantly seeking out Julia's figure on the dance floor. His former playmate had indeed become a desirable woman, and he wasn't the only gentleman to be aware of it. Add to that her status as a wealthy earl's daughter, and he thought it likely she would be wed sooner rather than later… despite her denials.

  The thought of Julia wedding another bothered him more than it should, and his partner, seeing his frown, asked him if anything was wrong. Fortunately, the music stopped, and Oliver pasted a smile on his face as he made a polite bow and escorted her off the dance floor. But something was wrong, and it wasn't until later, after he watched more th
an one gentleman look at Julia in a predatory manner, that he could admit what it was. Jealousy. He wanted Julia for himself.

  But a marriage between them was impossible. While a titled gentleman in desperate financial circumstances might lower himself to marry into trade without tarnishing himself too badly, a woman who did so assumed the social status of her husband. While Julia's parents were considerably more liberal than most of the aristocracy, he suspected they would prefer to keep her in their own social circle if they could. In any case, he was in no position yet to take a wife, as he was working many hours at the bank to prove himself to his grandfather and had little time to spend with a family. No, he might as well accept the fact that Julia would wed someone else.

  If he had any doubts on the matter, they evaporated at a subsequent event when he overheard her father in the card room mentioning to some cronies that he had hopes for a match with his heir, a distant cousin from Ireland. No, even the Pendletons would consider a banker's grandson unworthy of their eldest daughter.

  As the Season progressed, Oliver deliberately made himself scarce from ton events, unless his grandfather insisted he do so on behalf of the firm. When he and Julia did encounter each other, she usually found a dance for him, and it was all he could do to maintain a mask of friendly aloofness. She seemed disappointed that they weren't to continue their former closeness, but he found he couldn't subject himself to being her close friend when he couldn't declare his less-than-brotherly interest in her.

  The years passed, and the dreaded announcement of Julia's betrothal to another man never came. Both of her younger sisters married titled gentlemen—Philippa, a viscount, and Sarah, a baronet. Oliver was at St. George's for both weddings, and by then, Julia had become more reticent in his presence, no doubt a result of his own aloofness. He did wonder why she hadn't married. Her sister Sarah had confided during a dance at Philippa's wedding that Julia had turned down several offers, but seemed unwilling to give up her work with the foundlings to become the sort of society matron most of her suitors were expecting. Now if he were ever fortunate enough to become Julia's husband, he would encourage her to follow her natural inclinations—for no other reason than that she was the woman with whom he desired to share his life.