The Catch of the Season
Shirley Kennedy
In the drawing room of her family’s spacious London townhouse, Miss Julia Winslow waited while her mother, Lady Harleigh, read the note Julia had just received from Lord Melton. When Lady Harleigh finished, her face lit. She gasped with delight. “I cannot believe this! Do you think he’s going to propose?”
“It is possible,” Julia replied cautiously.
Squeals of excitement issued from Julia’s aunt and cousins who had all gathered for tea. “Lord Melton is the catch of the season,” declared Aunt Elizabeth, who appeared to be in the same state of elation as her sister.
“An earl!” cried giddy cousin Lydia. “You will be a countess! It’s almost too good to be true. Read it to us.”
Julia took the note from her mother and read aloud, “‘Dear Miss Winslow, if it’s convenient, I would like to call upon you this afternoon at 4 p.m. on a matter of some importance. Melton.’” She regarded the assembled ladies. “So what do you think?”
“What else except a marriage proposal could be a matter of ‘some importance’?” Julia’s mother dropped into a rosewood armchair and began to fan herself with her inlaid ivory fan. “Oh, this is all too much. Lord Melton himself. I may need my smelling salts.”
“Calm yourself, Mama,” answered Julia. “Perhaps he simply wants to ask me to the theatre or to see the Elgin Marbles or some such thing.”
“No,” Lady Harleigh firmly replied, “he’s going to propose, I feel it in my bones. What fantastic luck! Lord Melton is not only perfect in every way, he’s going to be our new neighbour. Did you know that, Julia?”
“So he told me,” Julia said. Her mother was referring to Lord Melton’s recent purchase of Hatfield Manor, the vast country estate next to her family’s own Bretton Court, not far from London.
“Imagine,” Lady Harleigh continued., “we shall be connected to one of the most prestigious families in all England! True aristocrats, the lot of them.”
“Except for his ne’er-do-well younger brother,” contributed Aunt Elizabeth. “He’s quite the rake, from what I understand, what with his drinking and gambling. But that was a while ago. Now, apparently, they keep him under wraps.”
Lady Harleigh ignored her sister’s comment and grew starry-eyed. “I can see it all now – the conjoining of two great estates. Hatfield Manor and Bretton Court will become as one, eventually to be inherited, of course, by Julia and Lord Melton’s eldest son, and then—”
“Mama, please! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Despite her mother’s overly vivid imagination, Julia rejoiced to see her smiling again. Only a year ago, Julia’s beloved brother, Douglas, had been killed at the Battle of Waterloo, plunging her mother into a period of near-inconsolable grief for the loss of her only son. Lady Harleigh had seemed to age overnight, her once pretty face grown thin and gaunt. But now what a difference! The prospect of a brilliant marriage for her youngest daughter had put roses in her cheeks again and revived her bubbling enthusiasm.
From the gilt-wood settee where she’d been sitting quietly, Julia’s tiny, sharp-eyed grandmother spoke up. “What’s all the fuss about? Who is this Lord Melton?”
“Where have you been, Mother?” Aunt Elizabeth asked. “We’re talking about Charles Carstairs, Lord Melton. An earl! Not only handsome and charming, he recently came into his inheritance, which is considerable, I assure you. Vast estates . . . a huge fortune. If you ask me, he isn’t just the catch of the season, he’s the catch of any season you can name.”
A chorus of feminine voices agreed.
“Lord Melton dresses impeccably . . .”
“He’s so handsome . . .”
“His manners are perfection . . .”
“He’s just so . . . so . . . correct in every way . . .”
“Humph!” Granny cast her daughters and granddaughters a sceptical gaze. “Handsome and correct? That says nothing about the man himself. Where’s he been? Why have I never heard of him?”
“He’s been on an extended grand tour of Europe,” Aunt Elizabeth replied, “and spent considerable time in Paris, I understand.”
“Sewing a few wild oats, I suppose.” Granny’s shrewd eyes shifted to Julia. “I’m surprised you’ve finally made a choice, missy. Here you are, twenty-two years old, well into your fourth season—”
“Third,” Julia interjected.
“Third then. You’re beautiful enough to have had your pick, yet you’ve shown your strength of character by not settling for the first conceited fop who came along.”
“I totally disagree.” Lady Harleigh cast a long-suffering glance at her daughter. “Your grandmother calls it ‘strength of character’. I call it just plain pernickety. Remember Viscount Lansdale? You didn’t like him because you said he had a silly laugh. I also recall Lieutenant Dashmont who looked so resplendent in his gold-braided uniform. He—”
“Was balding and wore too much cologne,” Julia interceded with a wry smile. That wasn’t the real reason, but who in this room except Granny would understand?
Lady Harleigh continued, “At any rate, Julia’s betrothal to Lord Melton will be the coup of the season. I feel sorry for all those mothers with marriageable daughters who spent considerable time trying to trap him.”
Julia held up a protesting hand. “Wait. He hasn’t proposed yet, and even if he does—”
“Just think of the wedding!” With shining eyes, Julia’s mother clasped her hands together. “We shall spare no expense. I shall invite the Duke and Duchess of Sherford, and – yes, why not? – I shall invite the Prince Regent himself. Julia’s wedding will be the biggest, the grandest—”
“Mama, please,” Julia began, then changed her mind and said no more, knowing her protests would fall on deaf ears.
Later, after the others had left, Julia sank down on the settee across from her eighty-five-year-old grandmother. Granny always looked so sweet, Julia thought, with her lace cap perched atop her snow-white head and her lavender paisley shawl draped around her frail shoulders. But she wasn’t sweet at all. In fact, one of the ongoing vexations of Mama’s life was having a mother like Granny who said whatever she pleased and consistently ignored society’s rules of proper behaviour. Julia loved her just as she was, though, and valued her judgment. “What do you think, Granny? Is he going to propose?”
Granny peered at her over the top of her spectacles. “Do you want him to?”
“I certainly ought to. You heard what everyone said, didn’t you? How could I not want to marry Lord Melton when he’s so perfect in every way?”
Granny levelled one of her shrewd, assessing gazes which in the past had always made Julia admit the stark truth and nothing but. “I’ll ask you again, missy. Do you want Lord Melton to propose? In other words, have you fallen madly in love with him or will you marry him simply because everyone expects you to?”
“That’s a very good question,” Julia replied, stalling for time. “I am not dying to get married, but you know how I hate coming down to London for these seasons Mama insists upon. I intensely dislike putting myself on display so some man will find me attractive enough to marry – with, of course, an eye on my dowry. It makes me feel like a slab of meat on show at the butcher shop.”
“So you would marry simply to avoid another season?”
“Isn’t it high time? Mama has managed to marry off all her daughters except me. I cannot stay single all my life. She would die of disappointment if I did.” Julia sighed and continued, “Of course, if the choice were mine, I would be home at Bretton Court this very minute, out riding my horse or painting my landscapes, and not worried in the least about finding a husband.” Her eyes shifted to several small oil paintings that hung in a group next to the marble fireplace. Each depicted a scene from the ruins of Swindon Abbey, which lay between Bretton Court and Hatfield Manor. She had spent many an hour there, not only painting but musing about those long gone days when Swindon Abbey had teemed with life, virtually a small city of its own. With a note of wistfulness, she added, “I could spend the rest of my life painting scenes from those ancient ruins.”
“Your paintings are excellent,” Granny replied. “You’re a gifted artist, Julia. But however much I hate to say it, an outstanding talent such as yours doesn’t mean a thing for a woman in your position.”
Julia nodded in reluctant agreement. “I could be the greatest artist in the world, but all that’s expected of me is that I make a brilliant marriage and then start popping out babies, as soon and as often as possible.”
“Unfortunately you’re right. Of course, you would have made things easier on yourself had you fallen in love with any one of your many suitors.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Julia replied. “But perhaps I will with Lord Melton. Even if I don’t, I shall probably marry him anyway. After all, he’s the best of the lot, and if I haven’t fallen in love by now, I doubtless never will.”
“How well do you know him?” Granny asked.
“Actually not that well. I met him at Lady Gardner’s ball. We’ve danced several times at Almack’s. We’ve been to Covent Garden, and he took me to hear Catalanai at the King’s Theatre.” A thoughtful smile curved Julia’s mouth. “At least he’s been the perfect gentleman. He’s never even kissed me.”
“Have you wanted him to?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
Granny emitted one of her disdainful sniffs. “Then I suggest you kiss the man, preferably before you accept his proposal, and see how you feel.”
Julia grinned. “You mean sparks should fly? My knees should grow weak?”
“Just kiss the man before you agree to marry him.”
“All right, I shall.” Not that it much mattered. Mama, Papa, everyone expected her to say yes, and so she probably would. If she didn’t, she would break her mother’s heart. Not only that, everyone would think she had lost her mind if she turned down the catch of the season.
“Oh, Miss Julia, you look so exquisitely beautiful!” declared Yvette, Julia’s lady’s maid. “Look in the mirror. See for yourself.”
Julia viewed herself in her full-length mirror. For Lord Melton’s visit she had chosen her new afternoon gown, a soft-blue cotton batiste with short puffed sleeves. Lace frills and bands of light blue satin decorated the bodice, sleeves and skirt. Not bad, she thought, pointing a toe to admire a slipper made from the same fabric as the gown. And Yvette had done her usual fine job on her thick auburn hair, binding it up in a topknot held by a matching blue satin band.
Yvette stood behind and fussed with her gown. “I love dressing you. That full bosom! That tiny waist! Lord Melton is sure to propose.”
“Thank you,” Julia answered, silently amused. She wouldn’t bother to ask how her lady’s maid knew about Lord Melton. The servants knew everything.
At precisely four o’clock, the butler knocked. “Lord Melton has arrived, Miss Julia. I have put him in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Gettys. Inform him I shall be down directly.”
So the big moment was at hand. Julia picked up her white lace fan and started down the staircase, making a conscious effort to put herself in the proper mood. The catch of the season would soon be hers! She was going to be the next Lady Melton! Married to the perfect man, admired and envied by all!
Strange, how her heart wasn’t pounding with excitement. It soon would be, though, she was sure of it.
When Julia entered the drawing room, she found Charles Carstairs, Lord Melton, standing before the marble fireplace. Always attired in the latest fashion, today he appeared even more elegant than usual in a meticulously tailored serge spencer jacket over a waistcoat and drill trousers. A chitterling frill ran down the front of his shirt, which had to be of the finest linen, Julia was sure. As for his perfectly tied cravat, she could not imagine a spot of gravy landing on its snow-white surface. It simply wouldn’t dare.
His handsome face lit when he saw her. “Ah, Miss Winslow!” he said with a bow.
“Lord Melton.” She dipped a curtsey, further noting how absolutely gorgeous he looked. Tall and broad-shouldered. Thick head of wavy blond hair worn fashionably short with one careless curl falling over his noble forehead. Finely chiselled nose. Wide-set blue eyes with long, thick lashes . . .
Perfect in every way.
Rich and titled, besides.
For a short while they sat on the opposing settees and chatted. The weather . . . her parents’ health . . . his parents’ health . . . the Prince Regent’s latest escapade. All the while, Julia grew more restless. Would he never get to the point?
“I suppose you are wondering why I am here,” he said at last.
Finally. “I confess, Lord Melton, I am curious. ‘A matter of importance’, you said?”
Totally at ease, he smiled across at her, revealing his dazzlingly perfect white teeth. “Indeed it is a matter of importance to me, and of course my mother who is most anxious – how can I put this delicately? – to see the end of what she terms my profligate ways. To put it plainly, my mother feels it is time I married. That’s why I’m here.”
With one swift move, Melton arose from the settee and settled himself beside her. Taking her hand, he gazed deep into her eyes. “These past weeks I have developed a great fondness for you, Miss Winslow. You’re everything my mother could ever ask for. Daughter of a viscount. Fine family. Charming and beautiful besides.”
Something in Julia rebelled at his words. “But what about you, Lord Melton?” she tartly enquired. “How do you feel?”
“Of course I feel the same,” he smoothly replied. “Indeed, I think I’ve fallen quite in love with you and want you to do me the honour of becoming my wife.”
So there it was – the proposal, her mother’s dream come true. Why wasn’t her heart pounding with excitement? Why, instead, had she bristled when he talked about his mother? But surely she was being much too sensitive. Lord Melton has proposed! She tried to drum this exciting, incredibly wonderful news into her head. A “yes” formed on her lips. She remembered Granny’s words. Just kiss the man before you agree to marry him.
Not a bad idea. What could it hurt? With her hand still in his, she looked deep into Melton’s eyes and declared, “Do you realize we have never kissed?”
For the fleetest of moments Melton appeared taken aback but quickly recovered. “I do not believe we have.”
Never had she asked a man to kiss her before. In the past, such a request had hardly been necessary, but now, without a qualm, she asked, “Then shall we remedy that lamentable situation right now?”
“But of course,” Melton replied, remaining his usual imperturbable self. He placed his hands on Julia’s shoulders, drew her close, and brought his lips to hers. She placed her hands on each side of his elegant spencer jacket, pressed back with her lips and gave herself over to the enjoyment of the kiss. At last she was in the arms of the man she was going to marry! The man whose bed she soon would share!
She waited for hot excitement to strike. It did not. Instead, kissing Lord Melton was like . . .
Like . . .
Kissing a piece of paper.
Dry. Emotionless. Boring.
Indeed, she had hoped to be set aflame by his kiss – wanted to be set aflame – but Melton’s arid lips on hers did not stir her in the slightest. And aside from a slight quickness of his breath, he didn’t appear to be set aflame either, for he soon drew away and calmly enquired, “So may I have your answer?”
Again the word “yes” formed on her lips, but try as she might, she could not force herself to say it. So what would be wrong with a slight delay? Give herself some time, then say yes. “If you don’t mind, Lord Melton, I need a bit of time to consider your most kind and agreeable proposal before giving you my answer.”
He smiled. “But of course I don’t mind. As a matter of fact, tomorrow I’m leaving for my hunting lodge in Scotland. I shall be gone two weeks. You can give me your answer upon my return.”
Relief swept through her. He didn’t appear in the least perturbed, as she feared he might.
On his way out of the drawing room, Lord Melton caught sight of Julia’s paintings hung by the fireplace. “Those look like the ruins of Swindon Abbey,” he remarked, stopping to take a closer look.
“They are indeed, sir.”
“Actually I own them now that I’ve bought Hatfield Manor. The ruins are part of my estate.” Melton bent for a closer look, examining her favourite: a full moon hanging low over the jagged walls of the ruined church. “You painted this?”
“Yes.” She readied herself for a nice compliment.
“Very nice.” He laughed indulgently. “You ladies must have your little hobbies.”
Hobby? Words of protest rushed to her lips. My painting is more than just a little hobby, my good sir! I take my art quite seriously and have been told it’s very, very good.
But of course she said no such thing and instead forced a smile and declared, “Why, thank you, Lord Melton, how kind of you to say.”
When he bid her goodbye, Lord Melton bent low over her hand. “Good day, Miss Winslow. I shall return in two weeks, quite anxious, of course, to hear your reply.”
He peered at her with knowing eyes that said he wasn’t anxious at all. How could she turn him down when droves of London belles and their mothers pursued him? He was, after all, the catch of the season and had no doubt whatsoever what her answer would be.
“You said what?” Poor Lady Harleigh collapsed in a chair and stared up at Julia with horrified eyes.
“You heard me correctly,” Julia replied. “Lord Melton proposed. I told him I would like time to consider his proposal before giving him my reply.”
“Consider what?” Lady Harleigh enquired in complete bewilderment. “What is there to think about? What more could you possibly—?”
“I know, Mama, I know!” Julia knelt beside her mother’s chair and took her hand. “Please try to understand. I am aware how wonderful he is, but somehow I just couldn’t bring myself . . . It’s hard to explain, but I need a little time. What I would like to do is go home. After all, there’s no point in continuing the season, since everyone says I’ve already caught the best there is.”
Lady Harleigh eyed her with suspicion. “Why? What would you do at Bretton Court that you cannot do here?”
“I want to see Papa. Also, I need time to think, and what better place than the ruins of Swindon Abbey? You know I love it there.”
Her mother gazed at her sceptically. “What you find so fascinating about crumbling walls and messy piles of rock, I have no idea.”
“I just want to go home.”
“Very well.” Lady Harleigh sighed in resignation. “If sitting amidst the ruins of Swindon Abbey will bring you to your senses and make you see how fantastically fortunate you are that Lord Melton has proposed, then I am all for it.”
“Never fear, Mama. All will soon be as you wish. I simply need to clear my mind.”
Despite the gruelling all-day coach ride home, Julia gathered up her sketch pad and charcoal as soon as she arrived and walked the short distance from Bretton Court to the neighbouring ruins of Swindon Abbey. The sun was just setting as she arrived, providing the jagged stone walls of what remained of the nave with a breathtaking background of blues streaked with pinkish gold. How good to be home again, back to these beautiful ruins she loved! She searched for a subject to sketch. As always, she had so many to choose from: the jagged silhouette of the inner cloister, the beautifully arched arcades that once led to the monks’ living quarters but now led to nowhere. She chose one of the arcades and had almost completed her sketch when she heard the canter of a horse and looked up from her sketch pad.
She could not look down again.
A man on horseback was approaching, one of the most common sights imaginable, yet the graceful, easy manner in which he sat in the saddle held her spellbound. When he drew close, she saw he was casually dressed in breeches, an open-necked white shirt and plain Hessian boots. Closer still, she could see he was somewhere in his early thirties, wore his dark, wavy hair on the long side, and was regarding her with compelling brown eyes framed by a strong-featured face bronzed by the sun.
He rode to where she sat on one of the many large, broken stones scattered about. Reining his horse to a stop, he looked down at her and casually remarked, “You must be Miss Winslow.”
“How did you know?” Fascinated, she watched as he swung from his horse, performing an infinitely graceful dismount, which revealed a lean and sinewy body, muscular legs and broad shoulders.
“How did I know?” Touches of humour gathered around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. “My brother has been singing your praises. He has described in great detail your full red lips, your adorable nose and—” his eyes fell to her full bosom where they lingered an extra moment “—other parts of your exceedingly well-constructed anatomy. From what I understand, you are soon to be my new sister-in-law.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed, suddenly enlightened. “You must be Lord Melton’s—”
“Ne’er-do-well younger brother, Robert,” he interrupted with a wry smile. While he tied his horse to a nearby branch he went on, “Every family has one. Haven’t you heard?”
Words failed her. “Why, I . . .”
“Don’t worry about it.” His shrewd eyes regarded her curiously. “Just tell me why you’re going to marry Charles, will you? He’s not too bright, you know, and thoroughly self-absorbed. I doubt he could actually love you since he’s too much in love with himself.”
For a long moment, she stared at him in astonishment, her mind not able to comprehend his outrageous words. When they finally sank in, she realized he was only trying to bait her and burst into laughter. “I take it you’re not overly fond of your brother.”
“He’s my brother and I love him,” Robert replied. “I wouldn’t want to marry him, though.” He rolled his eyes upwards. “My God, what a bore.” He settled himself on the stone slab beside her, stretching his long legs in front of him. “When’s the wedding?”
He’d had her completely baffled, but now her confidence returned. She turned to face him, tipped her head and examined him curiously. “Are you jealous of your brother? I do believe you are.”
“Jealous?” He grew serious. “There was a time when actually I was. How could I not be? First sons get it all. Second sons?” His chuckle held a dry, cynical sound. “In my earlier days, I spent some time in London, leading a dissolute life feeling sorry for myself. After a rather unfortunate incident, I finally realized nobody owed me anything. It was up to me to make something of myself. That’s when I took hold of my life and I’ve not been sorry since. So let old Charles keep his vast estates, his hunting lodge in Scotland, his fine coach and six matched greys, I’m doing what I want to do and wouldn’t trade places for the world.”
“Just what do you do?” she asked.
He shrugged dismissively. “I’ve been talking too much. What do you do?”
“What do I do? Only what every well-brought-up young lady does. I embroider. Study French. Play the pianoforte. And also I—”
“Draw,” he said, eyeing the sketch pad she’d laid beside her. “May I see?”
“If you like.” She handed him the sketch pad. “It’s not finished yet.”
The sun had just set, leaving just enough light for him to examine her nearly finished sketch. He examined it carefully, holding it up to catch the last of the light. “This is good,” he said simply, “very good.”
There was something about the way he spoke . . . It was as if he wasn’t mouthing the usual empty platitudes but instead had judged her work as an expert who knew what he was talking about. “Why, thank you,” she replied. Ordinarily she didn’t care to discuss her artwork. Too many times she’d heard it referred to as her “little hobby”, but now, for some inexplicable reason, she found herself wanting to confide in this veritable stranger. “I come here often to sketch, and often render an oil painting from the sketch. I find these ruins so beautiful I can’t stay away and could paint them forever.”
“Yes, they’re beautiful, and haunting, too.” With heartfelt intensity Robert added, “Henry the Eighth was a despot of major proportions. Between him and his pal, Thomas Cromwell, they managed to destroy virtually every monastery in England. How monstrous. How incredibly greedy. How . . .” He caught himself and smiled. “But I shall save my outrage for another day. I would like to see your paintings.”
“Why do I have the feeling either you’re an artist yourself, or at least you know what you’re talking about when it comes to painting?”
“How very perceptive,” he said admiringly. “I would like to think I’m a good judge of art. I’m an architect.” With a wry smile, he continued, “That means I’m the family disgrace, of course. We all know a true gentleman does not work for a living. When my father learned I actually get paid for doing what I do, he was horrified. I truly believe he would have preferred I continue my dissolute ways in London where I could behave like a true aristocrat – gamble my money away and drink myself into oblivion.”
She asked, “Do you like doing what you do?”
“Recently I’ve had some success in London, designing in the neo-classical style, namely Palladian. Occasionally, when I get my fill of fluted Greek columns and fanciful curves, I turn to the old monastery ruins. My interest started just by chance when I was summoned by a gentleman whose estate included the site of a monastic ruin. He wanted it restored, so I happily obliged.” He paused and gazed around, taking in the ruins of Swindon Abbey. “It’s my fondest wish to restore these ruins, too.”
“But that would be wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I often sit here and imagine what Swindon Abbey must have been like three hundred years ago before the King ordered it destroyed.”
“It was like a small city here.” Robert nodded towards the jagged walls of the church. “The nave with its flying buttresses could be easily restored. Did you know there’s a beautifully tiled floor beneath all that rubbish? I could almost sell my soul to uncover it. Then there’s the kitchen, brew house, bakehouse and kiln house. A lot of agricultural buildings, too, and of course the fields they tilled and the small gardens the monks kept for their vegetables, as well as—” The sudden bleating of a goat interrupted. They both laughed at the small herd of goats nearby. “Things haven’t changed much in three hundred years. The local farmers still graze their animals here.”
She had been so immersed in their conversation she hadn’t noticed the sun had long since disappeared. Suddenly she realized it was almost dark and declared, “Uh-oh! I must be getting home or they’ll start to worry.”
“We can’t have that.” Robert rose to his feet and extended his hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting my sister-in-law-to-be.”
She took his hand. Her pulse quickened when she felt its roughness against her own smooth palm. So different from the soft, pudgy hands of those London dandies who would not be caught dead doing an honest day’s work. He helped her to her feet. They stood face to face, Julia growing increasingly aware that Robert Carstairs was a dangerously attractive man with a commanding presence which positively exuded masculinity. She gulped. Her mouth felt dry. She had a near overwhelming urge to flee before she made a fool of herself. “I was pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, making an effort to sound as prim and disinterested as possible. What was the matter with her? Why hadn’t she told him she had not yet said yes to his brother? Could it be she was afraid to?
They remained facing each other, so close she could almost feel the heat from his body. “Remember, I would like to see your paintings,” he said.
“Of course, Mr Carstairs. You must come to dinner—”
His hearty laugh interrupted her. “I’m the ne’er-do-well younger son, remember? Not received in polite society. I don’t care to impose myself on your family. Bring your paintings here. I’ll meet you tomorrow.”
The very thought of seeing him again caused her heart to flip-flop. But no! What utter folly when she was about to become betrothed to his brother. “I . . . think not.” She knew she would sound like a prude, but she had to say it. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
He laughed again, lightly clasped her shoulders, and bent towards her. “Proper or not, you will be here, same time tomorrow.”
His nearness made her acutely aware of her breathing. She had to get away, if for no other reason than to gulp some air. “I most certainly will not, sir. Goodnight.” She spun on her heel and left him standing.
“My brother’s a lucky man,” he called after her.
She stopped, turned, and opened her mouth to tell Robert Carstairs he was mistaken, she had not said yes and therefore was not yet betrothed to his brother. But the words stuck in her throat. She was definitely going to marry Lord Melton, so why allow this much too aggressive man to think otherwise?
Without speaking, she turned back and continued on, telling herself how foolish she would have been had she agreed to see Robert Carstairs again. Thank goodness she had sense enough to see that any further contact with him would lead to nothing but trouble.
That evening, Julia’s two older sisters and their husbands came to dine. In the past months, these dinners had been sombre affairs, the family still mourning the loss of the son and heir. But tonight the table rocked with jokes and laughter. Julia knew why. Her mother was happy again, indeed, downright giddy with joy that her youngest daughter would soon make the perfect marriage. All evening she was bursting with elaborate wedding plans, her infectious good spirits spreading to all of them, especially Julia’s father. Viscount Harleigh had also been devastated by the loss of his son, yet over the past months his main concern had been for his grieving wife. Now, as he sat at the head of the table, his kindly eyes brightened whenever he looked at her. He loved her dearly, as she did him. His delight in her newfound happiness was plain to see.
Throughout the evening, Julia stayed unusually quiet. Ordinarily she would have been actively engaged in catching up on family gossip with her sisters. Not tonight. Try as she might, she could not get Melton’s younger brother off her mind. She kept thinking about those dark eyes that seemed so shrewdly assessing . . . the graceful way he dismounted from his horse . . . the feel of his hand when he pulled her to her feet . . . Wait! What on earth was the matter with her? More than once she commanded herself to stop thinking about him, but her advice never worked. Instead, she started to wonder why he couldn’t come to dinner as she’d asked him to. Before she knew it, during a lull in the conversation, she declared, “I met Lord Melton’s younger brother today.”
From the foot of the table, her mother enquired, “Isn’t he the one who isn’t received?”
“Indeed!” Betsy, Julia’s oldest sister, who always knew all the gossip, nodded emphatically. “The Not-So-Honourable Robert Carstairs is the disgrace of the family, or he was, anyway.”
“Oh, dear,” said Lady Harleigh. “What shall we do after Julia and Lord Melton are married? Must we receive him?”
“Most certainly not,” her husband replied from the head of the table. “I heard he was involved in a cheating scandal at one of the London clubs. Boodles, I believe.” He shook his head in disapproval. “Absolutely disgraceful. Unforgivable.”
A cheater? “Are you sure, Papa?” Julia asked with rising dismay.
“As it turned out, it was all a mistake,” declared Betsy, sure of her facts as always. “Mr Carstairs was proven innocent of all the charges against him. Nevertheless, his reputation was ruined anyway, and he was never seen at any of the gentlemen’s clubs or any social events again.” She closed her eyes and thought a moment. “Ah yes, now I remember. He receives an adequate income from his grandmother’s estate, but from what I heard, he went into some sort of trade and is now actually working for a living. Can you imagine?”
Lady Harleigh looked relieved. “Then I won’t feel obligated to issue him any invitations.”
Julia breathed an inward sigh of relief. Thank goodness Robert Carstairs had seen fit to decline her dinner invitation. His appearance would have caused a flurry of consternation if he hadn’t. Even so, her mother’s firm words caused a clutch of dismay at her heart. Why that should be, she didn’t know. She had much more important matters to attend to than Lord Melton’s unpopular younger brother.
Contrary to her resolve of the night before, by the next day Julia found herself going about in what could best be called a daze. She could not stop thinking about Robert Carstairs to the point she could think of nothing else. During the morning she told herself she absolutely was not going to meet him at the ruins as he requested. By noon she was considering the possibility she might see him just one more time. What harm would it do? Then she would never see him again.
By mid-afternoon, not only had her resolve completely crumbled, she was trying to decide which of her paintings she should take to Swindon Abbey. Frames were out of the question, but many of her paintings had never seen the light of day and were rolled up and put away. She chose five of what she considered her best and rolled them together, after which she bathed and called upon a rather perplexed Yvette to help with her gown and hair.
“You are dressing for dinner rather early this evening,” commented Yvette, helping her into a simple gown of light-green calico.
“I suppose I am.” Julia hated having to sound so vague, but with a houseful of sharp-eyed relatives, plus servants who always knew everything, carrying out any sort of deception was never easy.
But she managed. During a quiet moment in the late afternoon, carrying her roll of paintings, she slipped from the house. What would one more meeting hurt? She would see Robert Carstairs one more time and that was positively all.
When she reached the ruins, she discovered Robert sitting on the same stone slab where they’d sat before, his long legs stretched comfortably before him. He rose to greet her, not seeming at all surprised she had come. “Ah, you brought the paintings.” He took the roll of paintings from her hand. “Let’s have a look.”
One by one, he laid them on the flat part of the slab and examined each carefully. “Beautiful,” he said of her special favourite which featured swirling clouds over the ancient stone monks’ quarters. “The depth makes me feel as if I’m there.” Another painting featured the still-intact south-west tower of the church, its dark stones etched against a brilliant sunset. After he scrutinized it carefully, he remarked, “Excellent! What harmonious colours! Your remarkable talent oozes from every brush stroke.”
By the time he finished, she was positively glowing from his praise. “You’re very kind,” she said.
“You’re a gifted artist. I’m surprised no one has recognized your work.”
She smiled dryly. “I shall only be recognized for my ‘work’ when I manage to find a husband.”
“Ah yes, we mustn’t forget old Charles.” He shrugged with disinterest. “But let’s not think of him right now.”
“I’d rather not.”
After he re-rolled the last of her paintings, they sat on the slab and continued to chat. She did her best to fully engage in whatever inconsequential topic they were discussing, but she found herself so aware of his presence she soon realized there were, in essence, two conversations going on. One had to do with the obvious – their spoken words; the other, so much more subtle, had to do with the intense waves of attraction that coursed back and forth between them. She could tell from the admiration gleaming in his eyes he found her desirable. In turn, his very nearness so made her senses spin it was all she could do to nod politely and respond in a normal voice.
At last, in the midst of his description of some ancient abbey, he stopped abruptly. Drawing in a sharp breath, he clasped her upper arms and declared, “Enough of this farce. You know I’m deucedly attracted to you, don’t you? So much so I—” He bent forwards as if to kiss her.
Finally. She pursed her lips, eagerly awaiting the crush of his mouth upon hers, but instead he abruptly dropped his hands and pulled away. Muttering a “Damn it,” he stood and walked a few steps from the slab. For a long moment he remained with his back to her, staring at the pink and gold streaked remnants of the sunset. Finally he turned to face her. “We can’t do this,” he said, his voice thick with intensity. A touch of irony in his words, he continued, “You must forgive me, Miss Winslow. I fear your charm and beauty are so compelling I was carried away and momentarily forgot you belong to Charles.”
“I do not belong to Charles or anyone else,” she sharply declared, keenly disappointed he hadn’t kissed her.
“Are you not betrothed to my brother?”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You haven’t?”
“I told him I would like to think about it.”
He thought a moment. “But surely you will.”
“Whether I will or whether I won’t is none of your concern, Mr Carstairs. Suffice to say that at this moment I am most definitely not betrothed to Lord Melton or anyone else.” She pointed to where he had been sitting. “Now will you please come back and finish what you started?” She was astonished at herself. Never in all her twenty-two years had she spoken so boldly to a man, but she so badly wanted him to kiss her that at that moment she didn’t care.
Her answer seemed to satisfy him, for he swiftly returned to her side, seized her in his arms and crushed his lips to hers. She kissed him eagerly in return, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer still. She found the touch of his lips such a delicious sensation that when they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, she immediately wanted more. Their lips met again. They continued on in a series of slow, shivery kisses that put her in such a world of dreamy intimacy she forgot time, place and every admonition her mother ever gave her.
Her heart lurched with excitement when he leaned her back on the slab and she felt his hand slide up her side. As it slid ever higher, a delicious current of wanting ran through her. His hand had just cupped her breast when—
“Bleaaah!”
Startled, they abruptly pulled apart and looked to see where the sound had come from.
“It’s one of the goats,” said Robert. They both broke into laughter at the sight of the bearded animal only a few feet away, at that moment engaged in munching on a shrub.
Sanity returned to her befuddled brain. She sat up and smoothed her hair. “What were we thinking of?” she asked, fully aware she would surely have continued had the goat not intruded.
He inhaled deeply. “You’re right. What were we thinking of?”
She saw that darkness had fallen. “I must be getting home. My family will be wondering where I am.”
“Of course.”
Thoughts of her family quickly returned her the rest of the way to stark, cold reality. What if the goat hadn’t come along? Would she and Robert have stopped? What if she had actually made all-the-way love with Robert Carstairs? Good grief, was she about to? The man had got her so hot with desire, so aching for his touch she doubted she could have mustered the strength to say no. In fact, she’d been so carried away she suspected the word no would not have even crossed her mind.
“We had best not see each other again,” she said.
“Nonsense. I’ll meet you here tomorrow. Make it two o’clock. Bring your horse. We’ll go riding.”
The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself she must never again be alone with Robert Carstairs, not if she valued her reputation and, in fact, her entire future. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.” He bowed slightly, his eyes full of mischief. “I value your friendship, Miss Winslow, as I hope you do mine. From now on we shall meet as friends.”
“Nothing more?” she asked, highly sceptical.
“Nothing more. I give you my word.”
Deep in her heart she didn’t believe him, but she could not bear the thought of not seeing him again. “Tomorrow. We’ll go riding – just for a little while, and just as friends.”
For Julia, the days that followed were the happiest of her life. She and Robert went riding every day, following the beautiful trails that led through the thick bordering woods or along the nearby river. Occasionally they passed Hatfield Manor’s gamekeeper’s lodge where Robert said he was staying.
“You don’t stay with Charles in the mansion?” she had asked.
“I told you Charles bores me to distraction,” Robert had replied with a grin. “I prefer to be alone and, besides, my stay is only temporary. I shall be leaving for London soon on business.” He’d feigned a lecherous expression and enquired, “Would you care to visit me in the gamekeeper’s lodge? You’re welcome any time, you know. We would be entirely alone.”
She’d laughed as he intended, but the very thought of being alone in a secluded place with Robert Carstairs gave her a secret shiver of delight.
Robert always brought along the makings of a picnic in his saddlebag. Every day they would stop at some beautiful spot along the way to eat and just talk. “Thanks to Charles’ cook we’ve got bread, cheese, fruit and chicken,” he told her the first time they stopped. “And—” he held up a sterling silver hip flask “—a bit of brandy to keep us warm in case a storm should strike.”
They talked of many things: her art, the buildings he’d designed, the ancient monasteries he’d visited and what he would do to restore them. True to his word, he made no further advances. On the surface she was grateful, yet secretly she yearned for his touch – more each day if that were possible – to the point where she thought she would scream if he mentioned one more time what good “friends” they were.
But she was well aware the idyllic days she was spending with Robert must soon end. So far she had managed to keep their trysts a secret, but how long could that last? And what did it matter? The two weeks Lord Melton was spending at his hunting lodge were nearly at an end. Soon he would return, ready to hear her answer.
Late one afternoon when Julia arrived home from a delightful afternoon with Robert, her grandmother summoned her to the drawing room. “Sit down, Julia.” Spying the sketch pad in her granddaughter’s hands, she lifted a sceptical eyebrow. “So you’ve been out sketching the ruins again?”
Julia immediately caught her meaning. Every time she’d left the mansion to meet with Robert, she’d made a show of bringing along her sketch pad. She hadn’t used it once. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she began, but her grandmother raised a hand.
“A rumour has reached my ears that you’ve been out roaming the countryside with Robert Carstairs. Is that right?”
Julia nodded. She could never lie to her grandmother. “How did you know?”
“How could I not know? Did you think such a juicy bit of gossip would escape the servants’ notice? Not that I care what you do, but your mother is sure to find out. Soon, I suspect, and you must be prepared. Are you in love with him?”
Julia was not given to excess, but her grandmother’s abrupt question caused her to burst out, “I adore him, Granny! Robert Carstairs is everything I ever wanted in a man. He’s a talented artist, as well as an architect. He has a love of the old monastic ruins, just as I do. Sometimes we talk about them for hours. We talk about all sorts of things. He’s never boring, he’s—”
“Slow down, missy,” Granny said with a smile. “My, my, he must be a remarkable man indeed. Have you kissed him?”
Julia felt a slow blush creep over her cheeks. “Yes, I kissed him, and it was . . . it was . . .”
“You needn’t go on. I get the point. What about Lord Melton?”
In the wake of her grandmother’s penetrating question, Julia’s euphoria quickly slipped away. “How can I marry Lord Melton when I have fallen madly in love with his brother?” She shook her head in dismay. “But if I don’t marry him, I’ll break Mother’s heart.”
“You must make a decision, and soon.”
“But I’m not sure what to do.”
“It’s simple. Either you follow your head or you follow your heart. Has Robert Carstairs proposed?”
“No, but I think he loves me.”
Granny shook her head in sympathy. “You poor girl, such a dilemma.”
“I’m meeting Robert tomorrow. Lord Melton returns the day after.” Julia gave her grandmother a rueful smile. “By then I’ll make my decision. If it kills me, I won’t be one of those wishy-washy women who can’t make up their minds.”
That night Julia lay awake staring into the darkness. Talking to Granny was one thing, but what, in reality, was she going to say to Robert? After all, he had not proposed, nor had he declared his love for her. In fact, since that never-to-be-forgotten kiss that the goat interrupted, he had behaved like a perfect gentleman, truly being nothing more than a friend. Perhaps that was how he thought of her – as just a friend. But if that were true, what were those messages of attraction and passion she had seen deep in his eyes when they talked? Had she been mistaken?
Perhaps she should cancel tomorrow’s meeting with him, wait for Charles’ return and simply say yes like everyone expected her to do. But no! She had to talk to Robert – find out how he felt about her and damn the consequences, even if she might very well end up making a complete fool of herself.
The next day, Julia saddled her horse and met Robert at the ruins of Swindon Abbey as usual. Immediately she felt tongue-tied. How was she supposed to find out how Robert felt about her? She couldn’t just ask. That would be much too “unladylike”, as Mama would say and, besides, she would be leaving herself wide open for rejection. What if, God forbid, all he wanted was her friendship? She was still searching for an answer when their ride took them deep into the woods past the gamekeeper’s lodge. An idea glimmered. Perhaps in the more intimate privacy of the lodge, she could find her answer. She reined in her horse. “I do believe I would like to see the inside of the lodge,” she said. “You’ve invited me often enough.”
“What’s this?” Robert remarked with feigned surprise. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be ravished the moment you step through the door?”
She tilted her chin. “I’ll take my chances.”
When she entered the main hall of the gamekeeper’s lodge, she was struck by how comfortable it was with its oak-beamed ceilings, huge stone fireplace, animal heads mounted on the walls and informal furnishings made of pine.
She settled on a sofa facing the fireplace. “I can see why you like it here. Where are the servants?”
He sat next to her and chuckled. “One or two come in from time to time to tidy the place up. Otherwise, I fend for myself. I prefer it that way, rather than staying in that huge monstrosity up the hill.” A rueful expression crossed his face. “Forgive me. As the future mistress of Hatfield Manor, you might be offended by my last remark.”
“I really don’t care what you call it,” she replied in a deliberately haughty tone. “What makes you so sure I’m going to marry Lord Melton?”
“Aren’t you supposed to have your answer ready when he returns tomorrow?”
He had asked the question casually, yet Julia detected an alert gleam in his eye. “My family expects me to marry him in the worst way, as you can well imagine.”
“Oh, I can imagine all right.” Robert tensed. His relaxed attitude of amusement disappeared. His eyes drilled intently into hers. “And you? How do you feel?”
At long last, the moment of truth had arrived. Follow your head or follow your heart, Granny had said. Well, she knew for certain her heart had won. “I don’t love Charles, and I’m not going to marry him.”
She started to lean back on the sofa and wait for his reply, but before she could, he roughly seized her shoulders and demanded, “Tell me exactly why you are not going to marry my brother.”
“Because . . . because . . .” Seeing the expectant gleam in his eye, she threw her last bit of caution to the winds. She laid a gentle palm on his cheek and continued, “It’s because of you.”
Robert drew in a ragged breath and pulled her close. “Are you sure?” he whispered in her ear.
The touch of his hands, locked tight against her spine, sent her senses spinning. “Will you just stop talking and kiss me?”
“Gladly.” First he kissed the tip of her nose, then her eyes. Finally he kissed her long and hard on her mouth. It was a kiss for her yearning soul to melt in, a kiss she returned with reckless abandon. When they finally broke apart, he sat back and regarded her with such a soft warmth in his eyes she knew beyond all doubt he loved her. “I had always assumed you would marry Charles, so naturally—”
“I don’t need to be a countess,” she interrupted. “Nor do I need half a dozen estates, or however many your brother owns. I just want to be with you . . . unless . . .” She cocked her head and regarded him quizzically. “Unless, of course, you want us to be just friends.”
With a deep sigh that combined both relief and delight, he replied, “Just friends? Surely you jest. You know you’ve stolen my heart. I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you, sitting amidst the ruins with your sketch pad. To hell with friendship. It’s been all I could do to keep my hands off you.”
“My darling, from now on you won’t have to.”
Robert pulled her into his arms again and began a series of kisses that left her weak with desire. When finally he murmured, “We need a bed.”
She nodded in agreement, feeling a giddy sense of pleasure when he scooped her in his arms and carried her off to his bedchamber.
Afterwards, when she lay naked in Robert’s arms, bursting with joy and completely satiated, she said, “I must be getting home soon. Will you come with me? It’s time you met my family.”
“Not yet.” Robert raised up on an elbow and looked down at her. “I prefer you finish your business with Charles first. When that’s done, we’ll make our plans.”
Never had she felt so blissfully happy, so fully alive! She could hardly wait to see Lord Melton again and give him her positive, irrefutable no.
When Julia returned to Bretton Court, she felt as if she were floating on a cloud. Robert loved her! She wanted to dance across the marble floor of the vast entry hall, just thinking about the blissful years that lay ahead. Together, she and Robert would work on restoring ancient ruins. They would raise a number of beautiful children. They would make love every night.
“Is that you, Julia?”
Her father’s voice. When she saw him she stopped short. Only once before, the night they learned Douglas had died at the Battle of Waterloo, had she seen his usually cheerful face so pale and drawn. “Papa, what is the matter?”
“It’s your mother. She suddenly collapsed this afternoon. The doctor says it’s her heart.”
In an instant her joy turned to anguish. “Will she be all right?”
“We don’t know yet. The doctor is still with her. I know you’ll want to see her, but first—” he laid a gentle hand on her arm “—you need to know that the cause of your mother’s collapse was you.”
Julia gasped and cried, “How could that be, Papa? You know I would never—”
“This afternoon a rumour reached her ears that you had been seen with Lord Melton’s younger brother, Robert Carstairs. You have been seen in his company more than once, and apparently quite enjoying yourself.” Papa looked her square in the eye. “You know how happy your mother has been, believing you were soon to become betrothed to Lord Melton. But now . . .” Papa’s voice broke. “Is it true, Julia? Are you involved with Robert Carstairs? If you are, I fear your mother may not survive another heartbreak.”
“Oh my God, I couldn’t bear it if—” Julia pressed her hand over her face, fighting back tears. “I wouldn’t hurt Mama for anything in the world.”
“I know you wouldn’t, daughter, but if you’re involved with this scoundrel, you will kill your mother as surely as if you had stabbed her in the heart.”
Never had her father spoken to her like that before. With a sinking anguish, she swallowed the sob that rose in her throat and asked, “Where is she? I must go see her.”
Papa’s jaw tightened. “I won’t have her hurt.”
“I won’t hurt her, Papa, I promise.”
“It’s me, Mama.” Julia bent over her mother’s bed, despairing over the sight of her mother lying there, so pale and wan.
Lady Harleigh grabbed her hand and clasped it tight with more strength than Julia would have thought possible. “Is it true?” she asked in a laboured whisper. “Have you been seeing Lord Melton’s brother?”
“Yes, Mama, I have, but . . .” At first the words she was about to say stuck in her throat, but she knew she had to say them. “Mr Carstairs and I are only friends. Don’t worry, I still plan to marry Lord Melton.”
The next morning, crumpled pieces of notepaper covered Julia’s writing desk, some of them tear-stained, all the result of her painful attempts to write a farewell note to Robert. She had not yet finished when her grandmother came hobbling in on her cane. Granny seated herself on a chair beside the desk, her lined old face frowning with concern. “You look terrible, missy.”
Julia gulped and replied, “I feel terrible.”
“Have you heard the doctor says your mother is better this morning?”
“I know. I’m very glad.”
Granny peered at her carefully. “You don’t look glad.”
“That’s because . . .” Before she could prevent it, a tear slid down her cheek. “Oh, Granny, I’m so glad Mama’s better, but . . .” She choked. Another tear followed the first.
Granny offered her lace-edged handkerchief. “I see the problem. You’ve lost Robert, whom you love, and you’re going to marry Lord Melton whom you don’t love.”
Julia took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You know everything, don’t you?”
“Just about.”
“Then you know my heart is broken and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Bitterness tinged her voice as she continued, “I shall be Countess Melton – oh what a thrill! I shall be one of the exalted leaders of the ton, everyone bowing and scraping. I shall flit from one country estate to another and . . . Oh, Granny, I’m so miserable I don’t know what to do!”
Granny frowned. “Why on earth did you tell your mother you would marry Lord Melton?”
“Because she would have died if I hadn’t.”
“That’s rubbish!”
Caught off guard by her grandmother’s vehement reply, Julia sat stunned for a moment. “How can you say such a thing when Mama was at death’s door, and all because of me?”
“Maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t. Either way, she and your father have no right to force you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
Julia slowly shook her head from side to side. “I don’t care what you say. What’s done is done. I gave my word I would marry Lord Melton and so I shall.”
Granny peered at her with her shrewd old eyes. “I cannot see you married to that foppish dolt.”
“Well, you had best get used to the idea.”
“I won’t. And furthermore . . .” A strange expression crossed Granny’s face, almost as if she’d had some sort of revelation. “I predict you are not going to marry him. Something’s going to happen that will make you change your mind.”
“Would you mind telling me what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Julia laughed wryly. “This time you’re wrong, Granny. I have lost Robert for ever and must make the best of it. Nothing on this earth could make me change my mind.”
Notified of Lady Harleigh’s illness, Lord Melton sent his best wishes for a fast recovery, adding he would await “that fervently anticipated moment when she would be well enough to receive guests again”. He didn’t have long to wait. After making a remarkably swift recovery, Julia’s mother not only abandoned her bed, she began planning a dinner party for some of her finest, most prestigious friends, including, of course, Lord Melton. She even invited the Prince Regent himself. Though Prinny refused, citing an important engagement elsewhere, her elation knew no bounds when the Duke and Duchess of Sherford accepted. “A Knight of the Garter will be at our table!” she elatedly declared.
An invitation was sent to Lord Melton “and guest”, as was the proper etiquette. Naturally Mama expected him to come alone, but when Melton returned his RSVP stating he planned to bring a guest, she grew alarmed. “Is it a woman? Do you suppose he has found someone else?”
“Nonsense, my dear,” her husband reassured her, “no one could replace our daughter. The dinner party will give Julia the perfect opportunity to give Lord Melton her answer. You have nothing to fear.”
Over the next few days, Julia wondered who Melton’s guest could be. In her heart she fervently hoped he had indeed found someone else and had lost all interest in her. Or . . . could he possibly be bringing his brother? She had not heard from Robert since she sent him her farewell note. Not that she expected a reply – or deserved a reply. But despite her decision to marry Charles, thoughts of Robert filled her mind nearly every waking moment. How could she live without him? How could she ever be happy again? She wondered, too, how Robert felt. Had she broken his heart? Was he as devastated as she? Why hadn’t she heard from him?
On the night of the dinner party, Julia, dressed in a daringly low-cut gown of white bombazine, performed her hostess duties as if by rote. Standing in the entry hall beside her parents, she was greeting guests when she saw Lord Melton pull up the drive to the front portico in his curricle. Robert Carstairs sat by his side.
Her pulse pounding, she watched Robert alight with infinite grace from the curricle. Never had she seen him so splendidly attired, looking every bit as dashing as his brother in a double-breasted wool frock coat with claw-hammer tails, long trousers, waistcoat, Hessian boots with a tassel, kid gloves and scrupulously tied cravat.
As the two approached, Lady Harleigh hissed behind her fan, “It’s that ruffian of a brother! What shall we do?”
Her husband whispered back quickly, “We shall receive him graciously, my dear. We have no other choice.”
Lord Melton approached and bent low over Julia’s hand. “I am delighted to see you again, Miss Winslow. I trust you will save some private time for me later on this evening?”
“Indeed I shall, Lord Melton.” Her spirits sank to a depth even lower than they already were. How could they not be low when she was only hours away from making a commitment that would last a lifetime, seal her wretched fate for ever?
Melton moved on as Robert approached and bowed. “Miss Winslow,” he murmured. If he was heartbroken and devastated, it certainly didn’t show. In fact, a faint light twinkled in the depths of his brown eyes, almost as if he knew something of interest she didn’t yet know.
“Mister Carstairs,” she murmured back. She wanted to say more, but other guests arrived and Robert moved on. She didn’t get a chance to see him again until they sat down to dinner and she found both brothers seated across from her. Although she tried to avoid it, Robert occasionally caught her gaze. What was that faint light still gleaming in his eyes? Again, she had the feeling he possessed knowledge of something she as yet didn’t know. But what? she asked herself miserably. Their affair was over. Done. She would never make love with Robert Carstairs again.
During the soup course, Lord Melton began expounding on the subject of Hatfield Manor, his newly purchased estate. As the whole table listened, one of the guests remarked, “I understand your estate includes the ruins of an old monastery.”
Melton smiled, eager to answer. “Indeed, you are referring to Swindon Abbey.”
“I hear it’s one of the most beautiful of all the monastic ruins. Do you plan to restore it?”
Melton’s laugh boomed around the table. “Actually I have just completed my plans. As you know, a good abbey ruin is a fine feature for a gentleman’s park. In a manner of speaking I shall restore it, although—” he stole a quick glance at his brother “—not as some would like.”
“What do you plan?”
“I will convert the south-west tower of the church into a shooting box. Perfect for hunting. Of course, those arcades will have to come down first thing. Otherwise, they’ll block my view.”
Robert spoke up. “Tell us your plans for a quarry, Charles.” He was addressing his brother, yet his gaze was fixed on Julia, as if he was waiting to see how she would react.
“Ah, yes, the quarry,” Melton enthusiastically replied. “Did you know there’s good money to be made from the ruins of these old monasteries? I plan to sell the stones for paving roads and the like.”
Julia nearly choked on her spoonful of turtle soup. When she was able to speak, she asked in a shocked voice, “Everything, Lord Melton? The church, the cloister, the storehouses . . . oh, surely not the monks’ quarters!”
Melton nodded equitably. “Actually the old monks’ quarters are the perfect size for the brewery I intend to install. As for the rest, except for my hunting tower, I intend to demolish Swindon Abbey down to the last stone.” With a chuckle he added, “In other words, I shall finish what Henry the Eighth started, eh?” Amidst sporadic laughter, he sat back with a pleased smile on his face.
Swindon Abbey demolished? Throughout the rest of the meal, Julia remained in a state of shock, hardly knowing what she ate, if she ate anything at all. When she accidentally caught Robert’s eye, she observed what appeared to be a faintly perceptible knowing smile on his face. Not only that, but his eyes held a question, as if he were asking, Now what will you do? Do you still plan to marry my brother, the greedy fool?
She thought long and hard. By the time the ladies adjourned to the drawing room, with the gentlemen remaining behind for their brandy and cigars, she had made up her mind and knew exactly what she was going to do.
Later in the evening Julia led Lord Melton into the library. After firmly shutting the door, she turned to face him and said without preamble, “I am grateful for your offer, but I cannot marry you.”
Lord Melton’s perennially smug mouth dropped open. His eyes bulged like some recently caught fish. “Am I hearing you correctly?”
“Indeed you are, sir. I would be doing you a disservice if I married you because I don’t love you and never could. Furthermore, I could never love a man who would destroy the beautiful ruins of an ancient monastery.”
Truly taken aback, he replied, “The ruins of Swindon Abbey are but an eyesore! I don’t understand.”
Why bother explaining? With his shallow mind he would never understand. All she could do now was soften the blow. “You are a remarkable man in many ways, Lord Melton. Handsome, charming, indeed, the catch of the season. I can name any one of a number of young ladies who would sell their souls to capture you.”
Her flattery caused Melton to give her a self-satisfied nod of agreement. To her relief, although he had obviously been taken by surprise, he seemed less than devastated. In fact, she had the distinct impression he would have shown more feeling had he lost his favourite cook.
After the barest of pleasantries Melton departed, leaving her standing in the library feeling as if a tremendous load had just been lifted from her shoulders. But she didn’t feel that light-hearted. She still had her mother to worry about – and Robert . . .
“May I come in?” Robert’s voice. He was standing in the doorway.
“Please do, Mr Carstairs.”
“Charles just told me.” He closed the door behind him and strode to where she stood. “By God, I was right!” he exclaimed.
“Right about what?”
“I knew you could never marry a man so crass, so insensitive that he would desecrate the ruins of Swindon Abbey.”
How well he knew her! “I could have forgiven him anything but that.” Nervously she bit her lip. “I can only hope my mother will understand.”
“She just might not be as upset as you might think,” he said in a voice so positive she wondered if there was something else he wasn’t telling her. But before she could ask, he took her in his arms, gave her one long, passionate kiss and declared, “I want to marry you. I cannot give you everything my brother could, but I have a good income, and as a matter of fact—”
“Say no more.” She touched a finger to his lips. “Of course I’ll marry you. I would marry you if you hadn’t a farthing to your name.”
As he kissed her again, she reflected that now only one dark cloud hung over her otherwise brilliantly shining horizon. She wondered if her mother would understand and could only pray the shock wouldn’t kill her.
Lady Harleigh was chatting with the portly Duke of Sherford when Julia and Robert entered the drawing room. When the Duke saw Robert his eyes lit. “Ah, Carstairs! I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you yet.”
Lady Harleigh frowned in puzzlement. “Congratulate, Your Grace?”
“You haven’t heard?” the Duke continued in his booming voice. “Robert Carstairs has been personally appointed by the Prince Regent to design the development of Marylebone Park. Quite an undertaking for a young architect, eh, Carstairs? You’ve certainly kept it quiet enough. From what I’ve heard, it’s going to be a ‘garden city’ with villas, terraced houses, crescents and even a canal and lakes. Good going, man!” He gave Robert a hearty clap on the back. “Prinny himself told me he’s a great admirer of your work.”
Lady Harleigh stood frozen in astonishment. When finally she gathered her wits about her, she addressed Robert. “Why that’s . . . that’s . . . I never dreamed! I thought—”
“That he was Lord Melton’s ne’er-do-well brother, Mama? Well, obviously not.” Julia threw a why-didn’t-you-tell-me glance at Robert, followed by a long sigh of contentment. She addressed her mother again. “By the way, whenever you and Papa can squeeze in a spare moment, Mr Carstairs and I have something to tell you.”