Page 21 of The Rake and Lady Julia
The Row was crowded, as it always was after five, and Julia tried to keep her smile affixed, as people peered into the carriage to catch sight of them.
"It's like being on display in Polito's," Lady Cavendish said, as a gig, bearing four young ladies, slowed down to look at them.
"Is being seen not the very point of driving on The Row at this hour?" Pariseau asked with a smile.
It was. And it was why Lady Cavendish had suggested the outing in the first place. Despite her utterances of annoyance, Julia knew that her mama was, in fact, most pleased to be on display.
Once they had circled the park, Pariseau instructed his driver to turn back for St James' Square. They left through the main gate, which led out to Piccadilly, which bustled with noise and grime. Once they reached James' Street, the scene changed to one more sedate, and Julia forced herself to enjoy travelling along under the newly blossomed cherry-trees, as a light wind whispered against her skin.
Lady Cavendish and Lord Pariseau were conversing betwixt themselves, and Julia was happy to let her mama take the reins for the remainder of the journey, until she was called from her daydreams to join them.
"We were thinking of holding a masquerade, to celebrate Julia's birthday, weren't we, dear?" Lady Cavendish called to her daughter.
"Er," Julia pulled her gaze from the sky to stare in bewilderment at her mother.
"Lord Pariseau," Lady Cavendish repeated, with a smile on her face that did not quite hide the fact that she was speaking through gritted teeth, "Has said how much he enjoys masquerades, and I was just telling him how we have been thinking of holding one near your birthday, have we not?"
They had not, but Julia knew well enough not to call her mother out on her lie.
She nodded dumbly, and Lady Cavendish beamed.
"Then that's settled," the marchioness said, with a smile to the earl, "We shall hold one at month's end."
"Splendid," the earl smiled, bestowing Julia with a soft look that she did not like, not one bit at all, "And perhaps we shall have more to celebrate than just a birthday."
Lady Cavendish was in such a state of excitement at his words, that the instant they arrived back at Cavendish House, she had to take to her bed with some smelling salts and medicinal wine.
"I shall have to cry off the rout in Sir Stare's," she informed Julia, as she departed for her bedchamber.
"No matter," Julia gave a Gallic shrug, "For if I recall correctly, you are not very taken by either routs or Sir Stare."
"Oh, you wicked girl," the marchioness tinkled, as she supped on her wine, "You'll have to entertain yourself for the evening. Perhaps you might peruse some old copies ofLa Belle Assembléefor ideas for your costume. If Pariseau is going to propose the night of the ball, you'll want to look the part."
"Perhaps I shall dress as Penthos," Julia replied brightly, knowing that her mama was not asau faitwith her Greek Mythology as she was with the latest bustles and bonnets.
"Splendid," Lady Cavendish trilled, before turning on her heel to climb the stairs, whilst calling for more wine.
Julia turned for the drawing room, idly pondering how one might fashion oneself into the Greek god of sorrow. She made for thechaise longue, intending to lounge for the evening, but found herself standing up a few moments later, too restless to rest.
Outside the evening sun shone brightly, casting its warm glow on the square. The leaves of the tall oaks in the gardens were stirred by a light breeze, and Julia felt a sudden urge to be outside in nature. She spotted her copy ofEvelina—which she was supposed to have read for the next meeting of the wallflowers—and decided that there was no better place to read it, than under a tree.
She requested the footman who had just taken her pelisse to give it back, and with a short word of her intention, set out for the gardens.
La! She thought cheerfully, as she slipped through the wrought-iron gate, this was what she needed. Peace, quiet, and a chance to catch up on her reading.
That the perfect seat on which to read just so happened to have the best view of Staffordshire House was of no importance, Julia told herself, as she flicked through the pages of her book, no importance at all...
With unseeing eyes, Julia read the first page of her book. As she reached the end of it, she realised that she could not recall a word that she had read, and forced herself to start again from the beginning.
She did this three times before she decided to give up on reading altogether; there was no point to it, when her attention was focused not on the page, but on the house before her.
"Fine old building, isn't she?" a voice called from behind her, "The design was drawn up by Edward Shepherd himself, before he set off to draw up plans for the old Theatre Royal."
Julia was at a loss as to how she should respond to Lord Montague, for she knew it was he who stood behind her. If she admitted that, yes, Staffordshire House was grand, then he would know that she had been spying on him, like some simpering debutante e. If, however, she denied that she had been spying on him—when the fact was quite obvious—he would think her a coward.
Julia debated on what she should say, but thankfully, when she turned, she found that Lord Montague himself offered something of a subject change.
"Lud," she cried, wrinkling her nose at the sight of him, "What happened to you? You look as though you have been dragged backwards through a hedge."
