Page 57 of The Rake and Lady Julia
The carriage ride back to Penrith House felt far longer than the initial one to the theatre. Julia barely heard Charlotte, as she gaily planned out a future which involved the three wallflowers birthing dozens of babies, whom would all play together and be as firm friends as their mamas and papas.
"Perhaps," Charlotte continued, her eyes bright, "If we each have a boy and a girl, they shall marry each other."
"Calm down, dear," Penrith grinned, "We are yet to receive a child, yet here you are, marrying them off already. Do you know, in this light, you remind me a little of your grandmother?"
"Take that back," Charlotte cried, though there was no anger in her voice, in fact, she looked rather thoughtful. "Though, I must say, it is splendid fun, seeing people married off. I can rather see where the appeal lies in being a matchmaking mama."
Once they reached Penrith House, Charlotte summoned the footmen to fetch sparkling wine, and the newly minted Duke and Duchess of Orsino.
There was much cheering and hugging as the three wallflowers and three Upstarts were united, and everyone was in such good humour that no one even thought to tease Orsino about the three undone buttons on his shirt.
"Isn't it wonderful," Charlotte breathed, as she Julia and Violet chinked their glasses together, "We shall all live together on the square, and be friends for life. Everything has come together just perfectly!"
Well, almost everything, Julia thought with a pang.
As though her very thoughts had summoned them, Lord and Lady Cavendish arrived unannounced, having presumably barged past the helpless butler.
Julia paled, as Montague broke away from his friends, to come stand beside her.
"You," Lord Cavendish said, as pale-faced as his wife beside him.
Montague squared his shoulders, and Julia followed suit, preparing herself for an awful argument,
"You," Lord Cavendish continued, his eyes fixed on Montague, "Are not the husband we would have chosen for our daughter, but as she seems to have made up her mind to marry you, then we have no choice but to—"
Julia closed her eyes, preparing herself for the worst.
"—to welcome you into the family," Lord Cavendish finished stiffly.
"Papa?" Julia questioned, as her eyes flew open.
"I have but one daughter," the marquess said, his eyes watering slightly, "And I have no desire to lose her to a feud so old that no one can recall why it started."
On slippered feet, Julia ran the length of the room to her parents and threw herself into their arms.
There was much hugging, and crying, and when Montague joined them, Lord Cavendish offered him a stiff, formal handshake.
"Oh, Mama, I am sorry if I have upset you," Julia whispered, as tears slipped down her mother's cheeks.
"What would have upset me more than losing you to Montague," Lady Cavendish sniffed, "Would have been losing you forever. And we must look on the bright side."
"Oh?" Julia questioned.
"Well, one day he will be a duke, dear," Lady Cavendish whispered, much more cheerful now, "Which will make you a duchess. Just wait until I tell Lady Jersey; she thought she had pulled quite the coup, in marrying her niece off to an earl. I'll show her how it's done."
Julia resisted rolling her eyes at her mama's snobbery; she should be thankful for it, really, she thought, for it would smooth the waters for Montague's entrance into the family.
"Your mother is trying to convince me to build a house adjacent to theirs in Kent," Montague whispered, having been caught in conversation with the marchioness for a good fifteen minutes.
"Perhaps that is a little bit too close for comfort," Julia whispered back.
She loved her parents but, Lud, she was looking forward to having a little distance from them.
"Well, actually," Montague gave a smile, "I was thinking of building us a new home. John Nash lost a game of billiards to me in White's some years ago, and he promised to design me a grand new house, in lieu of actual money—the tight-wad."
"Oh?" Julia raised an eyebrow, for she could see that her husband was planning something from the devious glint in his eye.
"Yes, and I have the perfect plot of land for it," Montague grinned, "It is the very field that our ancestors fell out over, some five hundred years ago. There's a certain poetry to it, don't you think?"
