Page 23 of The Rake and Lady Julia
"The dull half, I don't doubt," Julia was droll.
"Oh, you wicked girl," Maria laughed, "Poor Lord Pariseau, he might not have charm, but charm means very little when there is no substance behind it."
How true, Julia thought, her mind instantly flickering to Lord Montague. If ever there was a man who was all mouth and no trousers, it was he, she thought fiercely, then flushed. Perhaps she should have picked a less visual idiom, for now all she could think of was Lord Montague's mouth, as she valiantly tried to dissuade her mind from also picturing himsansbreeches.
"There it is," Julia said, with a sigh of relief, as she spotted the book where she had left it.
The book remained pristine, untouched by rain or morning dew, and Julia said a silent prayer of thanks for the fine weather they had been gifted with of late. Though now that it was returned to her in one piece, she would have to think of another excuse as to why she had invariably not finished it in time for the next meeting of the wallflowers.
Maria insisted on taking the book from her mistress, though Julia was quite capable of holding it herself.
"The ink might run and ruin your lovely dress," the lady's maid clucked, "And it would be I who'd have to clean it, not you. I don't know why you insisted on wearing it for a tour around the gardens."
Julia wore her new morning dress, made from rose-coloured levantine, with a wide bouillonné of Irish lace at its hem. It was far to o grand for a jaunt around the park with Maria, but subconsciously—or perhaps consciously, if she was honest—Julia had dressed herself to her best advantage, so that if by chance a certain marquess were to glance out of his window and spot her, he might see what he had lost with all his lies.
"Lord Pariseau has not proposed yet," Julia said, by way of explanation, "Does it not behove me to look my best when out, in case I happen to chance upon another suitor?"
Perhaps she had laid it on too thick, for Maria frowned suspiciously. She had been with Julia since she was a child, her position having transitioned from nurse-maid to lady's maid as Julia grew. It was odd, especially for such a wealthy family, but Lord and Lady Cavendish had been reluctant to let go of the ties which bound Julia to childhood—including Maria. Not that Julia minded, for she was terribly fond of her.
"You're suddenly very enthusiastic about finding a husband," Maria said.
"Well, if I don't, we shall both be sent off to live with Aunt Mildred," Julia countered, "And in between her breaks from running hell, we shall both be at her beck and call."
"Oh, you are wicked," Maria chastised, but her face had paled at the mention of a life serving Aunt Mildred. With her free hand, she fixed the bustle of Julia's skirt whilst assessing her appearance for any anomalies.
Not that there was any great call for Julia to look completely perfect, given that the gardens were completely empty.
The two ladies took a turn around the square, admiring the tulips and grape-hyacinths which had burst into bloom beneath the trees.
They had just agreed to return home, when Julia spotted a familiar figure barrelling along the path.
"Aunt Phoe—I mean—Lady Havisham," Julia said in greeting, to Violet's Aunt Phoebe, "Good morning."
"I suppose you're wondering what I am doing in the private gardens of St James' Square?" Phoebe replied, in her Scottish burr.
In fact, Julia had not, and given Phoebe's curmudgeonly tone, she had no desire to probe for answers she had not been seeking.
"The Earl of Allen lost his key to me at a game of whist," Phoebe supplied, as her lady's maid, Dorothy, caught up with her. "I had no wish to lord it over the old bugger by prancing about here, but as yesterday the public parks were so filled with flying blunderbusses —or is that blunderbussi ?—I regret I have no choice. I need peace and quiet to practice my backhand, you see?"
Lady Phoebe gestured to Dorthy who was carrying two battledores and a shuttlecock under her arm, but Julia's attention was not focused on the septuagenarian's drop-shot, no, it had caught on something else she had said.
"A flying blunderbuss ?" she asked, as her heart began to beat erratically in her chest.
"Two of them," Lady Havisham sniffed, "Lord Montague and some French fellow, jumping out of trees in Green Park. The addle-pate landed on his bottom and caused quite the ruckus. Was it another man, I might have worried that such a blow might have knocked the sense out of him, but as it is Lord Montague, I rather think there was very little sense to be lost."
"He's not so bad," Julia replied, without thinking, and Lady Havisham narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.
"I thought only two were lost," she said cryptically, "But now I fear it is three. You'll have to excuse me now, dear, I have a match to practice for. Miss Penelope Tavern thinks she has bested me, but I will show the little upstart."
With that, Lady Havisham was away, trailed by Dorothy who seemed as enthused by her mistress for a morning of playing battledore.
"Is Miss Penelope Tavern not eight?" Maria questioned, once Lady Havisham was safely out of earshot.
"Probably," Julia shrugged, but her mind was not on Lady Havisham, but on Lord Montague, who had spent the previous day attempting to fly.
"Oh," Julia groaned, placing a hand to her brow as she recalled her cruel words to him.
"What is it?" Maria asked, startled by Julia's sudden outburst.
