Page 4 of The Rake and Lady Julia
The endless whirl of balls and outings was not as fun as she had anticipated they would be, and her soul felt rather flat. True, dozens of men sought to claim her hand, and her dance card was always full, but still Julia could not find contentment.
There was something missing, Julia had thought, and one evening, as she listened with glazed eyes to yet another suitor, she realised what that was.
Friends.
Young ladies, all of them it seemed, had bunched off into groups. She could see them over her suitor's shoulder, giggling and whispering together, or chatting seriously, or silently walking the room together. All of them seemed to be having tremendous fun, while Julia was left alone to listen to men talk at her and not to her.
Julia had never had a friend, unless one counted Thomas, which she did not for her cousin had never treated her as such, and during her first season out she began to realise that the growing disquiet within her was not some strange malady, but loneliness.
On the night that she first met Charlotte and Violet, Julia had been suddenly struck by the terrible idea that even though she was surrounded by people, she felt very much alone, and had felt so overwhelmed that she had taken herself away on the pretext of mending her hem.
In the alcove, she had taken one long, shuddering breath, as she had sought to quell the tears which threatened to spill from her eyes.
Luckily, before she had a chance to dissolve into mist, a figure had barrelled through the velvet curtains, at such a speed that she had crashed straight into Julia.
"Oh, I am sorry," the girl had cried, as she straightened herself up, "I did not see you there. Oh, but I am not sorry as well. I cannot bear to watch Aunt Phoebe disgrace herself so."
The girl, despite declaring that she could not watch the scene she had sought to escape, had duly turned and poked her head back through the curtains, giving a groan of despair at what it was that she saw.
Curious, Julia had pushed away thoughts of her own sorrows, and had peeked out through the curtain to see what was amiss.
"Is that your aunt?" Julia had queried, nodding toward a stout woman wearing what seemed to be a full peacock upon her head.
"Yes," the girl beside her had whispered.
"And is she..?"
"Yes," a great sigh had erupted from the girl beside her, "She really is poking Count Lieven in the belly with her cane. Oh, she can be so—so—so Scottish sometimes. She should know better than to talk politics at Almack's. I shall never live it down."
The girl had then removed herself from her spying post and had thrown herself down on to one of the chairs with a moan of dismay. Julia, who was not accustomed to anyone—particularly strangers—exhibiting any signs of distress, hovered around her like a worried hen.
"Well," she had offered brightly, hoping to soothe the girl, "At least you can take comfort from the fact that nobody has ever died of embarrassment."
"They just wish they had," came the dark reply, quick as a whistle.
"Er," Julia's repertoire covered bonnets, ribbons, and articles fromLa Belle Assemblée, it was not equipped to deal with despairing young ladies and their mad aunts. Thankfully, Julia had been saved from her panic by the arrival of another girl to the alcove.
"Oh," the girl had glanced from Julia to the other girl curiously, "I did not expect to find anyone here."
"Well, next week you shan't," Julia's companion had offered with a wan smile, "For I am certain that my voucher will be revoked after my aunt's performance this evening."
"Is Lady Havisham your aunt?" the new girl questioned, with an approving smile, "I must say, she really is tremendous. Did you know she's upbraiding the Russian ambassador on behalf of Poland, as we speak?"
"Lucky Poland," the girl gave a giggle, "Though I don't think her efforts will come to much."
"You never know," the new arrival said brightly, "She really is quite terrifying. Count Lieven is probably worried that she'll replace her fox stole with one made from him."
The three girls had all burst out laughing at the idea of Lady Havisham wearing the Russian ambassador as a scarf, and they were momentarily united in laughter.
"Are you both hiding too?" the new arrival had queried, bluntly . "My old paramour has arrived and he made a beeline for the American heiress he's rumoured to be courting. I couldn't stand to watch that scene unfold."
"Oh, would you find it terribly sad to see him with a new love?" Julia had asked, sympathetically.
"Lud, no," the girl threw back her head and gave a laugh, "She's his new victim, not his new love. I was just afraid that I would not be able to restrain myself from trying to rescue her. It would be a fool's errand, though, for thetonwould simply think me mad with jealousy rather than concern. I am Charlotte, Charlotte Drew."
Her words were delivered in a forthright, honest manner, which Julia had found endearing. Here, she thought, was a lady who would always speak her mind.
"I am Violet Havisham," the girl on the seat gave a small wave of her hand, "Hiding from my aunt, and from having to face into another evening as Almack's resident wallflower."
