Page 5 of The Rake and Lady Julia
"Er," Julia had hesitated—unused to sharing so much with strangers, "I am Julia Cavendish. I am..."
Julia trailed off; she could not tell two strangers that she had disappeared because she was overwhelmed by loneliness—it really wasn't the done thing.
"I am Julia," she repeated, before continuing on determinedly, "And I am sick to my back-teeth of Almack's, and balls, and men who talk of nothing but themselves. And bonnets. I really don't care for them, at all."
Julia had been nearly breathless as she finished speaking, and for a moment she had wondered if she had—perhaps—overstepped the line with her rantings. But the two faces which looked back at her had held no censure, instead, they had been sympathetic.
"I have no time for Almack's," Charlotte had sighed, "What a waste it all is! I want to champion the poor and help those less fortunate—not bob about in a dress looking pretty and waiting for a man to pick me."
"I want to be a painter," Violet had added dreamily, "To see Venice, and Florence, and study with the great masters."
Well, Julia had thought, she had nothing to add, for she had never been allowed to be anything more than a blank page upon which her parents, and then endless suitors, had scribbled their hopes and wishes. A vase which they filled with their own dreams, not bothering to check if she had dreams of her own.
And now, here she was with nothing to add to the conversation, for she did not know what she wanted—she just knew what other people wanted for her and of her.
"I want to..." Julia had trailed off, frowning slightly as she thought. "I want to live. Really live. My own life. Not a life ruled by the diktats of my parents or a beau."
She had thought perhaps she had sounded silly, or spoilt, but Charlotte and Violet gave wistful sighs in answer to her impassioned statement.
"The ultimate dream," Charlotte had exhaled, her green eyes distant.
"T'would be heaven," Violet had agreed.
Julia blinked, wondering at the feeling which had burst forth within her chest. Was this—was this camaraderie she felt? If so, it was really quite pleasant.
"Perhaps we should band together," Charlotte had said, her tone implying that she had already decided they would. "Support each other through the worst of the season and help each other realise our dreams."
"Sounds good to me," Violet had replied cheerfully, "What about you, Julia?"
That she even had to ask the question made Julia want to laugh aloud. Only a few minutes before she had been wishing for friends, and now she had found not one, but two!
"I think it sounds splendid," Julia beamed, sealing the deal.
For the next two seasons, the girls were inseparable. Every ball, every musicale, every regatta or tea-party, they could be found bunched together—a trio of determined wallflowers.
But all good things must come to an end, and while Julia's parents had indulged her for two seasons, they had painedly let her know that this season, she was expected to wed.
"We only want what's best for you," Lady Cavendish had sighed, as she pushed a strand of Julia's hair away from her eyes, "You won't deny me the satisfaction of seeing my daughter safely wed to a man who can provide for her, will you, dear? Before I shuffle off this mortal coil, I should like to know that you will be cared for."
Lady Cavendish, who was the most robustly healthy person one could ever chance to meet, was quite fond of using her own death as a bargaining chip in negotiations. And, as she knew her daughter inside out, she also knew what else to play upon when trying to guide Julia in the preferred direction—Julia's stubbornly practical streak.
"I should hate to see you fall into the life of spinsterhood and end up as a companion to Aunt Mildred," Lady Cavendish had continued with a sad sigh, "But if you do not wed, I fear that is the path you will find yourself upon. For your father will not indulge you with another season, nor will he fund the bluestocking lifestyle you seem so bent upon. Don't you want a home of your own, dear?"
"Yes, Mama," Julia had replied, finally seeing what it was that she had been so blind to for the past two seasons.
Her friends had grand plans—but even better, they had families who would support those plans. Charlotte, whose father was one of the wealthiest men in England, was set to inherit a fortune—with or without a husband. While Violet had her twin brother Sebastian, who would gladly walk on hot-coals to ensure his sister's happiness—not to mention Aunt Phoebe, who would never force her niece into an unwanted marriage.
Julia was, in essence, alone in the world. Oh, her parents would never see her starve, but as Thomas was set to inherit—and her cousin was not overly generous—Julia could not hope to rely on him for future assistance.
Her future, without a husband, was a rather bleak prospect.
"Very well," Julia had sighed, squaring her shoulders like a man facing the gallows, "This is the year I will marry."
Her words were like a pistol shot, starting the race to find Julia a husband. In the weeks since, every eligible man her parents thought worthy had been thrust under Julia's nose for her inspection—and every one of them had been found lacking.
Julia gave a great sigh, as she leaned back against the wall and stared blindly into the distance. Her heart ached with a longing for something, anything, which might offer her an escape. Something which might fill her with the same hope that her chance encounter with Charlotte and Violet had offered, all those years ago.
"I want to live," she whispered to the empty alcove, feeling rather silly but equally as sincere.
