Page 47 of The Rake and Lady Julia
Still, despite Robert's worry that his two habitually hedonistic friends might somehow make trouble for him, the night got off to a good start.
He gained entry easily, disguised as he was as a sailor. He had mingled with the other guests—all five hundred of them, including the Persian ambassador who had forgotten a costume and was trying to convince all who would listen that he was dressed as an Iranian.
Montague sauntered from room to room, clutching a glass of ratafia. He cared not for the other guests, and only for Julia, and as the night wore on without sighting her, he found himself growing nervous.
Perhaps she had changed her mind, he feared. Or her parents had discovered her plot and had locked her in her bedroom.
But, no, there was Lady Cavendish, waxing lyrical to all and sunder about her daughter's costume, so she must be somewhere.
Robert prowled through the drawing room and into the ballroom where at last he caught sight of the woman who was to be his bride, dressed as...
"I am a shepherdess," Julia said glumly, as Montague reached her, waving her staff and stuffed sheep for his benefit, "Mama thought it whimsical."
"Your mother and I have a completely different interpretation of what whimsy might mean," Robert said wolfishly. He had never been that taken with serving girls—given the disparity in power between them—but he had to admit there was a certain, pastoral charm to her outfit, which led Rob to wish they were already wed.
"Perhaps you might pack this into your trousseau," he whispered, though Julia was not listening.
"Oh, no," she whispered, "There is Lord Pariseau talking with Thomas."
Robert glanced in the direction she had pointed in and saw a highly irritated Lord Pariseau engaged in a heated discussion with Thomas Cavendish. Robert knew Julia's cousin only to see, but he had heard much about the heir's foul temper. If there was a scrape in Pickering Place, or a bout of fisticuffs in any of the gaming-hells, Cavendish was certain to be at the centre of it.
"He looks annoyed," Rob observed cheerfully.
"I just refused his proposal of marriage," Julia whispered back.
"I should feel a certain amount of empathy for the chap, seeing as how you refused me once, but sadly I find I have none," Rob replied, unable to hide his good cheer, "And why does he think complaining to your cousin might help?"
"I expect he thinks Thomas might strong arm me into rethinking my refusal," Julia replied, though she did not sound worried—far from it.
The two gazed at each other in a love-filled stupor, and possibly would have remained that way all night, had a shout not gone up, which caused every head in the room to turn.
"Montague," Thomas called across the room, "I thought that was you I sighted."
"You are the first one to see through my disguise," Rob called back evenly, worried that the hellion might make a dreadful scene, but determined to keep his cool.
"I didn't know you were invited," Thomas continued, as he crossed the room slowly to face him, "It must have been an oversight on the part of a servant, I will see that whoever made such a mistake is dismissed immediately."
"I mean no quarrel," Rob answered, holding up his hands in a sign of peace, "I am here to—"
He was not gifted a chance to explain his presence, for Cavendish reared back and delivered a punch to his jaw that sent Rob staggering.
"My compliments to Gentleman Jackson," Rob offered gallantly, as he righted himself, "He has taught you well."
"If you like my left hook that much, then I must introduce you to my right one," Cavendish whispered menacingly, as he advanced on Robert.
"Thomas, no!"
Julia's shout echoed across the room, perfectly in time with Cavendish's fist, which struck Rob again in the jaw.
"Can you not defend yourself?" Cavendish roared, as he staggered, but Rob refused to be baited.
He would not harm Julia's kin, especially not under her roof.
"He might have no wish to defend himself, but I shall defend him to the end," another voice interjected, and Rob closed his eyes as he realised who had spoken.
Lord Michaels, with Benjamin behind him, were advancing on Cavendish, with ill-intent in their eyes.
"Outside, everyone outside," Lord Cavendish called, breaking through the gathered crowd, "If you are going to brawl, do it outside like the dogs that you are."
