Page 58 of To Marry and to Meddle
It was much later thatevening that Emily finally had the opportunity to raise the subject of Julian’s father with him. She had thought to find a moment at the theater for a private word, but with Sophie nearby, and a constant litany of demands on Julian’s time—from a disgruntled supporting actress to a pair of stagehands who nearly came to fisticuffs over some sort of accident involving sandbags—she had no opportunity to speak to him alone.
Then Laverre had invited them to dine with him at home that evening, and they had offered him a lift in their carriage. This, Emily had no complaint about—she had been curious to see where Laverre lived, which turned out to be a quiet street in Bloomsbury, just off of Russell Square. They were met at the door by Laverre’s two sons, who promptly roped the gentlemen into admiring the card tower they’d spent the better part of the afternoon constructing, leaving Emily with Laverre’s wife, Lucie, and her toddler daughter.
Emily liked Lucie, whom she’d had the opportunity to converse with at her dinner party. Lucie had led an interesting life, the daughter of a viscount who had granted freedom to her mother, born into slavery. Lucie herself had lived in Jamaica before traveling to England with her father upon her mother’s death. Emily, who hadnever ventured even so far as Wales, could not imagine crossing an ocean.
“I assure you, it’s not an experience I’m eager to repeat, either,” Lucie had said, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. She was a beautiful woman, small and compact in build, with dark, thick curls, light brown skin, and rosy cheeks. “And I can’t tell you how much I hated it here when I first arrived—it was so dark and gloomy, and all of my father’s relatives didn’t know what to do with me. But my father settled a large enough dowry upon me that the family got over their hesitation quickly enough.” She rolled her eyes, her expression softening a bit when it landed on her husband, who was currently crouched on the floor on the opposite side of the drawing room, his younger son dangling halfway off his back, listening solemnly to something his elder son was saying.
“Did people…” Emily began, then trailed off, blushing, realizing her question was a bit forward. Lucie looked at her inquisitively.
“Did people—well, did they think Mr. Laverre was after your fortune, when you married?” Emily blushed at the impertinent nature of the question. “I only ask because, given the difference in your circumstances—”
“I’m sure some people whispered,” Lucie said, “but I learned long ago not to worry overmuch about what people whispered about me—particularly not people who judged me for the color of my skin, who only considered me worth their time because of my fortune.” She gave Emily a long look. “Is that something you find yourself struggling with, my lady—ignoring gossip?”
Emily sighed.
“Iwouldn’t be so bothered, but I know it upsets Julian.” Her gaze landed on the man in question, who had flung himself down on thefloor alongside Laverre without hesitation, seemingly engrossed in the conversation at hand.
Glancing at her companion, Emily saw that Lucie’s gaze had followed her own, a faint frown playing at her lips.
“I’ve known Belfry for more than five years now,” she said after a moment. “He’s a decent man, for all he used to pretend otherwise. He… well, he loves his family. When his sister married that earl, he paid all the bills at the modiste.” She glanced at Emily, then looked back toward the men before she spoke again. “He sends his mother flowers for her birthday. He’s even brought his brother here to dine with us. And—” Here she broke off, looking at Emily once more, considering. Emily thought she might be taking her measure. “And he used to send an invitation to his father before the premiere of every single show, offering him a seat in his box on opening night.”
Emily swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat, watching Julian nod solemnly at something one of the boys was telling him. “And the marquess never came.”
“And the marquess never came,” Lucie confirmed. “Eventually, I think Belfry stopped sending the invitations. But I can’t help but wonder—” She broke off yet again, and Emily looked over at her, watched her lips press into a firm line.
“You can’t help but wonder…” Emily prompted.
“I can’t help but wonder,” Lucie said after a moment, “if all of this—his marriage to you, this ridiculous-sounding new play, his entire fixation on respectability—is simply another way of extending that invitation.”
And Emily, looking back at her husband, found herself wondering the same.
That conversation echoed through her mind now, hours later,in the warm glow of her bedroom as she stood before the fireplace, wrapped in a dressing gown, staring at the flames. The evening had grown chilly and she was grateful for the sudden warmth at her back as Julian approached her; she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even heard the connecting door open, but she could feel him behind her now, only inches away, and after a second the weight of his hand settled on her shoulder.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She turned, dislodging his hand from her shoulder in the process; he let it fall to his side. As she had done, he had changed clothes, and now wore just a pair of loose-fitting breeches and a banyan, his bare chest visible. This was a mildly distracting sight, as ever—Emily did not quite know how to grow used to the fact that she could be surprised at every turn by a half-naked man, particularly one who looked as good with his clothes off as Julian did. The desire she felt when she looked at him still felt almost wrong somehow, despite the fact that she knew how much he enjoyed it, that it stoked his own desire in turn.
“I had an interesting conversation with Lady Northbridge yesterday,” she said, reflecting that this might well be a sentence no one had ever had cause to utter before. “Whilst paying an afternoon call.”
Julian arched a brow, a similar thought writ plainly on his face. “Oh?”
Emily took a deep breath. “She mentioned something about your father.”
The effect was instant: the raised brow lowered, the slight smile that played about his lips vanished, the lazy, seductive heat that had lingered in his eyes as he gazed at her cooled. Emily had not really expected any other sort of reaction, but she still didn’t enjoy watching it happen.
“What about my father?” he asked calmly, crossing his arms overhis chest. He was watching her very carefully now, as if she were a wild animal whose behavior he could not quite predict.
“Were you aware that he has been putting in a good word for you for years?” Emily asked bluntly. “Among polite society, I mean?”
Julian frowned. “No, he hasn’t.”
“He has,” she insisted. “Lady Northbridge mentioned it today—all but implied that the marquess was the only reason you were still invited anywhere.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “Well, Lady Northbridge must be mistaken. If my father can’t bring himself to so much as walk down the same street as the Belfry, I don’t think he’s terribly likely to bestir himself on my behalf.” Tension was evident in the lines of his body, practically radiating off of him, and Emily hated that she had been the cause. Carefully, she reached out a hand and placed it on his arm.
“Perhaps your father,” she began, “does not know how to tell you in words that he still cares for you.”
Julian shook his head. “Don’t be absurd,” he said shortly. “If this is true—which is a very bigif, I would remind you—he’s no doubt only done it to ensure that my mother and sister don’t suffer snubs from these ladies. It’s nothing to do with me.”
