“That is why I am I, and you are you,” Simone replied in her light accent, with considerable pride. “Go on and see your man now.”

“He’s not my man,” Julia corrected, feeling her face turn a treacherous red.

“I am sorry, I did not express myself well,” Simone said with a small smile. “Go and see the man who is here to visit you all.”

Julia nodded uncertainly and headed downstairs to the drawing room.

And there he was.

She’d waited so long to see James, and there he was at last. His light brown hair was shorter, his clothes finer, his build a bit leaner than the last time she had seen him. She noticed every difference even as she savored the sight of him.

She was a fool, she knew, but she was a willing one. It was just so good to see him, to have him around again.

Overcome, she grinned and launched herself toward him. Forgetting where she was or who was watching, she dashed up to greet him with an embrace as she would a member of her family — then skidded to a stop, suddenly recollecting herself when only a step away from embarrassment, and bobbed into the most awkward curtsy she’d ever managed. James, for his part, reached out a hand to shake hers, then began to bow, then reached out in response to the beginning of her attempted hug, then collected himself and bowed again. As they both straightened up, they were aware of Lady Irving and Louisa staring at them, puzzled, and Julia’s chagrined blue eyes met James’s green gaze.

They looked ridiculous, they both realized at once, and they burst into laughter. James wrapped Julia in a friendly hug, holding her so tight he actually lifted her feet off the floor.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” he said gruffly. “Happy Christmas.”

My dear, she thought. Call me “my dear.”

He didn’t, of course. He never would. But held close to him, Julia’s heart pounded all the same. She felt short of breath, and not because he was holding her so tightly. He was here, and he was holding her, and just for a second, she wiped from her mind that nagging awareness that he wasn’t here for her.

Just for that precious second, she allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder, allowed the feel of his arms to imprint her body with their heat and strength.

But just for one second. Then she pressed her arms against his chest as a signal to set her down.

He did at once, but she remained standing next to him, too close for propriety, but unable to step away. The warmth of his arms still soaked through her, heating her whole body and, she knew, turning her face pink with awareness. She felt such joy at seeing him, she could hardly contain it. And yet she had no words of greeting; no words at all, which was a shock for her to realize. Usually words spilled out of her unbidden. But for James, she had nothing. Perhaps there was nothing she needed to say.

She became suddenly self-conscious and realized that she was behaving in an improper fashion. She took a giant step backward and clasped her hands behind her back to keep them from treacherously reaching out for James again. She glanced at Louisa, who seemed to be amused. Lady Irving, fortunately, was digging distractedly through her reticule by now. To Julia, seeing James again after weeks apart seemed the first sun after a long winter; to Lady Irving, it was just the beginning of a dinner engagement.

Noting Julia’s unease, James covered for her hesitation with the smooth presence of mind of the nobility. “Now that we are all here, shall we go? I’m sure my mother’s impatient for her dinner. You know how it is, ma’am, when you get to be a certain age.”

This last remark, unmistakably directed at Lady Irving, broke the spell of silence that was making Julia feel so discomfited. The barb was tempered with a mischievous smile that drew an unwilling cough of startled amusement from her ladyship.

“You young rogue,” she replied in cheerful tones, and allowed him to escort her downstairs to the front door.

“Here goes nothing,” Louisa murmured to Julia as they followed behind.

“Not at all,” Julia replied, attempting to hearten her sister. “Here comes a delightful Christmas Eve dinner with your future family, who will love you at once. It’s going to be marvelous.”

If only she had been right.

Chapter 11. In Which Plum Pudding Is Vulgar


Matheson House, in Cavendish Square, was large, cold, stately, and formal. The chill in the air came less from the sharp temperatures outside, which were tempered by a roaring fire in the drawing room, than from the dismissive expression on the Viscountess Matheson’s face as she greeted her guests.

The room was elegantly trimmed with holiday greenery. Julia felt somewhat cheered as she glanced around, taking comfort from the familiar freshly cut mistletoe, laurel, and holly.

They’d be cutting those now in the country, she realized. She could almost imagine her mother and young siblings running around the house in excitement to decorate it. Her father, she thought, would carefully consider which goose the family would eat for their Christmas dinner. Ultimately, she knew, he would decide he couldn’t part with any of his beloved animals, and would beg his wife to spare them all and order cheese for the family dinner. Then Lady Oliver would speak to the cook later, one of the geese (it didn’t matter which) would be killed and delectably roasted, and tomorrow Lord Oliver would enjoy the Christmas feast with gusto, never thinking about the source of the delicious meat served to him.

Imagining the comforting family rituals, Julia felt very distant indeed from their home in Kent. A wave of nostalgia hit her with surprising force. Louisa had been right; they were a world away from that now. Why on earth had she come here?

She reached for Louisa’s hand for support, but just then James spoke, and she remembered why she had come.

That’s right, she recalled; it was for Louisa. And, were she to be honest, for herself, too.

James presented the visitors very properly to his mother and to his elder sister Gloria, a widowed viscountess herself, whose lovely face was stiffened into an expression of extreme hauteur. Gloria still wore the dark crepe of half-mourning, and James explained that Gloria and her young daughters now lived with his mother since her husband’s heir, the new Viscount Roseborough, had acceded to the title several months before and taken possession of the ancestral property.

“Everyone is happier this way,” he explained. “My mother and sister truly enjoy each other’s company.” He smiled encouragingly at them.

“I can see that,” Julia murmured into Louisa’s ear, noting the unresponsive faces of James’s female relatives. “They both look simply ecstatic.”

Louisa didn’t respond aloud to her comment, but a nervous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

James hadn’t been exaggerating when he said his mother would be eager for her dinner. The unconventional party of James and the five ladies (“just an intimate dinner,” the elder viscountess explained with a syrupy smile, “so we can all get well acquainted”) progressed downstairs to the meal almost as soon as introductions had been dispensed with.

“I’m sorry about the short notice on this,” James offered in an aside to the two young women. “It was, ah”—he shot a quick glance at his mother—“a bit difficult to get everyone’s plans figured out. I’m so glad you could come anyway; I think this will be a very good opportunity for you to become comfortable with one another.”

His voice was hopeful. Already, Julia was less so even than when she had arrived.

It was through her dinner that Viscountess Matheson demonstrated the Christmas spirit, not with gladness of heart or generous statements of welcome, but with slices of tongue and generous portions of food. Besides the tongue — which Julia couldn’t bring herself to eat, being just a bit too cognizant of its source due to all the time she had spent with Lord Oliver’s livestock — their hostess provided the party with several lavish courses, including a succulent roasted goose, rabbit, pheasant, and quail.

This surfeit of dishes was accompanied by very little conversation. James’s sister spiritlessly picked at her meal, while the elder viscountess selected and consumed her food with single-minded relish. She spoke mainly to James, and even then talked only of titled young women with whom she would like him to become acquainted.

“Lord and Lady Alleyneham will be in town soon after the new year,” she informed him, forking up a wafer-thin slice of quail. “I believe they’re planning a ball to open the season in early spring. I’m sure it will completely eclipse their ball at the end of last year’s season.

“That affair proved to be rather lackluster, wouldn’t you agree, my son?” she asked, flashing a sweet smile at James. “But Charissa Bradleigh — that’s the earl and countess’s third daughter, you know — is a simply lovely girl. I am sure you would like to see her again and get much better acquainted.”

Louisa was cowed completely into silence by this barely cloaked insult, for it was at the previous season’s Alleyneham House ball that she and James had met.

James, for his part, seemed to miss the hidden meaning of his mother’s words. He simply replied that he had very much enjoyed every ball the earl and countess had put on, and expected this next would be much the same.

As the cloth was removed in order that dessert could be served to the silent party, Lady Irving finally came to welcome life at Julia’s side.

“It’s no wonder the late viscount suffered from gout, eh?” she stated, just quietly enough that their hostess could pretend not to hear, and just loudly enough to ensure that she did hear. This remark drew an answering sniff from the viscountess, but her attention was immediately distracted by the arrival of a variety of sweets, including syllabub, tarts, and a mince pie.

Julia had a nearly irresistible urge to shout “hell” at the top of her lungs and shove a tart into the arrogant faces of the two viscountesses. She knew this wouldn’t be the most auspicious time to try out particularly unconventional behavior, but still — how had a man like James come from a family like this?

She felt annoyed at his relatives for being so unwelcoming to Louisa, a future member of their family. In comparison to that, their cool disinterest in Julia herself seemed unimportant. Louisa had been nervous before the visit; now she almost looked ill from distress. Julia wondered desperately what she could do to help her sister feel more comfortable.

Thus it was that Julia blundered. Her mind distracted, her eyes blankly cast over the desserts laid out on the table, and they noticed something missing.

“No plum pudding?” Julia’s disappointed question slipped out before she thought.

Oh, dear. She’d done it again.

She met Louisa’s dismayed gaze, stricken at her carelessness, and then bravely turned her eyes to the viscountess.

Lady Matheson looked her over coolly for a long moment, then returned her attention to the selection of sweets. “Pudding is vulgar,” she informed Julia.

Julia flushed, but raised her chin. “Really? I was unaware that such a popular tradition was vulgar. I must be dreadfully common, if so.”

“I find that very possible,” the elder viscountess replied matter-of-factly.

A shocked silence fell over the table. After a moment, James broke it. “Really, Mother; that’s very impolite.”

“So is a guest who questions the spread laid before her by her hosts,” her ladyship replied, unperturbed.

“That’s utter nonsense, Augusta.” Lady Irving verbally shoved her way into the conversation with the familiarity of a long-lost girlhood friendship. “If you don’t have a pudding when you invite guests over on Christmas Eve, you’re positively un-English. And if you insult your guests, you’re positively rude. Now, shall we try this exchange again? I am sure you’re eager to welcome us, seeing as how your summons was so urgent that we left family Christmas in the country in order to spend time with you instead.”

Her voice was calm, but her eyes were steely. Julia felt a whirl of excitement in her nervous stomach. Her aunt was often irritable, always opinionated, but rarely angry. She was a force to behold at this moment, tall and stately in her chair, the inevitable ostrich plumes adorning her crown of hair, sherry-brown eyes boring into those of her old acquaintance as she awaited a response.