Theresa Romain - Season for Temptation

This was what she had come to, after only four days in London. No wonder Louisa thought it a wretched place.

Louisa didn’t seem to think Julia a wretch, though. She was as calm as ever as her eyes skimmed over the spines of Lady Irving’s books.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked Julia. “Goodness, I do believe I’ve read all of these at least twice already.”

“I’m so sorry,” Julia blurted, rushing over to her. “They took so long, and I was so excited at first, and then I was so hungry I couldn’t even think about anything else. Which is obvious, because I didn’t think of you and how boring it must have been for you, and I do hope your feelings weren’t hurt, and I think it was very impolite of Madame Oiseau to refuse to take you on.”

“Slow down,” Louisa admonished and squeezed Julia’s hand, a quiet half smile on her face.

“Don’t worry about it,” she continued. “If you had a good time, I’m happy I went. My aim is to do what I can to help you shine even more than you usually do.

“Although,” she added, her delicate brows furrowed in consideration, “I’m not sure I actually helped at all. They didn’t exactly consult my opinion in the matter of the fitting, not that I would have dared disagree with them anyway.” She smiled, a real smile this time. “Perhaps I should have just stayed home with a book?”

“I’m so glad you didn’t,” Julia said eagerly. “The whole time they were looking me over, I felt like I was a horse being trotted out, only I had no idea what they wanted from me.”

“You need to work on your French,” Louisa said. “Simone was talking about how much spirit you had, which was apparently clear to them both from the way you were fidgeting in your chair.”

Julia gaped at her. “Fidgeting? That’s what impressed the illustrious madame?”

“That, and the fact that she thought you were extremely beautiful,” Louisa said, pinching Julia’s nose affectionately. “She thought you lacked polish, but Simone convinced her that it was charming, and her beautiful clothes would be all you’d need to be the talk of the ton.”

“I am charming, in my own way. And I don’t want to be the talk of the ton,” Julia protested. “I just want one nice man to fall in love with me.”

One specific man. .

Yes, she was indeed a wretch, and it wasn’t London’s fault.

“Well,” Louisa replied, oblivious to Julia’s deeply terrible and wretched nature, “you’ll be wearing Oiseau, so that just got a lot more likely. She has a gift for making women look their loveliest.”

“I’ll probably be glad for the help,” Julia joked feebly. “I nearly screamed when I saw how much silk stockings cost here.”

“It’s all right,” Louisa said. “The shopkeeper probably would have regarded it as a compliment.”

“Seriously,” Julia tried to return to the subject from earlier, “I am very grateful that you came today. I would have felt even more horribly intimidated than I was if you hadn’t been there, and it was just me with our aunt and those energetic Frenchwomen.”

“What a shining example I am,” Louisa teased. “What are the qualities that brought us through this grueling experience? Je ne sais quoi? Joie de vivre? Eau de vie?”

“My French may not be the greatest, but I know perfectly well that last one means ‘brandy,’” Julia replied, stifling a giggle. “By the time we were done, we probably all could have done with a brandy, don’t you think?”

With that ridiculous comment, Louisa started laughing, too, and Julia felt that, in some small way, she’d made things right with her uncomplaining, ever-patient, must-be-so-bored sister.

She hadn’t made things right with herself yet, but this would do for a start.

James, Viscount Matheson, walked aimlessly down Bond Street, considering whether he ought to buy a belated Christmas gift for his fiancée.

It seemed like the kind of thing an affianced man should do. He couldn’t be sure, of course; he certainly had never been engaged before, and neither had any of his friends. Good Lord, his old crony Xavier had practically spit out his brandy when James had first told him of his engagement to the Honorable Louisa Oliver at the end of the previous season.

“You’re making a mistake,” the dark young gentleman had informed him after he recovered from the shock. “I never thought you were a fool, Matheson.”

Naturally he had resented having this description applied to him, and he demanded that Lord Xavier explain himself. Xavier was a good fellow at heart, but he could have a rough tongue at times.

In this instance, however, the younger man had backed down and assured James that he wasn’t serious; that Louisa Oliver was no doubt an excellent choice for a wife; and that he would endeavor to assure the viscount again of this opinion if he ever met the lady in question. Xavier even managed to exert himself to extend his congratulations, which, when you considered how unyielding the man could be, was like receiving a bag of gold from a miser. Or, James now thought as his mind roamed for an unlikely simile, like holding an utterly conventional, not at all shrill or embarrassing conversation with Lady Irving.

All of which was to say, he didn’t have much guidance in the area of how a man should behave toward his fiancée, especially if she seemed to be the retiring sort. His father wasn’t around to enlighten him, and his mother certainly wouldn’t be of any help. She had been marginally friendlier when Louisa came to dine on Christmas Day, but she was still clearly against the match. He supposed he could ask Gloria, who had actually been rather pleasant upon meeting Louisa for the second time. Even as a grown man, though, there was something that rankled about asking his older sister for advice.

So here he was, peering doubtfully into the window of a jeweler’s shop, wondering what might be an appropriate gift for Louisa. He hadn’t gotten her anything for Christmas yet, although in his defense he hadn’t expected to see her then, and the holiday had never been made much of in his family anyway. Christmas gifts were really mainly for children.

Louisa hadn’t given him anything either, true, but he had a nagging feeling that the burden of gift-giving (for a burden was exactly what it felt like) should fall on the engaged party with the greater discretionary income. Which would be he.

Besides, a gift could possibly help Louisa feel more comfortable during what had turned into an awkward holiday season for them both. She seemed to be reluctant for their marriage because of all the changes it would bring to her life — but maybe, just maybe, if he showed her that the changes would be good, she would be more eager. As a viscountess, she would certainly have more money at her command, and more jewelry, than she had ever owned as a baron’s daughter. Many women would find that very exciting, though he knew, deep in his heart, that Louisa wasn’t one of them.

He sighed. Would diamonds be too much? He didn’t want to overwhelm her; that would have precisely the opposite of the desired effect. Which was, quite frankly, to have a fiancée who seemed to give a damn when he was around.

His eye caught on a sapphire set — just a trumpery set without any real precious stones, but it was simple and lovely. He knew that blue as well as he knew his own face; he realized at once the jewels were the precise shade of Julia’s eyes.

Julia.

He smiled just to think of her, causing a female passerby who saw his grinning reflection in the shop window to shriek and give him a wide berth.

He barely noticed, though. He kept his thoughts so tightly marshaled these days that it was seldom he even allowed himself to think about Julia, but he let her wash over him now. She was just so. . so herself, all the time. Climbing a ladder. Teasing her aunt. Cramming handfuls of biscuits into her mouth. The first time he’d met her, she’d showed him what she was really like, and he’d wanted to get to know more. He’d been fascinated.

He’d tried to tell himself for quite a while that that was just because he was eager to get to know Louisa’s family, and he’d been happy to make a friend among her relatives. But now, he knew, that was not the full truth. When he’d seen her again after several weeks’ absence, when she’d catapulted herself into his arms, he had felt such longing that he had had to make a physical effort to let her go. It had been one of the most difficult things he’d had to do in a long time.

Therein lay the problem. Therein lay the reason he didn’t often permit himself to think about Julia anymore, and the reason he frequently reminded himself of what Louisa’s fine qualities were.

She was elegant, self-possessed, thoughtful, and startlingly intelligent. He admired and respected her enormously. He hadn’t been in love with her when he offered marriage, true, but he hadn’t expected to fall in love with anyone else either.

Love? Was that what he felt for Julia?

Surely not. But he wondered how much that little sapphire set cost.

Despite himself, he turned from the window to the shop door, preparing to head inside and inquire about the sapphires.

At that very moment, a female voice called his name.

He jumped as if he’d been shot, or caught with his breeches off. He knew that voice. He had been about to buy sapphires for that voice.

But it wasn’t Julia alone. She was, most unexpectedly, walking with Lady Charissa Bradleigh. He hadn’t even known the Earl of Alleyneham had brought his family to town, or, for that matter, that Julia knew any of them.

He greeted them with habitual civility, turning his attention first to Lady Charissa as the highest-ranking lady present. This gave him a few seconds to return his thoughts to their usual order, or at least some semblance of it.

He had been caught off guard, true, but it might be for the best. The encounter kept him from making what probably would have been a horrible blunder, buying those sapphires.

Now that she was here, he realized the sapphires wouldn’t have done her eyes justice anyway.

Then he realized that was precisely the type of thought he ought to be trying not to have, and he ruthlessly squelched it. His face all politeness, he inquired after Charissa’s family.

“I wasn’t aware you were in town,” he explained, “or I would have been by to offer my respects to your parents.”

“Oh, Lord, don’t worry about that!” Charissa replied with a laugh. “We only just got here on Boxing Day and we haven’t seen many people. Audrina’s fallen ill, you see — that’s my youngest sister,” she explained for Julia’s benefit. “Anyway, my lord, it turns out your mother knew a very good doctor here in town, and recommended we all come back for Audrina to be treated by the best.”

She looked up at James under flirtatious lashes. “She made a point of telling us you were here as well. And. . something about a Twelfth Night masquerade? I can’t remember, exactly.” She dimpled at him roguishly and waited for a response.

He’d once heard Lady Irving dismiss the Bradleigh daughters as “whey-faced,” but an honest appraiser would judge Lady Charissa quite a lovely girl. She had clear skin, russet hair, and pleasant, regular features, including a pair of large, lovely, and provocative gray eyes. She was also a bit chattery, though, which could be the reason she hadn’t yet snared the duke her rather fatuous mother seemed adamant she should marry. That, and the fact that there were very few unmarried dukes to go around.

Seeing her smile up at him, James thought fleetingly of the differences between the young women in front of him. How could one be impish and talkative and leave him utterly cold, while the one at her side shared the same traits and he thought them the most appealing thing on earth?

Curse it, there again was one of those thoughts he ought not to be having. You fool, he chastised himself, and shook his head to turn his mind in another direction.

Julia responded at once to his unconscious gesture. “There’s not a masquerade?”

“What?”

“You shook your head. Is there not a masquerade, or are you not present in London? You must have been disagreeing with one statement or the other. Or else you weren’t attending to us at all, which would be incredibly impolite of you. I mean, not that you’re impolite in general; just that in this particular it would be, you know, less than your usual level of politeness.”