Theresa Romain - Season for Temptation

Her mind was jittery and full, returning always to Christmas. She had thought so often of his hand on her shoulder, his deep green eyes heavy with the weight of his family’s good name, that the memories had become threadbare. Since then, he’d given her no other sign that she was special to him. He’d happily listened while Charissa nattered away about nothing. He’d never tried again to speak to her alone, to return to the confidence they’d shared while their relatives played whist by the firelight.

But why should he? And why should she continue to hope and wish?

Trying desperately to turn her mind to a different topic, she paced around the house. Perhaps if her feet moved fast enough, her thoughts would stand still. She must have stomped through every room in her gaudy red gown, but if anything she only felt more agitated. She finally wound up in the library, where she sat in a chair opposite Louisa.

Louisa looked wonderful, as always. The clean lines of her belted toga emphasized her long, lean form, and her carefully coiled Classical hairstyle was only a few curls away from her usual stylish coiffure. Next to her, Julia felt like a tomato.

They were going to the masquerade as Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in the world, and a little puffy red tomato.

“I’m a tomato,” she grumbled.

“Sorry?” Louisa looked up from her book, puzzled.

“I said, I’m a tomato,” Julia repeated. “You look beautiful. I look terrible. And I’m the one who’s supposed to find a husband.” Her stomach churned at the very idea.

“You don’t look terrible,” Louisa assured her, laying aside her book at once. “You look lovely. I’ve never seen you in red before, but it actually suits you quite well. The turban’s not my favorite,” she admitted, “but it’s a costume, after all.”

“I just want everything to go well tonight,” Julia replied, swinging her feet with nervous energy.

“It will, I promise. Please try to relax and not worry too much about this evening. It’s really not a big event.”

“But it is,” Julia said anxiously. “What if my future husband is there tonight, and he thinks I look like a tomato, so he doesn’t even try to obtain an introduction?”

Louisa raised a skeptical eyebrow at Julia and fixed her with a what-on-earth-are-you-going-on-about expression. So Julia tried to explain. It was difficult, since she couldn’t tell Louisa the truth about her feelings, and she could barely make sense of her own thoughts anymore these days.

“It’s just. . I’ve seen how well things worked out for you, and how you met this wonderful man and you’re going to get married, and that’s why you came to London. And I came to London to make that happen, too. We didn’t expect to come so early, and most people aren’t here yet, but some people are, and you never know who the right person will be. And I sort of think I would just know when I saw my future husband, but he might not know me, and I just feel like I really ought to be looking my best and having everything go well tonight. And looking like a tomato is not the way to do it,” she finished breathlessly.

Louisa considered her words. “All right, I can understand what you’re worried about. But I think you’re romanticizing this far too much.”

“How can I romanticize courtship too much?” Julia asked, incredulous.

“Courtship?” Louisa said with a dry laugh. “Is that what you’d call it? I suppose technically that’s what it is, when a gentleman determines a young woman is the appropriate combination of brains, beauty, and money — not necessarily in that order. I suppose it’s technically courtship when he then pays several rigorously supervised visits, brings suitable gifts, and eventually, after an appropriate amount of time has elapsed so that he is no longer a total stranger, makes an offer. But there is really not very much of romance in the process at all.”

Julia stared at Louisa, thunderstruck. She felt as if Louisa had slapped her; she’d never heard such acid in her sister’s voice. “Is that really what it was like for you?” Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

Louisa immediately looked contrite. “No, no. Of course not. I mean, James and I weren’t a love match, but we certainly were able to make our own decision. I agreed to marry James because it’s what I wanted to do at the time.”

The full import of these words took a moment to sink in, and Julia’s skin prickled as if touched by ice. “You mean, you don’t love him?”

Louisa sighed, her lovely face shuttered. “I doubt very much if most ton marriages involve love at the time they’re contracted. But I do like him very much, and I respect and admire him. I believe I will come to love him someday. And even if I don’t, we’ll deal together well enough.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry if I said too much. I shouldn’t have dampened your excitement. Believe it or not, I meant to be reassuring.”

Julia was still reeling, trying to take in all of Louisa’s admissions at once. “Reassuring?” she repeated in disbelief. How was she supposed to feel reassured, when Louisa and James — positively the best woman and man in the world — were engaged to one another, and Louisa’s heart was no more touched than if she were buying a horse?

Louisa nodded. “Yes; you know, to tell you that there’s some logic behind the process as well. It isn’t all passion and thunderbolts. There’s careful thought involved. Which means, if your future husband’s there tonight, he’ll want you even if you look like a tomato.” She smiled. “Which you don’t.”

Julia nodded back to show her acceptance of her sister’s explanation, but disappointment weighed on her even more than her dratted turban had been weighing on her head. “I suppose that makes sense. I just. . was hoping for some passion and thunderbolts, that’s all.”

Louisa stood and hugged Julia where she sat in her chair. “There may well be for you. I hope you’ll have it all.”

She seemed suddenly struck by an idea and sat back down with uncharacteristic haste. “What would you like in a husband, Julia? Maybe we can be logical about it, too, rather than just waiting to see which men come your way. Think of the qualities you’d like, and James and I can help to sort possible suitors for you.”

Julia shook her head furiously, heedless of her carefully placed turban. “I don’t think I’d feel comfortable having James know what I want in a husband.”

All the qualities she wanted instantly came to mind — kind heart, clever eyes, ready laugh, sandy hair, loving with children — and she clamped her lips together tight in case any of the treacherous words should try to leak out.

“Nonsense; who better?” Louisa insisted. “He knows everyone in London, he knows you, and he likes you and will have an eye out for your best interests. Now, what would you like?”

“You make it sound as if I’m ordering dinner from the cook,” Julia muttered, but settled back in her chair to think. She supposed she could at least humor her sister for a few minutes. Otherwise Louisa might wonder why Julia was being so obstinate.

“Well,” she began slowly, choosing her words with great care, “I’d want him to be kind, of course. He must be kind. And financially solvent. I don’t mean wealthy; just not in debt, and not with any rakish habits like gambling problems. And I’d like him to have a sense of humor, and be good-looking, and like children. Oh, and be punctual.”

“Punctual?” Louisa teased. “Up with the chickens every morning?”

“No, not exactly that. I guess I mean reliable. I want him to be there for me when he says he will. Literally as well as figuratively.”

A knock sounded on the door of the library, and Simone peeped her head in to announce the arrival of “the young viscount fiancé gentleman.”

Louisa smiled bracingly at Julia. “There we are, perfect timing. Ready to eat?”

“Absolutely,” Julia replied promptly, rising. “Always.”

It was a lie; her stomach still roiled with nervousness, but it wouldn’t do to tell Louisa about that. If she wasn’t in the mood for a meal, Louisa would instantly suspect something was wrong.

“And are you ready to place your order for a husband?”

Julia shook her head. “That I feel less ready for.”

“Come on,” Louisa pleaded. “Please let us help you. I want you to have all the fun I wanted for myself last year and didn’t have. I want lovely men to flock to you.”

“All I want is one,” Julia replied.

At the familiar twinge of guilt and longing, she paused in her walk, thinking. She felt as if she were on the edge of something important.

If she agreed with Louisa’s scheme, she would start something new. She would open her eyes to a new world, full of potentially exciting people. But she would also close off the possibility of something else, something deep and comforting and real. Her ideal; her chosen love.

But that had never been a possibility anyway. It was time to let that go.

Even though Louisa had admitted she didn’t love him.

Julia nodded desperately to clear that thought from her mind. “Very well, I’ll do it.”

“You mean it?” Louisa clapped her hands together in excitement.

“Yes,” Julia said, covering her uncertainty with a shaky laugh. “Let’s order a husband for me, and let’s find him.”

James, ever appreciative of the absurd, showed what he thought was a very reasonable amount of delight when Julia and Louisa informed him, on the way to the masquerade, of the “husband order” they had determined to place for Julia. He promised, dutifully, but with a rebellious twinkle in his eye, to help root out someone first-rate for her.

This casual attitude offended Lady Irving.

“I think it’s a very sensible idea,” she barked. “Julia’s got her eyes open. A young miss ought to have her eyes open when she’s sorting through a lot of riffraff, which today’s young men are.” After a long pause, she grudgingly added, “Present company excluded, I suppose.”

“How charming you always are, my lady,” James said with a grin. “Such great age brings great wisdom as well.”

And thus, with the score tied one to one between the countess and the viscount, the party entered Xavier House.

Lady Irving ran on ahead, crowing about finding Lord Xavier and getting together a “spirited” and “fun” game of whist for “real stakes,” which her relatives now knew was likely to involve some shockingly deep play. For James, the fun began not with cards, but when his old acquaintance Freddie Pellington darted up to the remaining three members of the party and pumped the viscount’s hand energetically.

“Dash it, old boy, it’s dashed good to see you. Damme, I didn’t know you were back in town. Thought you’d run off to the country for good. Back in London already, though, ain’t you?”

“Yes, here I am, as you see,” James replied patiently, accepting Pellington’s energetic clap on the back. Freddie Pellington was a kind enough young man, but definitely not the brightest fellow of his acquaintance.

And that’s when his brilliant idea struck.

He couldn’t say he had relished the idea of helping Julia find a man. The idea of systematically searching for a husband had seemed amusing enough when she and Louisa had first revealed their scheme, but it hadn’t sat all that well with him once he had a chance to mull it over. He was just supposed to help sell her off? Never mind that it was to be to someone who was kind, funny, handsome, wealthy, warm-hearted, et cetera, et cetera. If such a paragon existed — which was doubtful — why on earth would James ever want to spend any time around him? He would feel positively inferior, and honestly, he would probably want to slug the fellow in the teeth for making eyes at Julia.

He couldn’t just refuse to cooperate with his fiancée’s request, though. However. . he realized now that he could honor the letter of the request, if not the spirit. He would find Julia exactly the type of man she had requested in a husband. No less, but certainly no more.

He felt better already.

“My dear Louisa — Julia — please allow me to introduce the Honorable Frederic Pellington,” he said triumphantly, then introduced the ladies to the young man in return. With a speaking look to both women, James added, “He’s a very kind man. Aren’t you, Freddie?”

“Charmed, charmed,” burbled Pellington as he made his bow to the ladies. “Any friend of Matheson’s, you know. Friend of mine. Happy to meet you.” James’s words seemed to sink in just then, and he continued, “Dash it, Matheson, no need to go on about me. Always try to be kind and whatnot, but you know, definitely a man of the world.”