From the dressmaker’s, Julianna made the rounds of the milliner’s, the bookseller’s and the fruitmonger’s, before stopping at her cousin’s place of business. There she delivered Christmas presents for all the Underhills, and entrusted Francis with her letter to Winnie. Just as she was setting out for home, Jerome hailed her. This was their first encounter since her wedding. Better ten irascible stewards, thought Julianna, than a single Jerome.
“Upon my word, Lady Fitzhugh! So I have run you to ground at last, sister dear. You and your bridegroom have been keeping so low a profile, I wondered if you would ever emerge from your honeymoon. I know newlyweds are traditionally preoccupied, but Sir Edmund scarcely seems the uxorious type.”
Julianna could hardly wait to show Jerome what a fool they had made of him. For the moment she affected an offhand retort. “Jealous, Jerome?”
“Of you?” His smirk deepened into a sneer. “I like a more womanly figure. You’re fading away to transparency. I don’t believe it suits you—playing broodmare to your old stallion.”
Sir Edmund might not have won her affection, but he had gained Julianna’s unqualified gratitude and respect. She would not stand to hear him spoken of thus, particularly by Jerome. Stepping past him into her carriage, she leaned toward her stepbrother and purred in his ear, “Any sane woman would give herself to my husband a thousand times, before suffering vermin like you to kiss her hand.” At her signal, the carriage pulled away smartly. Not before she had time to savor Jerome’s murderous look.
Julianna returned home late in the day, well laden with packages and flushed with the triumph of finally putting her stepbrother in his place. Not even Brock’s bristling scrutiny could cow her.
“Have someone bring these packages to my sitting room, and ask Mrs. Davies if she can spare me a cup of chocolate.” Julianna pulled off her gloves. “Pray don’t glower so during this merry season, Mr. Brock. I am certain it will. have a detrimental effect on your digestion.”
Flouncing away from the sputtering steward, she met Sir Edmund descending the staircase. Immediately regretting her impudence, she ducked her head in shame, steeling herself for his rebuke. Much to her surprise, he passed without a word. When Julianna glanced up, his face looked grave and impassive as ever, but she detected an unmistakable twinkle in his gray eyes.
Chapter Four
“Milady!” squealed Gwenyth, “a new cap for me? What a treat!”
Holding up the daintily laced creation for inspection, Julianna passed it to her maid with a flourish and a warm smile.
“Yes, Gwenyth, you must be sure to wear it on your visit. I understand it is the latest style. It would not surprise me in the least if you received several marriage proposals, thanks to this cunning bit of millinery. So, you must promise not to desert me—unless your beau is quite irresistible! Take along these nuts and sweetmeats for your Christmas feast. Eat plenty, sleep late and enjoy yourself completely. I will expect an entertaining report of the festivities upon your return.”
Gwenyth’s attention strayed momentarily from contemplation of the exquisite little cap. Her brow puckered. “Are you sure you’ll be all right without me, ma‘am? ’Tis all very well, two men on their own for several days, but a lady needs her maid. Who will help you dress and bathe and do your hair?”
“Never fear. I am quite capable of drawing my own bath and pinning up my own hair. As for dressing—if I encounter a hook or lace that I cannot reach, what else is a husband for?”
The thought of Sir Edmund stooping to the incongruous role of tiring woman sent both maid and mistress into an irrepressible fit of laughter. Impulsively, Julianna took Gwenyth’s hand. “I shall miss your company and high spirits more than all the services you do me. I wish you the merriest of Christmasses.”
Two ponderous knocks at the sitting room door announced the presence of Mr. Brock. “Gwenyth, your aunt is looking for you. I believe your ride has arrived.”
Holding her new cap and other Christmas bounty behind her skirt, Gwenyth withdrew. Once the steward had turned his back on her, she flashed Julianna a broad grin and a wink.
“I will also be taking my leave within the hour,” Brock informed Julianna. “Do you require anything in the meantime?”
He presented such a grim aspect, she could not resist a gentle jape. “I only require, Mr. Brock, that you endeavor to enjoy your holiday. I promise to refrain from mischief in your absence—so far as in me lies.”
The teasing did not sit well with Brock, who stalked off, wearing a look that told Julianna he would love to upend her over his knee and whip her like a naughty child. In reply, she abandoned decorum, thrusting out her tongue at his retreating back.
Spying through the frosted pane of her window some time later, Julianna confirmed Brock’s departure, along with the last of the other servants. Momentarily overcome by the giddy freedom of a prisoner set at liberty, she let out a loud whoop and danced a clumsy pirouette across the sitting room before collapsing upon the chaise in a heap of helpless mirth.
When her laughter subsided, Julianna began to consider what to do with herself for the next two-and-a-half days. She thought of looking for Sir Edmund, but decided his reluctant company held little appeal. Then another idea seized her. What better opportunity to explore Fitzhugh House? Tossing a wrap around her shoulders, she set off.
She passed a pleasant hour lingering in the dim galleries, viewing Sir Edmund’s collection of paintings—an eclectic mixture of landscapes, portraits and still-life studies.
Gradually, Julianna noticed how quiet and empty the house had become without the muted comings and goings of the servants. Her footsteps on the parquet floor reverberated down the wide, shadowy corridor, and she felt a sudden shiver of nameless unease. Pulling open the first door that came to hand, she happened upon Sir Edmund’s suite. As he was not there to find her prying, she decided to indulge her curiosity with a furtive look around.
Though Sir Edmund’s apartment lacked a separate sitting room, his bedchamber looked much larger than her own. An enormous, old-fashioned bed occupied a considerable space. Tall and boxlike, with plain posts of dark wood and hangings of a somber olive hue, it was practically a room unto itself. Besides a chaise and armchair, the only other furnishings were a battered sea chest and an open-shelved cabinet that housed a collection of exotic-looking statuary and lacquerwork, together with a set of brass navigational tools. Framed maps and charts adorned the walls. It gave Julianna the distinct impression of standing in a captain’s cabin on some great ship. She could have sworn she smelled a faint tangy odor of the sea. A spartanly masculine domain, Sir Edmund’s apartment did not invite her to linger.
On her way back to her own rooms, Julianna suddenly inhaled a familiar scent. Even before she realized it was Crispin’s favorite pomade, her heart gave a happy lurch of recognition. Following the smell, she discovered his chamber. She had known, in an abstract fashion, that she was living in Crispin’s home. Yet it had never felt that way, until now. The bedchamber appeared tidy and impersonal, but the cluttered little dressing room looked as if its tenant had just stepped out and might return at any moment.
A brush held strands of Crispin’s chestnut curls among its bristles. The wardrobe bulged with coats that Julianna knew like old friends. Taking out a well-cut dark blue velvet, she drew it around herself. Eyes closed, she nuzzled her cheek against the soft nap of the lapel, inhaling the essence of Crispin that clung to the fabric. At that moment, Julianna returned to the gardens at Vauxhall, and the fragrant summer afternoon when Crispin Bayard had proposed to her.
In early June, the gardens were awash in a palette of pastel flowers, on a backdrop of dewy green foliage. Attended by the gallant captain, Julianna savored her first taste of the amusements offered there. They hummed along with popular airs, performed by a string consort. They viewed statuary and displays of Mr. Hogarth’s engravings. They nibbled from a bowl of strawberries