The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер

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      ‘Good evening, Lady Dereham.’ He gestured towards the decanters set out on a tray. ‘A glass of sherry wine?’

      ‘Good evening, my lord.’ She sat precisely in the centre of the sofa and spread her almond-green skirts on either side as though concerned about wrinkles. They covered virtually all the available seat and left no room for anyone to sit beside her. She did not think she could cope with any sly caresses just now. ‘Thank you. A glass of sherry would be delightful.’

      Will poured a glass for both of them, placed hers on the table beside her and went back to the window and his contemplation of the view, which allowed her the perfect opportunity to admire his profile. Dispassionately, of course.

      ‘Did your meeting with Mr Burrows go well?’ Julia asked after a few minutes’ silence. She took a sip of her wine while her husband pondered his reply.

      ‘It was most satisfactory, thank you,’ he said politely and tasted his own drink.

      If this continues, I may well scream, simply for the diversion of seeing the footmen all rush in, Julia decided. ‘I have always found him extremely helpful.’

      ‘He tells me you have not asked for any of the jewellery from his strong room.’

      ‘I did not consider it mine to wear.’ For some reason decking herself out in the family jewels had seemed mercenary in a way that taking all the other benefits of their arrangement did not. Jewellery was so personal. ‘Besides,’ she added in an effort to lighten the cool formality, ‘think what a wrench to have to hand it all over after seven years when Henry inherited.’

      ‘There was no need for such scruples. But you will wear it from now on, I hope.’ She suspected that was an order. ‘Burrows brought it with him.’ Will gestured towards a side table and she noticed the stack of leather boxes on it for the first time. ‘There is a safe in your dressing room. If there are any pieces you dislike they can be reset, or go back to the vault.’

      There seemed a lot of boxes. Small ring boxes, flat cases with curving edges that must contain necklaces, complicated shapes that presumably enclosed complete parures including tiaras. Did Will expect her to pounce on them with cries of delight?

      He thought she had only married him for purely mercenary reasons and to protect her good name, of course, so he must find her lack of interest in this treasure trove puzzling. She could hardly tell him that she did not want his money or his gems, only sanctuary from the law.

      ‘Thank you. But I have not found a safe. Is it behind some concealed panel?’

      ‘Behind a panel, yes, but in the baroness’s dressing room. Nancy is moving your things there now.’

      Somehow Julia kept her lips closed on the instinctive protest. Will was high-handed, insensitive, but, of course, he was in the right and she had agreed he would come to her bed.

      He might not want her, of course, when she told him about Jonathan and about the child.

      She pushed that thought and its implications deep into her mind. There were practical reasons also. Her place should be in the suite that was the mirror image of his: anything else would cause gossip and wild speculation amongst the servants. She knew, however loyal they were, gossip always leaked out to the staff in surrounding houses, then to the tradesmen and in no time at all the entire neighbourhood would know.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said with a genuine smile and was rewarded by the faint surprise on Will’s face. He had expected a fight, but she was going to keep her opposition for the issues that were important to her. Jewels did not matter one way or the other, except that now she must make the effort to care for them and to select suitable ones for each occasion.

      * * *

      Julia exerted herself over dinner to make conversation and bring Will up to date with the local news. He would be riding round to visit their neighbours over the next few days, so she must set the scene for him. It also meant she could steer well clear of any personal matters. There was plenty to tell him about with a new curate, several marriages, some deaths, the strange case of sheep-stealing last year, Sir William Curruther’s new wife’s frightful taste in interior decoration and, of course, numerous births to the gentry community. She hurried over those and started enumerating the changes to their own staff while he had been away.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said drily when she reached the new scullery maid and the gardener’s boy as the dessert plates were cleared. ‘I will endeavour to recall all that tomorrow.’

      Julia bit her lip—he made it sound as though she had been prattling on and not allowing him to get a word in edgeways. She had kept pausing, hoping Will would pick up his side of the conversation and tell her about his three years away. But he showed no sign of wanting to confide in her. ‘I have got all the news I was saving for you off my chest,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow you can tell me yours.’

      ‘I have told you most of what there is to know.’ His long lashes hid his eyes as he looked down, apparently interested in the piece of walnut shell that lay beside his plate. ‘I have no wish to revisit the past.’

      ‘But your travels must be fascinating. I would so like to hear about them.’ A neutral subject of conversation on an engrossing subject seemed like a godsend.

      ‘I lost almost four years of my life to that illness,’ Will said and looked up to catch her staring at him. ‘I just want to forget about it and get on with living.’

      She could hear the anger and the loss under the flat tone, see the heat in his eyes.

      ‘Very well.’ She had no wish to invite any further snubs. ‘I will leave you to your port.’ One of the footmen came to pull back her chair, another to open the door for her. Like all the staff, they were normally efficient and attentive, but somehow she sensed they were making a special effort to look after her at the moment, just as they had when she lost the baby. She could only hope that Will did not notice and feel they were being disloyal to him.

      If she could just focus her mind on those sort of worries and not what was going to happen when the bedchamber door closed behind them, then she could, perhaps, remain her normal practical self. As she walked across the hall to the salon she could feel the brooding presence in the room behind her like heat from a fire. Common sense seemed as much use as a fireguard made of straw.

       Chapter Ten

      Will did not leave her alone in the salon for long. Julia had hardly picked up her embroidery, sorted her wools and begun on one of the roses that formed a garland on the chair seat she was working when he walked in, still carrying his wine glass, Charles on his heels with the decanter.

      ‘What are you making?’ He sank into the wing chair opposite her, stretched out long legs and sipped his port. Charles put the decanter down and took himself off. They were alone at last, with no servants present to keep the conversation on neutral lines.

      ‘A new set of seat covers for the breakfast room.’ She tilted the frame to show him. ‘The existing ones are sadly worn and the moth has got into them.’

      ‘My paternal grandmother made those.’

      ‘I was not going to throw them away,’ Julia hastened to reassure him. ‘I will try to save as much of her embroidery as I can and СКАЧАТЬ