Page 25 of Forget Me Not

“Julia.”

She turned and walked away.

He didn’t follow. Her mind would not calm enough to contemplate why he wasn’t dogging her heels, demanding to know if she was truly going to attempt to flee home.

Too many things weighed on her heart. Her uncertain future. Her quickly disappearing dreams.

There would be no gentleman miraculously arriving in her life and loving her enough to never abandon her. There would be no one standing at her side, saying he saw her worth and value and that anyone would be honored to have her in his life. No. She would be forced to marry someone who had left her behind long ago, someone who planned to do so again and again, someone who thought her a weight and a poor option and a person who offered him nothing. Her own father didn’t care. Lord and Lady Lampton, who had been like an uncle and aunt to her all her life, didn’t care. Even Lucas had accepted the arrangement long before she had.

She did not actually intend to run away. But she needed to decide what choice shedidintend to make.

Chapter Nine

Though Julia was tempted totake her dinner on a tray in her room that night, she opted, instead, to eat with her father. She didn’t do so because his rejection had broken her spirit. She didn’t do so because she hoped to regain his good opinion or change his mind on the matter of her future. Julia had mere days left in this home where she had once been loved. She meant to spend those days with her head high and her shoulders squared. She would carry herself as someone with worth, even if no one else saw that in her.

“This gown picked up a bit of mud along the hem,” Jane said, eyeing Julia as they began their pre-dinner ministrations. “Perhaps you ought to choose a different one.”

Though it was worded as a suggestion, no one hearing it would interpret Jane’s tone as anything but a directive. Though Julia recoiled a bit at being told what to doagain, she agreed with the assessment of her current clothing.

Jane pulled open the doors of the armoire. “The light green, perhaps.”

“No. The gown at the very back.”

Jane reached in and pulled out a sky-blue polonaise with white pleated trim. Its pointed waist and wide, full skirts were a bit formal for a simple family meal but still lovely.

It was not, however, the one Julia had in mind. “Farther back.”

Jane replaced the gown and reached in farther. “This is the dress at the very back, but you can’t possibly mean to wear this.” She removed a gown in black satin with a gray- and lavender-striped overrobe. It was one of two gowns she had kept from her period of mourning after Stanley’s death. The other was unrelieved black.

“That is precisely what I mean to do.”

Jane shook her head. “Your father will object.”

“That is the dress I will wear to dinner.” Julia spoke more firmly in defense of her preferences than she had since Jane had been made her abigail. Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she was angry. Perhaps she’d finally given up. “I will not be in this household more than a few more days. You can continue acting as my maid while I am here, or you can take upnowwhatever new post you have in mind after my marriage. I leave that decision to you. I can pull the bell and ask the housekeeper to send one of the other maids to dress me if you would rather.”

Jane stood a moment in surprise. Julia held her ground.

Jane laid the mourning dress on the bed. “Very well, Miss Cummings.”

Julia was dressed, sporting the colors of half-mourning, her hair styled very simply, no ribbons or bows or flowers. She was the very picture of a young lady mourning a great loss.

Nervous but determined, she made her way down the stairs to meet her father for their meal.

To say he was shocked upon seeing her would be a gross understatement.

Once he recovered his voice, he let his thoughts be known. “What is this, Julia? Theatrics will not change—”

“If you would rather not take your meal with me, I will not be so selfish as to keep you here.”

Again, his bushy brows pulled upward in surprise. His mouth moved silently for a moment, clearly unable to form the words his brain must have been attempting to piece together. After a moment, he settled on a conversational direction. “Why are you dressed in half-mourning?”

Julia shrugged casually. “It felt appropriate.”

“Julia—”

She held up a hand to stop whatever objection or justification he meant to make. “I will not argue with you about the marriage you arranged for me. You have made your position clear. I have made mine equally known. Let us pass a quiet and, if we are fortunate, peaceful meal.”

They spoke not another word until they had both been seated for some time and had begun eating.

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