Page 26 of Forget Me Not

“Lucas tells me the river was running fast today,” Father said.

It was, on its surface, an inane topic. Julia, however, felt a growing degree of unease. “When did you visit with Lord Jonquil?”

Though Father narrowed his gaze at Julia’s use of Lucas’s title, something she seldom did, he continued on. “He called not long ago. We had a very... illuminating conversation.”

“Did you?” She tried to hide her rising worry.

Father set his fork down and looked across the table at her. “I find myself both surprised and weary at having to say this to my grown daughter, but running away from home is a rather juvenile thing to do, Julia.”

The worry she’d felt disappeared on the instant, replaced by immediate irritation. “He came here to tattle on me?”

“I am grateful that he did.” Father took up his utensils once more.

“And why are you pleased to hear what I said in a moment of sadness and pain?” She hated that she wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t pleased to know she was still stinging from his rebukes and dismissals.

“‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ as the saying goes.” Father took a bite, quite at his ease.

“You are arming yourself against my potential flight?”

“I know you are upset with me, and you have made clear you think I am being unkind and unloving in insisting you continue on with this match, but I care about you, Julia. I would not see you cast yourself onto the questionable mercy of the world. As tempting as you might find the prospect of running from what you perceive as an untenable situation—”

“My situationisunendurable.”

“Fleeing would only make things worse. Foryoueven more than anyone else.” Father sighed, something he’d done a great deal in the last few days. “I mean to keep a close eye on you, Julia. The staff will as well. If you will not be wise, we must be wise for you.”

So much for her determination to walk about as the mistress of her own life and future. She was being treated as a child, as a problem, as a... a weight. Lucas, it seemed, was not the only one who viewed her that way. A mere week earlier, she would not have believed Father would be so dismissive of her worries and her happiness.

“I hadn’t actually intended to run away,” she said. “I was speaking hyperbolically in a moment of weariness.”

“You spoke forcefully enough for Lucas to be concerned.”

Julia dropped her gaze to her plate. Her father thought her an irritable child. Lucas ran about telling his father and hers what an unwanted and unmanageable handful she was. Those members of her family who might have stood in support of her were, instead, lying in eternal repose in the distant churchyard.

There would be no escaping what had been arranged for her. She’d known that ever since her discussion with her father earlier that day. If she were being entirely honest with herself, she would admit she’d known as much from the moment Lord Lampton had announced the betrothal at the Lampton Park ball.

She would be required to go through with this mess of an idea. As a lady, she had very little control over her own life. But she was not helpless or voiceless. She would find a means of being her own defender.

***

The day of Julia’s wedding dawned drizzly and overcast, confirmation that her approach to the day was an appropriate one.

She’d selected the dress she would be wed in, and she had relieved Jane of her duties when she’d vehemently objected to it.

One of the chambermaids helped Julia dress. She did so in silence, which was perfectly acceptable,preferredeven. Julia had, the night before, gathered up all the tools and mixtures used to apply powder and placed them in a crate, then sent the pile with a footman to be disposed of. Her hair would be unpowdered and worn simply, a reasonable pompadour with soft, loose curls hanging down one shoulder rather than styled to the absurd height Society insisted upon. There would be no flowers or jewels in her hair. For once, she would appear precisely as she wished, not as others dictated.

A quick knock sounded at the door of her bedchamber.

“Enter.” She disliked the distrust she felt with the staff, but her father had admitted they were being required to spy on her. They no longer felt like part of her home but part of her misery.

Another of the maids poked her head inside the room. “Lord Farland is—” Surprise momentarily stopped the poor woman. She recovered admirably. “Lord Farland is ready to depart, Miss Cummings.”

Julia dipped her head in acknowledgment. She stood and stepped in front of her long mirror, making a quick assessment. Unrelieved black. No sparkle from jewelry, no softening from lace or ribbons. Nothing that would give anyone reason to misunderstand.

She made her way from her room, down the corridor, down the stairwell, to the ground floor.

Father was waiting in the entryway. His face fell when he saw her. That hurt too. She understood he was reacting to her choice to dress in the color of grief, death, and loss. It was, in fact, the reaction she’d wanted. But it still hurt. She’d once had dreams of approaching this day with excitement and a light heart. She’d imagined her father being happy for her, beaming with love for his “dear girl.” Nothing had gone as she’d hoped.

“Shall we, Father?” She was proud of the steadiness of her voice.

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