Page 13 of The Rake and Lady Julia
Mama is right to encourage a match with Lord Pariseau, a sensible voice in Julia's mind whispered; he is an earl, he is wealthy, he is tolerably handsome.
He was also so insipid that Julia could not recall a word he had said to her the night before, though she supposed that was no bad thing.
"Oh, you look beautiful," Lady Cavendish said, as she inspected the modiste's work, interrupting Julia's thoughts, "Don't you think, Madame?"
"I think Lady Julia would look beautiful in anything," the Frenchwoman answered, before she recalled that she was firstly a businesswoman, "Though, of course, my gowns show her beauty to its best advantage."
"When I was a girl, I loved to dress my dolls in all kinds of outfits," Julia's mama gave a wistful sigh, "And now I have a real-life doll of my own."
Was it Julia's imagination, or did Madame Lloris cast her a rather pitying glance at her mother's words? Perhaps she felt a pang of sympathy for Julia's lack of liberty—a doll to be played with, dressed up and married off.
"I think we are done for the day, my lady," Madame Lloris said turning her eyes away from Julia and toward Lady Cavendish—the holder of the purse strings, "We will add thebouillonnéof lace and have it sent to you this evening."
"Splendid," Lady Cavendish smiled, "I shall step next door to Mr. Bobbitol's whilst Julia is dressing. I need some trimmings for a bonnet."
Lady Cavendish swept from the room, and Madame Lloris and the other seamstresses followed suit, leaving Julia with one mousy-featured girl who would help her dress.
Julia felt rather flat as she changed from the as-yet-unfinished dress into the gown she had worn that morning. Her previous thoughts of Lord Montague had left her feeling light as a feather, but the abrupt reminder of Lord Pariseau had brought her crashing back to earth with a thud.
She had to marry this season; to waste any more time pining over Lord Montague would be a fool's errand.
"There you are, my lady," the young girl said, as she finished buttoning up the last of Julia's buttons, "All done."
"Thank you," Julia replied, "I shall go and wait for Mama in the carriage."
"Oh, no," the girl replied quickly, shocking Julia a little, for it was not her place to tell a lady what she could and could not do, "Wait here, just a moment, my lady."
The girl disappeared from the room, but not out the door that they had come in, but another door which led to a stock-room of some sort. Julia could see rolls of fabric propped up against the wall and assumed the girl had gone to fetch her a piece of cloth for consideration for another dress. An audacious ruse to have her order another gown, she thought huffily.
But it was not the girl who returned, it was someone else entirely.
"What on earth?" Julia hissed, swivelling her head nervously to make sure they were alone, "How did you get in here?"
"Love makes anything possible," Lord Montague replied, without even the decency to look in any way contrite. In fact, his expression was one of delight.
"Love?" Julia echoed disbelievingly.
"And a bag of coins, for bribing," the marquess admitted sheepishly, "But mostly love."
"You are fit for Bedlam," Julia replied, "Not to mention, most indecent. You cannot accost a woman in a dressing room."
"Betsey assured me that you would be fully dressed when I arrived," Montague replied, rocking backwards and forwards on the heels of his boots, "This is not some salacious assignation, my lady, but an epic quest for love. Young Betsey was quite willing to assist me, given that her own heart aches for a groom who shows no interest."
"If both you and Betsey are suffering from bouts of unrequited love, my lord," Julia snipped, "Perhaps you might join together and leave me in peace."
"Betsey is but a child," Montague shrugged, "And her heart belongs to someone else, as mine belongs to you."
Despite herself, Julia felt a pang of longing at his words. Lord Montague was something of an open book, wearing his heart upon his sleeve. For a woman like Julia, who never displayed emotion, she found his openness endearing—not to mention, a little alarming. He was making himself vulnerable to her; setting himself up for pain. Julia had never felt any sort of protectiveness toward a man before, but now she was overwhelmed by it. She wished to save Lord Montague from heartache, though unfortunately, that meant saving him from her.
"I did not ask you to gift me your heart, my lord," Julia said quietly, "And I beg you to please take it back. My parents wish me to marry this season, and marry well. I am sad to say that they would not consider you a suitable husband."
"Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"You said that your parents would not think me a good husband, but would you?"
"It does not matter what I think," Julia protested, before continuing, when she saw the look on Montague's face, "I will marry a man of their choosing, because I know that they will have put great effort into selecting him. They want to see me wed to a man who can care for me and keep me in the lifestyle to which I am accustomed."
