Page 56 of The Rake and Lady Julia
Grand gesture, grand gesture, Julia repeated to herself, as her legs turned to jelly.
"Lord Montague," she said, her loud voice carrying across the auditorium, so that all could hear her; "I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest. If you will forgive me, for all of my transgressions, I would humbly request—"
Julia swallowed; what she was about to do was the very opposite of what ladies did. It was not the act of a proper society miss, nor what a sensible, practical lady might do.
But when it came to Lord Montague, Julia knew that there was nothing sensible or practical about her love for him.
"—I would humbly request your hand in marriage," she finished, wondering if perhaps she should drop to her knee. Since she had gone so far, Julia decided that she might as well make the full journey, and took a knee before Montague, whose face was a picture of confusion.
Excited whispers broke out, rising to a sharp crescendo, as the watching crowd waited with bated breath for Montague's reply. Julia was certain that there were some amongst them who were praying that the marquess would refuse her, just so they could say that they had been there when the ice-cool Lady Julia fell so spectacularly from grace. Fear and doubt threatened to overwhelm her, but Julia held her nerve.
Trust him, she told herself, as she closed her eyes and awaited his reply.
A second—so long, it felt like eternity—passed, but then Julia felt Montague take her hands, and she opened her eyes to find the marquess had joined her on the floor.
"I rather think you're messing up your lines. You have taken the male lead, Lady Julia," he whispered, his eyes dancing, his words an echo of their first meeting.
"I'm very versatile, my lord," Julia replied, with a watery laugh, "It's one of my many attributes; versatile, fit for Bedlam, and hopelessly in love with you."
"I'm afraid those last two attributes are mutually inclusive," Montague was, as ever, charmingly self-deprecating, "As a fellow Bedlamite, and a man who is hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you, what else can I say to your proposal, but yes."
"You mean it?" Julia whispered, not daring to hope.
"A thousand times yes," Montague emphasised, and then to convince her further, he leaned forward and planted a kiss upon her lips.
The crowd began to cheer, and Julia was almost certain she heard Charlotte burst into loud sobs of joy, but she paid no heed. Nothing else mattered, nothing else at all, except that she would soon belong to Montague.
The kiss was chaste, given their audience, but Montague's lips felt urgent with need and wanting as they pressed against hers.
"We'd best make haste," Montague whispered, pulling away from her with eyes that were dark with desire, "There is work to do, if we are to be married in the morning."
The marquess leapt to his feet and extended a hand to help Julia to hers. The crowd applauded, as though they had been watching an actual play, and to Julia's surprise, she found herself offering them a curtsy, whilst beside her Montague gave a flourishing bow.
"Congratulations," Charlotte squealed, as Julia and Montague ran off-stage, "I must say, Julia, you've missed your calling—you were born for the stage."
"I am afraid the only role that Julia will now play, is that of my wife," Montague answered, putting a possessive arm around Julia and pulling her close to him.
"Well done," Penrith said, his cool demeanour breaking slightly, as he offered Julia a smile, "And my congratulations, Montague. I wish you a pleasant and bountiful marriage."
"This is the second proposal you have witnessed and the second time you have acted like you are a vicar, and not Montague's oldest friend," Charlotte huffed, "Hug the man, for heaven's sake—but do it quickly, a celebratory glass of sparkling wine is calling out for us in Penrith House!"
Penrith duly obliged his wife by gifting Montague with a hug—a tad awkward, but nonetheless heartfelt—and a kiss upon Julia's cheek.
"A most excellent grand gesture," Penrith murmured to her, "So grand, that it eclipses mine completely—or at least, I hope it shall."
Julia grinned, but as of yet she felt no remorse for having so publicly humiliated herself in the name of love. How could she, when the reward was a six-foot-two marquess who would be hers until the day that she died?
The quartet made their way from the theatre, through the stage-door, and out to the back-alley where Penrith's carriage was waiting. Montague tried to wheedle his way into having Julia travel with him, but Charlotte, who had appointed herself as chaperone, would have none of it.
"I know very well what you Upstarts are like, when you have a lady alone in a carriage," Charlotte sniffed, as beside her Penrith flushed with embarrassment, "We shall reconvene at Penrith House. Now, off with you, you are delaying my glass of wine."
Montague was reluctant to let go of Julia's hand, but she gave him a smile of assurance.
"The sooner we are home," she whispered, "The sooner we can make plans for tomorrow."
"And the sooner we can do all the things Her Grace says an Upstart likes to do in moving carriages," Montague agreed, with a wink.
Julia flushed; though she could not say that she was not sorely tempted to discover for herself what it was that gentlemen did with their wives when they were alone.
