Page 20 of To Marry and to Meddle
“As we told you,” replied her brother.
“Yesterday.”
“Do you merely intend to repeat everything we told you upon our arrival, or was there some sort of question you wished to ask us?” Julian asked lazily, leaning back in his chair. Emily could tell that he was being deliberately provoking, adopting the air of rakish disinterest that had served him quite well in the past decade. But, she realized, if she knew this, then Frances surely knew it too.
“You are the most infuriating man,” Frances said, taking a sip of tea that was more irritated than Emily would have thought it possible for a sip of tea to be. “But since you mention it, yes, I would dearlyloveto know how it is that my brother, the most avowed bachelor I’ve ever met in my life, suddenly came to be married by special license in a cow pasture.”
This, Emily thought, was a trifle unfair to Elderwild, which was, after all, one of the grandest estates in England, but she didn’t think now was necessarily the wisest moment to voice an objection. She and her own brother had not been close—he’d been a decade her senior, and had always seemed to view her as more of an irritation—but careful observation over the years of Diana and Penvale had taught her that, even with siblings whodidshare a close bond, it was wise to remain uninvolved once they devolved into petty bickering.
“Yes, a cow pasture,” Julian drawled, pretending to check his shoes. “I think I even stepped in a bit of—”
“Julian Belfry, so help me God, if you do not explain yourself to me right now—”
“Please recall that Mother used to allow me to hold your leadingstrings, so you must forgive me if I don’t take threats from this quarter particularly seriously.”
“Speaking of Mama,” Frances said, brightening, “have you informed her and Papa of your nuptials?”
“I have not,” Julian replied.
“Julian, you must tell them!” Frances protested.
“Frannie, it’s been all of a day-and-a-half since the wedding—please excuse me if dashing off a note to them wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities, as I was surviving traumatizing carriage accidents and a near mauling in my own marriage bed.” He paused, grinning. “Andnotin the way I was hoping.”
“Julian!” Frances and Emily both cried in unison.
His grin widened.
“I apologize,” he said, not sounding terribly repentant.
“Does this meanIcan tell Mama and Papa, then?” Frances asked a touch gleefully.
“It does not.”
“But ifyoudon’t intend to tell them—”
“I didn’t say that,” he interrupted. “Merely that I thought to perhaps wait until I’d returned to London and all of my wounds stopped bleeding before I made my way to my desk.”
“Julian,” Frances said severely, “it’s most unbecoming of you to blame all of your troubles on that darling kitten.”
“Thank you, Frances,” Emily said gratefully. “I agree on that count.”
“But,” Frances continued, her gaze on her brother sharp, “if I were merely tomentionit to Mama and Papa—or perhaps just to imply that you might have exciting news for them—”
“Shall Iimplythe next time I’m able to see Mother that you were the one, not I, who broke the vase in the drawing room at EverlyPriory?” Julian asked pleasantly. “The one that was a gift from the queen?”
“Julian Belfry!” Frances exclaimed, outraged. “That wasfifteen years ago—”
“And yet, I’m still sure Mother would be quite interested to hear the true sequence of events involved.”
“Er,” Emily said, observing that Frances seemed to have been rendered momentarily speechless with outrage at this threatened betrayal. “What is the age difference between you two?” This seemed a safe, innocuous question for approximately two seconds, before both sets of eyes narrowed.
“Seven years,” Frances said quickly.
“Oh,” Emily said, “the same as—”
“Eightyears,” Julian interrupted.
Emily looked at him, raising inquiring eyebrows.
