Casting aside her sadness, Julia entered Havisham House, determined to have some fun with her friends. There was much teasing of Charlotte, who did not seem to understand her own infatuation with Penrith—undoubtedly because she could not believe herself in love with a Tory. Then, when it transpired that no one had read Evelina, they took in Violet's latest work of art. Following that, Violet and Julia presumed that they might resume teasing Charlotte, but the flame haired girl took her leave, unable to admit to even herself that she was in love with an Upstart.
Once alone, Julia pressed Violet on her trip to the theatre with her own Upstart, but Violet could not be drawn to speak of him. It was only down to subterfuge on Julia's part that she managed to glean that the duke had spent the evening holding Violet's hand.
"Why on earth did you keep Orsino's courtship a secret?" Julia pressed, but Violet would not say.
"It's not a courtship," Violet bristled, unusually short tempered. "His Grace invited me to the theatre, I attended; end of story. There is no happily ever after in store for the duke and me, Julia—you can take my word on that."
It was not like Violet to snap or lose her temper, and Julia was momentarily taken aback by her outburst. However, when she peered closely at her friend, she saw that her eyes were ringed with dark circles, and some of the light had gone from her eyes.
"What is it, Vi?" Julia asked, leaning forward to place a gloved hand upon Violet's own, "You have been out of sorts for weeks. It is not like you at all to be so jumpy and irritable. Is something troubling you? If there is, I beg you, please tell me."
For a moment, it seemed as though Violet might confide in her, but a knock on the door broke the spell of confidence betwixt them, and Maria poked her head around the door.
"Begging your pardon, m'lady ," Maria called, "But we'd best be away if we are to be on time to meet your mama."
"Lud," Julia uttered an epithet, "I had forgotten about the dress fitting. Mama will have an apoplectic fit if I am late."
"Er, why exactly do you need a special dress made so late into the season?" Violet queried, her face now showing her own suspicion.
"For a masquerade," Julia gave a light laugh, "Have no fear; if I become engaged, I will let you know."
In fact, if Julia became engaged, she was certain Lady Cavendish would find a way to let the whole world know. Perhaps she would pay The Times to print it on their front page? It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.
"Do you feel an engagement is an imminent possibility?" Violet pressed, her worried eyes searching Julia's face.
Gemini! Now that Julia knew what it felt like to be pressed on a subject she had no wish to discuss, she rather regretted her own inquisition of Violet.
"Lord Pariseau is perfectly affable," Julia shrugged, hoping to end the conversation, but Violet still looked stricken. "And don't you look at me like that, Violet! I am not an artist; I have not a romantic bone in my body. Marriage, to me, is a practical arrangement—one which will ensure my future comfort and happiness. If you and Charlotte had your way, you'd have me married off to Lord Montague so we could all have an Upstart of our own."
"I don't recall anyone mentioning Lord Montague, Julia?" Violet replied, her eyes now dancing with mischief.
La! What a slip of the tongue. Lord Montague had wriggled his way into her brain yet again and was refusing to budge.
"Well, it would be the sort of ridiculous thing the two of you would dream up," Julia blustered, as she picked up her reticule and pristine copy of Evelina . "Good day Violet, thank you for the tea."
With that, Julia swept from the room, attempting to hold her head high, despite her lies.
Chapter Eight
Something was afoot with Penrith and Orsino, Rob thought suspiciously, as he eyed his two friends from across the ballroom.
Earlier, when Robert had queried what plans the two had for the night, they had both informed him that they intended to make an early night of it. Yet, here they both were, dressed to impress in their suit jackets, mingling with the other guests at Lord and Lady Jacob's ball. As the good Lady Jacob appeared to have invited half of London—and half of London had shown up—Rob wondered if the two had yet sighted each other.
He did not think they had, for while both were stalking the periphery of the ballroom, and both appeared to be looking for something, neither seemed to be looking for the other.
From the tense set of both men's jaws, and the intent gleam in their eyes, Rob knew just what it was that they were seeking: a lady.
Dark horses, Robert thought with amusement, as he watched Orsino glower menacingly at a mama who looked as though she were about to engage him in conversation. Well, perhaps just one dark horse.
It had been clear as day since their sojourn at Almack's that Penrith had fallen swollen-head over polished-boot for Miss Charlotte Drew. From the endless ways he had managed to drop her name into conversation, to the vehemence with which he denied that he had done that very thing, it was obvious to even the most removed observer that Penrith had been hit by Cupid's arrow.
And it was tremendous fun for Robert, to watch his stuffy friend become unravelled by a blue-stocking, and a rather spirited one at that. Each and every time that Robert had sighted Miss Drew, she had been laughing, or joking, or doing something not quite within propriety's bounds. No wonder Penrith was so in denial about his feelings—to love abas-bleuwent against his very Tory sensibilities and was no doubt causing him great anguish.
As for Orsino, Rob cast his mind back over the preceding days and recalled that his friend had attempted to weasel from him—in a roundabout way—the way in which one might ingratiate oneself with a lady who was not interested. Robert had thought nothing of it, believing Orsino was finally about to press Lady Olivia, his late brother's betrothed, for her hand in marriage.
But Lady Olivia was on one side of the room, Rob noted, whilst Orsino remained resolutely on the other side.
How peculiar.
