He polished off his kippers, set his napkin aside, and waited until they’d helped themselves at the sideboard and had taken their seats before announcing, “Last night, at Lady Connaught’s ball, I effectively offered for Melissa North’s hand, and she more or less accepted.”
Cutlery fell clattering from both Felix’s and Damian’s hands. Both stared at him in unmitigated surprise.
Damian shook off the shock first. “That was fast! Felix said you’d only decided to look about you the day before you left the castle.”
Julian inclined his head. “Matters came to a head rather more quickly than I’d anticipated.”
Felix was still staring. “More or less? What does that mean?”
He hadn’t made up his mind how much to reveal, but he’d always been close to Felix, and he knew he could count on Damian’s support come hell or high water. “I first met Melissa North just over nine years ago, on one of those Christmas holidays I spent in Hampshire with Henry Fitzgibbon at Little Moseley. Melissa’s grandmama, Lady Osbaldestone, has a house down there, and Melissa was holidaying there as well. We met there again the following year and…although we felt we’d formed a bond, she was only fifteen at the time, and I was about to be sent to Ireland, so we parted ways. Then, last night, I caught up with her again. Unfortunately, Gordon had his eye on her as well.”
“Gordon?” Damian looked nonplussed. “Our cousin Gordon?”
Julian nodded. “And yes, I would have been surprised to see him in a ballroom, but Mama had dropped a word in my ear that she’d heard from one of the aunts that Gordon was in dire straits and his latest tack, so they’d heard, was to find himself a well-dowered young lady. Unfortunately for Gordon, he fixed his eye on Miss North and arranged to compromise her in the Connaughts’ gazebo. Miss North was unimpressed, and he didn’t get far with his scheme. However, even more unfortunately for Gordon, I’d seen them leave the ballroom and, knowing his intentions, followed them and sent him off with a flea in his ear.”
He paused, then went on, “Miss North and I renewed our acquaintance, but neither of us realized until it was too late that Gordon had organized witnesses to make sure of his plan.”
When he didn’t say more, Felix, who’d been hanging on his every word, incredulously asked, “And those witnesses caught you? You and Miss North?”
Julian nodded. “I, of course, did the honorable thing and informed the three ladies, who Miss North informed me are the biggest gossips in the ton, that I’d offered for Miss North’s hand and she’d accepted, and subsequently, Miss North and I made that stick.”
“Well, of course, she was only too happy to go along with it.” Damian leaned back in his chair. “You are one of the biggest catches, if not the biggest, on the Marriage Mart.”
Faintly smiling, Julian shook his head. “Be that as it may, at this juncture, there is no guarantee any marriage will take place.” He met Felix’s gaze. “That’s what I meant by ‘more or less.’ At this point, our putative betrothal is just that—something that might lead to something more or might not. I’ll be meeting with Melissa and her parents later this morning and hope to have some better understanding of how matters might progress after that.”
Felix had been studying his face. “You want to marry her.”
Not a question but a simple statement. Julian dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I thought we would suit way back then, and now, having met her again, I’m even more convinced of it.”
“Given your interests,” Felix mused, “as Lord North’s daughter, she’d likely have a much more appropriate background than the average chit.”
Julian nodded. “Indeed. Although we’ve only spent a few hours getting to know each other again, it certainly seems that way.”
Damian slowly shook his head. “I still can’t take it in. Only you could come to London with the intention of finding a wife and land a bride you actually want within hours of venturing into the ton.”
Julian grunted noncommittally.
“So what,” Felix asked, “do you propose to do next?”
Julian arched his brows. “That rather depends on her.”
At eleven o’clock that morning, Melissa led Julian into the back parlor of her family’s home in Mount Street. She’d persuaded her parents to allow her to meet him when he arrived and speak with him alone.
In the carriage from Connaught House, she’d explained to her mother what had actually happened—why she’d felt compelled to take refuge in the gazebo and what had occurred while she’d been there. All of it. Complete disclosure, except for the details of the kiss.
To her surprise, her mother hadn’t been as upset, disapproving, or censorious as she’d expected. She’d chosen to speak in the carriage, knowing the shadows would hide her blushes; unfortunately, those same shadows had made her mother’s expression impossible to decipher.
When they’d entered the house and she’d finally been able to see her mother’s face, all she’d discerned was a sense of wondering complacency, as if having a daughter embroiled in a faux engagement to shield her reputation was nothing to get overly excited about and more along the lines of what her mother and her cronies would describe as “an interesting development.”
She’d left her mother to break the news to her father. She’d encountered her sire over the breakfast table that morning, and he, too, had seemed entirely unperturbed. Then again, he was exceedingly high in the Foreign Office; to him, dealing with high-stakes disasters and emergencies was routine.
Still, she’d expected something a little harsher than “Well, my girl—a bit of excitement, what?”
While she’d expected her parents’ support, their easy acceptance of the situation left her floundering. She’d assumed their reaction would give her a clue as to what her reaction should rightly be.
She’d spent a restless night, bedeviled by memories of that kiss and thoughts of Julian, both as he was now and as he had been, and what they’d got themselves into—and that kiss.
Now that the moment of facing him and discussing the situation was upon her, she was more than a trifle on edge.
