On the journey home from Greenwich, she and Julian had discussed how best to move forward. They’d decided to keep their decision to proceed with the engagement and wedding to themselves for the moment in the hope of gaining time to explore the possibilities and further define exactly what they wanted—for instance, with the marriage settlements and details of the wedding—without having to endure a higher level of helpful interference than that to which they were already subject.
Inciting heightened interest was the last thing they wished to do.
And indeed, the past three days spent crafting a satisfying joint life and examining and discussing the aspects they might include within that framework had been fascinating and illuminating. They’d skipped as many daytime events as they possibly could and, instead, had spent time talking with each other, exchanging ideas and putting flesh on the bones of their emerging vision of their future life.
As part of that, they’d attended a meeting of one of the charities favored by ton ladies, one devoted to the care and education of orphans in London. Both she and Julian had been warmly welcomed, and he’d found several other gentlemen present and, like her, had ended the excursion wanting to further their ideas in that sphere. After subsequent discussion, they’d agreed to first examine what the situation was like around Carsington Castle and Derbyshire in general before making a firm decision as to exactly which project to support and where to direct their energies.
She’d been especially pleased over how he and she had come together over that.
Their evenings hadn’t been as rewarding. Throughout the impossible-to-avoid events, the ton’s scrutiny hadn’t wavered and, if anything, had grown more intense—that sense of people watching and waiting for something to happen. That expectation had grown to be a palpable thing, an almost-smothering weight.
Increasingly, it was putting both their backs up; neither were the sort to appreciate being pushed, and that was what it felt like—being pushed to satisfy society’s expectations.
And now, this.
After Julian had deflected yet another thinly veiled inquiry attempting to define when their engagement ball would be, she smiled, determinedly serene, and murmured so only he would hear, “How much longer do you think we can keep this up without one or other of us snapping and saying something we really shouldn’t?”
His expression relaxed and easygoing, but with temper clouding his gray eyes, he replied, “This has been far worse than I expected. I can see it was naive of us to imagine we might be allowed a week or two to ponder our future before declaring ourselves.” He lightly arched one dark brow. “They’re not going to let us have that, are they?”
Smile widening as if at some shared joke, she shook her head. “Definitely not.” After a momentary pause, she added, “I suspect their patience is nearly exhausted. Any day now, someone is going to confront us and demand to be told when our engagement ball will be held and what date we’ve settled on for our wedding.”
Inwardly, Julian grimaced. It seemed their hopes of being left in peace to define their own way forward were doomed. Although naming dates for their engagement ball and subsequent wedding might seem minor issues, the instant they capitulated and did so, they would be swept along on an irresistible tide that wouldn’t release them until after they were wed. Melissa had explained that, and his recollections of his sisters’ engagements and weddings bore out her prediction. Once they committed to their engagement ball, they would be helpless to influence much at all, not until after they were wed.
Neither he nor she liked feeling helpless, liked surrendering the reins to anyone, let alone giving in to the demands of the nameless, faceless ton. But…
His mother tapped her water glass, then rose, beaming, to declare that it was time for her to lead the ladies back to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to pass the port and brandy.
He rose and drew out Melissa’s chair for her, using the moment to murmur, “Each to our own ordeal.”
She threw him a speaking glance, but wore a delighted smile as she moved past him and, after joining the other ladies, indeed, being engulfed by them, followed his mother from the room.
Tightening his hold on his temper, he resumed his seat as the other men moved to take the chairs around him, forming a large knot at the center of the table.
As he’d expected, as the decanters did the rounds, the questions came thick and fast. Some were straightforward, such as a query from one of his maternal cousins as to how much involvement he still had with the Home Office, and Melissa’s father’s question as to whether he missed the work, both of which he handled with ease; indeed, he extended his answers to take up as much time as possible, hoping to stifle the more intrusive queries, such as the brazen question from one of his maternal uncles as to whether he could confirm the date for their engagement ball.
His smile a trifle tight, he replied, “No.”
His uncle merely nodded. “Thought as much, but I had to ask, you know?”
Everyone chuckled, understanding that to mean he’d been ordered by his wife to do so.
That broke the tension, and the same uncle further helped by asking where he’d got his matched bays. “Noticed them in the park the other day. Lovely steppers.”
That led the conversation into less-fraught waters, and Julian started to relax.
After their digestive tipples of choice had been consumed, at his suggestion—his mother being quite capable of sending a footman to summon them if they dallied too long—the company rose and started back to the drawing room.
He found himself strolling with Felix on one side and Captain Findlay-Wright on the other. The captain was often included in family gatherings as Helen’s escort; the family had accepted that, in assisting her to bring the body of her husband, Colonel Maurice Delamere, home from India, Findlay-Wright had done the family a significant service, and as he continued to lodge with Helen, squire her about, and rein in her frequently wild notions, they’d fallen into the habit of inviting him to attend with her.
“Well,” Findlay-Wright said, “all this talk of engagement balls and weddings aside, given your interest in your acres, I imagine you’ll be back at the castle as soon as you can manage it.” The look he cast Julian was commiserating. “I can’t imagine you’re enjoying this. You must be keen to seek refuge in Derbyshire.”
Julian smiled easily. “I won’t say you’re wrong, but as I came to London intending to find a suitable bride, I can hardly complain about the outcome.”
Findlay-Wright faintly frowned. “I hadn’t realized you’d reached the point of looking about you for a wife.”
Julian lightly shrugged. “I decided to be proactive rather than having some lady foisted on me.”
“Ah.” Findlay-Wright nodded. “That, I can understand.”
