“Of course, Your Grace. Proceed with your tearing down of all the other gentlemen in the room. Not one of them appears to be interested in either one of us, so your cautionary tales are probably wasted.
Julian promptly moved between them and proceeded to point out some frightening husband material dancing across the ballroom floor with unsuspecting females.
He pointed to one young man who appeared to be prematurely balding. “That’s Sir Giles Bowling. According to my source, he enjoys being spanked, and his only reason for seeking a wife is he wants a biddable young woman with a tidy fortune who will do what he asks without questioning.”
Mina squeezed Lucy’s hand when her friend’s face paled at Julian’s description.
“Your Grace?”
“Yes, Mina.”
“I’m afraid Lucy is not used to such colorful descriptions of unsuitable men. Could you, ah, confine your comments to less terrifying attributes?”
“Oh. Right. Hadn’t thought about that.”
“Hello, Lord Westfalia,” Lucy suddenly chirped, and Julian made a grimace. “Can I go nowhere without you following me?”
Hugh laughed. “It is you who follows me, Your Grace. And besides,I’mhere to dance.” With that he turned to Lucy and accompanied her toward where the dance master was forming a quadrille.
One of Lady Fitzroy’s footmen appeared and said, “Excuse me, Your Grace, but I have a message for you.” He handed him a folded heavy piece of linen textured paper with his employer’s distinctive, perfectly formed handwriting.
Mina sighed. Their sponsor sat surrounded by the other elderly leaders of the ton, not more than five feet or so away from where she and Julian stood.
He unfolded the paper and moved away to read the contents. “Please excuse me, Miss Tindall. I’ve been summoned by the gorgon of theton.”
After Julian leaned down to hear whatever Lady Fitzroy had to say, he jerked back upright and sketched a bow before disappearing into the crowd. Mina sighed but couldn’t decide whether in relief or exhaustion. She turned to Miss Gellen and observed, “Now it appears we can be ignored in peace.”
* * *
WILHELMINA TINDALL’S DIARY
July 27,1833
Mayfair, London
Tonight I did an incredibly cork-brained thing. I borrowed one of Bridget’s uniforms and her heavy woolen, hooded cape to follow Julian from his townhouse in Hanover Square to his mistress’s townhouse on a small side street nearby.
I stood outside and craned my neck to see through the second-floor window whilst her butler took Julian’s coat and hat. When Julian and the dark-haired beauty embraced beneath the candlelit chandelier and then climbed the front staircase, I heard something I didn’t think actually existed. It was as if someone had smashed a glass against a wall. That was the sound of my heart breaking.
I’m sorry, Dear Diary, but I’m going to confess something you’ve probably known all along - I’m afraid I’m madly in love with the silly, looby, dolt I’ve known all my life, His Grace, the Duke of Montfort.
I’m sure you think that was the end of it. But, oh, no, I had to go back the next day in the same disguise and lurk outside the poor woman’s townhouse. I thought I was incredibly clever, walking casually up and down the street, when suddenly I was grabbed from behind and whisked into the house. Her butler deposited me in her front sitting room where she waited with tea and my favorite chocolate biscuits. How did she know about my favorite biscuits?
Maria is Italian, very Italian, and after she scolded me for at least ten minutes for making a fool of myself over a man, we miraculously turned into the best of friends.
17
DECEMBER 1, 1833
MONTCLIFFE ABBEY
At a slight tap at the family sitting room door, Mina said “Come,” and there stood Old Halsey, the butler, with an elegantly folded note on a tray.
She ripped off the seal and quickly read the contents. “My mother’s requested an audience with me here at the Abbey…in her private sitting room.”
“Wait…what? Your mother? She’s here?” Lucy nearly dropped her cup of cocoa.
“I know, rather frightening…right?”
