Finally he was able to ask his pouting sister-in-law whether she knew a Miss or Mrs. Olive Barrington. Her answer was short and snappy. “No, I do not. And no, I will not demean myself by asking my friends about some female I neither know nor wish to know.”
On that note, he took his leave.
Dispirited, he was heading back to his lodgings when he saw two men walking along in conversation—familiar faces. He pulled over, and as they came abreast of his curricle, greeted them. “Colonel Tarrant. Paton.”
There was a brief exchange of greetings and rapid updating of their current situations. All three of them were now out of the army, which was how he’d known them. Colonel Tarrant was now Lord Tarrant, and Gerald Paton was now Viscount Thornton. And they were both married.
“And I’m now the Earl of Foxton since my father and older brother died,” he told them.
“I’m delighted to see you,” Lord Tarrant said. “Gerald and I are heading to the Apocalypse Club, where we’re meeting a couple of friends for dinner. Our wives are planning a party to be held on New Year’s Eve, so we’re taking refuge in an all-male bastion,” he added. “You’d be most welcome to join us.”
After the day he’d had, the idea of convivial male company was appealing, so Julian accepted. He sent the curricle away with his groom, and as they walked the few blocks to the Apocalypse Club they caught up on recent news.
“As for what I’m doing in town today,” Julian finished, “I suspect I’m on a wild-goose chase.” He told them abouthis fruitless search for Olive Barrington and wasn’t surprised when neither of them had heard of her.
They entered the club, and he met the friends they were there to dine with, Lord Salcott and Lord Randall. “We’re all neighbors,” Tarrant explained, “and it’s the wives of these gentlemen that are leading the party planning.”
“Want to come?” Lord Salcott said instantly. “My wife is always on the lookout for eligible single men to invite to parties.”
Julian laughed.
“He means it,” Lord Randall said. “You’d be very welcome.”
Julian hesitated, but before he could refuse, a waiter arrived to usher them to their table.
“You could ask people at the party about the mysterious lady you’re searching for,” Tarrant suggested as they were seated.
“Mysterious lady?” Lord Randall said.
“Yes, averymysterious lady,” Gerald said in a dramatically hushed voice. “No doubt very beautiful and very—”
“Grandmotherly,” Julian said.
They all laughed, and he explained to Lords Salcott and Randall that he was looking for a lady who was an old acquaintance of his grandmother’s. “I’ve been asking everyone I know, but nobody has ever heard of Olive Barrington.”
“I have.” Lord Salcott shook out his linen napkin. “She’s my aunt.”
Julian’s jaw dropped. “Youraunt?”
“Yes, only she hasn’t been Olive Barrington for fifty years or so. Barrington was her maiden name. She’s Lady Scattergood now.”
Of course, Julian thought as the waiter took their orders. His grandmother often referred to her youthful acquaintances by their maiden names. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
“What did you want with her?” Lord Salcott asked, then when Julian hesitated, he added, “No, no need to explain now. Come to our party on New Year’s Eve. My aunt will probably attend. The party is to introduce my wife’s”—he indicated Lord Randall—“our wives’ young cousin to our friends in the ton. My aunt is very fond of her. It’s not a big formal occasion—we’ll hold a proper ball at the start of the season. This is just a reception to introduce her to our friends, so when she does make her come-out she won’t feel as if she’s wholly among strangers.”
“But there will probably be some dancing,” Lord Randall added. “At least that seems to be the most recent decision. My wife is also involved in the planning.”
“Yes,” Lord Salcott said with amusement. “It did start off as a small reception, but it’s been steadily growing. By New Year’s Eve who knows what it will have become? So, Foxton, would you like to come to our party? I promise you our wives will be delighted to have another eligible young man added to the list.”
Why not? Julian thought. The idea of being an eligible young man—in other words, marriage bait—didn’t delight him, but at least he’d meet the old lady who knew Vita. “Thank you, I’d be delighted,” he told Lord Salcott.
Chapter Thirteen
It was New Year’s Eve, and Zoë, Clarissa and Izzy were at Izzy’s house getting dressed for the party with their maids in attendance. As Clarissa had said, “It’s silly to come in a carriage when we’re only a few steps across the garden, but the ground is damp, and we don’t want our hems to get stained or dirty. Or our lovely silk slippers.”
Zoë’s nerves were strung tight, and they were not helped by what felt like a flock of swallows swooping around in her stomach. She probably should have eaten something, but she hadn’t been able to force a morsel past her lips for fear it would come straight back up again.
She took slow, deep breaths. It was ridiculous to be nervous, she told herself. This was for her sisters, not her. For herself, she didn’t care if people did learn she was an English bastard half sister, but she did care—very much—if that damaged the reputations of her sisters. So long-lost French cousin she was to be. Leo had even suggested she could add de Chantonney to her surname.
