Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,108

and trepidation.”

“As you should,” the lady agreed. “You never know, especially with all these chicken nabobs, half-nibs, and mushrooms abounding in London. They get a bit of money and think they can take any woman they want.”

Julia realized her mouth had dropped open. Surely, the arrogant noblemen were just as likely if not more so to take what they wanted, be it an unwilling woman of their own class or a terrified chambermaid, than those new to wealth. She glanced at Jasper, who expectedly shrugged.

“I hope my sudden decision to accept his lordship’s invitation has not inconvenienced you,” Julia said.

“No, not at all. As I said, the more the merrier.” Lady Marshfield turned to her son. “Why don’t you take this charming young lady on a tour next and then we’ll see what entertainment we can scrounge up for the rest of the day as well as this evening. And later, we shall discuss the Twelfth Night party.”

“A party of three?” Jasper asked. He’d hoped his mother had given up on the notion of having a hodge-podge celebration, tossed together at the last minute.

“Nonsense,” his mother said, standing and causing Jasper to rise to his feet. “We shall invite the local gentry.”

“You despise the local gentry. The Woodwynns and the McCauliffs are the bane of your existence.”

Her ladyship sighed. “I will see past my disrelish of them for a party. Besides, we shall also invite Lord and Lady Turner from Wildwood Hall, and she is a delight. Perhaps even some guests from London.”

He winced. “It seems a little eleventh hour of us, don’t you think? Surely everyone has their plans in place, particularly the Turners. What’s more, trying to procure enough food and drink on short notice really could tax our coffers.”

“Jasper!” she admonished, glancing with embarrassment at Julia, who pretended she hadn’t been listening. “I’m sure we could manage a festive party. Although, we must be sure to save enough pennies and pounds for a wedding.”

Leaving that suggestion hanging in the air, the dowager countess excused herself and left the room.

Julia almost felt sorry for the earl with a mother who would try to bind her son to an unknown female. Why, Julia didn’t even have a dowry beyond a few lacey linens.

Jasper was staring at her oddly, and she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, except perhaps regret at hauling her into his coach instead of booting her back to the London street.

“Are you ready for the tour?” he asked.

Chapter Thirty-One

“All of Mayfair feels the lack of Lord M__ at year’s end. Without him, there seems to be a total eclipse of the fun.”

-The Times

Julia’s soft pink lips beckoned Jasper to kiss her. Or at least, that was what he imagined nearly every moment they toured his family home. From the smallest salon they used for intimate dining to the gray drawing room and then into the larger room, the burgundy salon, where they held receptions and small concerts, he led her, pointing out anything remotely interesting.

From there to a sitting room and then their formal dining room. At this she gasped.

“That is one of the longest tables I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s impressive,” he agreed, “but nothing compared to Prinny’s at Carlton House.”

She laughed, a delightful sound. He nearly took her into his arms, but refrained. It was the first day and their first few minutes alone. He didn’t want to scare her off.

“My mother likes you,” he remarked instead, after they passed through to the garden parlor, pausing to look out the large side exit, before completing the circuit through the library and then into the front hall.

“She looked at me as if I were a mangy cat hacking up a furball,” Julia said.

This time Jasper laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone cough out sausage before, but well done! The alternative was to choke to death. Mother dislikes people dying at her dining table.”

“I will remember that.” They crossed toward the stairs.

“I like the tree.” Julia nodded toward the yew in a prominent position, greeting all who entered the black and white hall. “I noticed it when we first arrived. My father never brought one indoors. He said it was some pagan symbol.”

“Don’t tell my mother that. She thinks it is simply a royal tradition and perfectly pink of the mode, as she likes to be. Ever since our king’s German queen brought a tree into Windsor Castle, Mother has always had some poor defenseless tree hacked at the base and brought in over the Christmastide. She makes the