onto his coach.”
“I see,” his mother said and sipped her claret. “That makes sense.”
Did it? Jasper was impressed by Julia’s quick story.
“An egregious error by your servants,” the dowager countess concluded. “I suggest you terminate the footman’s employ as soon as you return to London. Or you could send a missive tomorrow and sack him by post.”
“Thank you, my lady. I shall let my sister handle it as he is in her employ.”
“I am only sorry I left my horsehair calf pads in London,” Jasper quipped to lighten the mood, thinking of the funny old-fashioned practice of men sculpting their legs with padding.
“Calf pads?” his mother repeated. “Your calves are beautifully shaped, just like your father’s. Why would you need pads?”
“Merely a jest, Mother,” he said, winking at Julia, who looked a little less self-conscious.
Meanwhile, he got to look at her prinked up like a Bartholomew doll, and a damned salty one at that. Instead of a loose fall of fabric from just under her breasts in the fashion of the day, her upper body was accentuated with a form-fitting bustier. Her gorgeous breasts were pushed upward and placed on daring display.
“Jasper!” his mother admonished, catching his interested gaze. “Offer Miss Sudbury a drink and stop gaping like a dog at a bone. Your tongue is practically hanging out.”
“Yes, madam.” He tried to sound repentant, but he wasn’t. Julia was a tastier treat than any bone. She was luscious and full, and he intended to feast on her later. “Come sit here by the fire and tell me if claret is to your liking or would you prefer sherry.”
“Claret is fine, sir.”
Directing her to the sofa upon which the dowager countess was seated, he realized Julia was going along with whatever his mother was doing, and it was a good plan.
She lowered herself to the sofa cushion.
“My hand!” his mother exclaimed.
Springing up again, Julia started to apologize. “I’m so very sorry, my lady. It was my pocket hoop which sat upon you, not my bot ... not me.”
“Hm,” his mother made a sound of disapproval. Then she sighed. “Sit down, my dear. You know, many ladies would have an absolute fit if they arrived somewhere without their trunk. You might not be pink of the fashion, but you’re a tulip nonetheless. I admire your dauntless perseverance.”
Jasper rolled his eyes. It wasn’t as if Julia was heading off to war unarmed and wearing men’s inexpressibles. After all, he’d come away without Blumsey, deciding he didn’t need a valet in the country when he’d thought to see no one but his mother.
Still, he was pleased at how well the women were getting along. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than his mother not liking his ... friend.
Especially if Julia became more than that.
He listened while the dowager countess told their guest about the history of the house, his father’s contributions, and how she came there as a young bride. But when his mother started in on the stories of how he’d trampled her flower gardens or climbed the apple trees in the orchard, he cleared his throat.
“I’m sure Miss Sudbury doesn’t want to hear about all that,” Jasper said.
Yet Julia nodded enthusiastically. “I do, sir. I can almost picture you.”
She had an enthralled — but almost cheeky — look that made him smile back at her.
“Besides,” she added, “if we were in Chislehurst, my father would tell stories of my sister and I that would raise your hair.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed the dowager countess.
“Indeed,” Jasper agreed. “Why don’t you tell us one of your stories from childhood.”
“Oh no,” Julia said with a shake of her head, sending him a warning look and clearly deciding it wasn’t the best course of action to disclose any such tales.
“I know your father is a vicar,” his mother said. “A very solid sort of person, I imagine. What of your mother? She has passed away?”
“Yes, when I was three. I’m afraid I can tell you nothing about her except her cheek was soft as was her voice, and her hair was blonde. My sister is two years older and remembers a little more.”
Jasper watched with surprise as his mother put her hand over Julia’s.
“I’m sorry, my dear. Children, especially girls, benefit from the love and guidance of a mother.” He had never seen Lady Marshfield express such a soft sentiment to anyone, let alone a practical stranger. Yet he knew why she had done it, for a lump had arisen in his own throat at the thought of Julia