Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,113
and her sister as motherless tykes.
“I have always felt lucky to have my sister, with whom I’m very close,” Julia told them, although he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes, “and to have my father’s love, too. Please do not trouble yourself,” she addressed his mother. “Besides, given the festive season, we should be merry.” She finished with a warm smile and sipped her wine.
Julia Sudbury was a remarkable woman, cheering up both him and his mother when they were sad for her. He was determined to help lift the mood.
“If Cook has her way, we shall be merry and fat by the new year,” he said. “May I escort you two beautiful ladies to dinner?”
Soon, they were all laughing when, with a female on either arm, Jasper couldn’t make it through the doorway.
“It’s no good,” he said to Julia. “Your gown shall have to be your escort, and you may precede us.” He gestured for her to enter ahead of them.
As a benefit, while ignoring the ridiculous girth of her hips, he got to look at the lovely curve of her waist from behind and the slender length of her neck. The form-fitting bodice was an improvement over the current shapeless fashion as far as he was concerned.
Christmas dinner was a decidedly tedious nuisance from the soup to the roast goose to the pudding course. The discussion was lively, the company enchanting, and his mother’s overt attempts to discern whether any romantic feelings were afoot was actually rather charming.
Nevertheless, the meal seemed three times as long as usual, and Jasper desperately wanted it to end. They still had to get through cards, charades, or whatever entertainment his mother deemed suitable before it was time to retire, yet all he could think about was Julia stretched out naked on a bed, any bed.
“Jasper, did you hear me?”
“No, Mother. My thoughts were elsewhere.” He let his glance caress Julia’s face, and her cheeks went nearly scarlet. He’d best be careful, or his mother would send one of the maids up to the attic to rummage for an antique chastity belt.
“I asked if you had any more thoughts about a Twelfth Night party?”
He sighed. She was not going to stop gnawing at that particular bone.
“Simply because we can throw a party doesn’t mean we should,” he said. “Miss Sudbury would have to come dressed like your grandmother, for one thing. And I’ve been thinking—” although he hadn’t “—how the best of the meats and cheeses and wines are too far away to reach us in any substantial amount, so the guest list would have to be small, or we’d have to serve inferior food. Either way, it might give fuel to the rumors of our paucity.”
“Heavens!” the dowager countess declared. “Better not to have a party than to throw a miserable one.”
“Exactly,” Jasper agreed, glad Julia was nodding in agreement. She was undoubtedly even less eager to invite England’s nobility and gentry than he was, probably fearing they’d point to her as a jewel thief. “We’ll enjoy ourselves much more without having to worry about the opinion of outsiders.”
“As long as you promise me we are not,” his mother glanced nervously at Julia, then at the footman standing against the wall, before lowering her voice to a loud whisper, “in any danger of bankruptcy.”
He grimaced. “I assure you we shall not be angling for farthings out the prison window.”
“Very well.” The dowager countess sat back and raised her wine glass. “Then I shall toast to a very happy Twelvetide with only the two of you, and be quite glad of it.”
“I’m honored, my lady,” Julia said.
Having put that notion to rest, they retired to the salon for cards until finally, his mother started to yawn.
“The ride today was longer than I’m accustomed to,” she said. “The land of nod calls to me. Tomorrow, even though Christmas has passed, we shall gather some holly and evergreens and decorate for our own Twelfth Night celebration, at least all the ground floor rooms and Belleview, of course.”
“By which you mean you’ll send out the footmen and maids to do the gathering and then trust only Mr. Jeffers and perhaps Mrs. Bowman to direct the decorating.”
“Naturally,” his mother said.
Julia laughed, and he imagined she was used to being more hands-on at the vicarage.
“We’ll keep the yew and add a few more candles to it,” the dowager countess insisted.
“Let’s try not to set it on fire this year,” Jasper quipped.