and it was up to her merely to play the refined hostess and for the earl to show up.
Upstairs, she accepted the help of another of her sister’s maids to dress. She usually wore blue if she wanted to look her best but decided to change her appearance, since Marshfield had already seen her in blue.
Torn between a burgundy satin and a silver silk, she went with the warmer color until she looked at herself in the mirror and decided it was too gaudy.
“It’s not vulgar, miss, I promise you,” the maid insisted.
“Still, I think the silver is a better choice.” Julia would look less as though she was offering herself up as a tasty morsel of meat or a delicious glass of Spanish wine.
“Yes, miss.” With the maid’s help, she changed into a fine muslin petticoat, worn under the silver silk gown, which was embroidered with darker silver and topped with a small, snug plum-colored bodice.
Julia took another look at herself. The short full sleeves and the tight bosom trimmed with a thick silver border of ribbon were most becoming. She turned and twisted in front of the mirror, trying to see her back, and then gestured for the hand mirror so she could see it properly. Fluted lace over her rear kept the dress from being too plain and a silver fringe at her waist added an unusual touch.
“I think it’s suits, don’t you?”
“Yes, miss,” said the maid, who looked as if she wanted to move on to her next chore.
“I thank you,” Julia assured her. “I particularly like the way you’ve styled my hair. The curls are loose and not rigid and regular. Quite natural looking, and the pearl bandeau is perfect.”
Julia was babbling nervously, not sure why this one dinner mattered when the earl had already seen her in evening dress twice before.
Feeling a little like a hypocrite, she picked out a few pieces of her sister’s jewelry to complement the gown, a pearl necklace and pearl eardrops with silver bracelets on her left arm. And then immediately took them all off and made do with her single ruby ring that had belonged to her mother and which she never removed.
“Now I wait,” she muttered. “I’ll go into the drawing room,” she said to no one, realizing the maid had already dismissed herself.
Hoping it was all right to begin with a glass of Sarah’s claret before her guest arrived, she asked Mr. Dawson, the butler, to bring it in, then took a seat by the fire. The staff already considered her peculiar, what with paying off two of them to secrecy, which meant all the household staff knew of her weekly trips. Moreover, Julia had always been perfectly happy borrowing her sister’s dresses, not indulging in the purchasing of her own. This worked fine except it kept the maid running back and forth between bedchambers looking for gowns. Then she’d gone into the cook’s domain like a ninny, as if she was going to start peeling potatoes the way she had when a child in Chislehurst.
A sip or two calmed her nerves, and soon, she was not the least bit anxious.
Until she heard the rapping at the front door. She stood, then sat, then stood. Gracious!
Finally, she remembered to set her glass down just as Mr. Dawson admitted the earl to the room.
“Lord Marshfield, miss,” he announced.
If possible, the earl looked even more handsome than she recalled. Rather magnificent in a gray evening coat and black breeches and boots.
If only it were polite to openly stare at him.
With nerves fluttering in her belly, she smiled.
For his part, the earl had taken two steps into the room, looked at her, glanced around in puzzlement at the lack of other guests, then jumped slightly when the butler closed the door behind him.
All at once, she realized it was her place to greet him first.
“My Lord Marshfield, so good of you to come.” She sounded like a stuffy matron, but it was the best she could do with her heart racing and her mouth gone suddenly bone dry. Julia offered him the curtsy due his station and waited.
As a gentleman, he stripped off his gloves, approached close enough to take her hand, and while keeping his coffee-brown eyes locked on hers, bowed over her bare fingers. Without gloves, it felt extremely intimate, and she nearly sighed.
Still holding her hand, standing a bit too close, he frowned slightly.
“Am I early?”
“No, sir,” she said. “Exactly on time.” If he’d kept her