Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(13)
“You could peer at a fellow with a dagger in your hand,” he jested, “and the poor chap would hasten to offer for your hand.”
“That would be remarkable,” she conceded with a chuckle. “But still unworthy if he can’t recite Romeo’s speech without faltering.”
Julian shook his head. Aside from her pleasant nature, his darling sister loved books, plays and poetry. She was articulate and funny. Aside from being very popular with young men.
Just that afternoon upon his return home, his feisty little sister had shown proof she could attract one man too many. A scoundrel had applied to his mother just that morning for the honor of courting Elanna. Wisely, the duchess had demurred and told the man she must consult with her son and her husband before approving. And as Julian expected, his mother favored the cad. The resulting row he and his mother had had set drums clanging in his ears, an unwelcome addition to his earlier headache. She had advocated a quick engagement for Elanna to the man, a baron of ancient English blood and little repute. Julian had flatly refused to recommend the scamp to his father. When she had told him they needed Elanna out of the house, on someone else’s dole, Julian had fumed at her. He refused to sell his sister to the first bidder, or even the highest, let alone the most scandalous. Elanna had rushed in to the drawing room, calling for quiet deliberation. She tolerated their mother’s shallow maternal instincts. He recoiled from them.
“You’ve no need for a man just yet.” As they climbed the massive steps, Julian shot his mother a look of reproof and settled on Elanna with a benevolent smile. “Besides, I tell you, darling girl, you must add to your enviable talents for negotiation.”
“You’ll teach me how to play dice and win each time?”
“I think it better if I take you up to my gymnasium for boxing lessons.”
“Oh, ho!” Elanna giggled over that as they took the red-carpeted stairs at a steady pace. “I imagine how that will charm my suitors.”
“Boxing? And give me heart palpitations?” his mother asked. “I forbid it. I absolutely—”
“We know, Mama,” he told her as they continued along the circular corridor toward their private box. “Do not fret, Elanna. We’ll find you a man who loves the sport. Then you can marry him and have at each other every day.”
“I hope the ‘having’ would be more pleasant than that,” she said with a wink.
His mother snapped open her fan. “Really. You encourage her. I disapprove.”
Elanna sighed, casting about to admire the well-dressed throng of Parisians eager for a night of opulent music. “Doesn’t everyone look marvelous? And don’t you adore this building? Who decorated the interior? Do you know, Chelton?”
“No idea.” The Paris Garnier overwhelmed him. The heavy limestone, the omni-present gilt, the wealth of dangling crystal chandeliers, the thick blood red carpet, the gargantuan size of the place took his breath. Sucked it right out him. Like a monster. He always hurried to his seat. Once in a box, surrounded by more ordinary dimensions of the red velvet privacy walls and appointed chairs, he found air and space and peace.
He patted Elanna’s hand. “You love its grandeur. I understand that. Even if I don’t appreciate it.”
Elanna adored expansive buildings, bustling city thoroughfares and garrulous people. She was effusive, alluring in her ready acceptance of the universe. That included her embrace of avante-garde music, impressionist painting and all sorts of unconventional people. Men flocked to her, finding her exuberance enchanting. Last spring in London, two had seen her as fair prey. Julian had discouraged them easily, describing Elanna’s depleted dowry and sending them packing. His parents never knew. He prided himself on a few scruples, yet for his sister, he wished to find a man with hundreds. Refreshing to be with, Elanna was a treasure Julian intended to guard. No roué nor chap with debts long as his arm would darken her path if he could help it. He’d welcome a rich man, but finding one of those in these dire financial times for a poor duke’s only daughter would be a miracle.
“Your Grace! Lord Chelton!” A tall, hawkish gentleman approached them along the gallery. “Lady Elanna. How wonderful to see all of you here.”
“Lord Carbury.” His mother inclined her head as the earl strolled up to them. “We’re delighted to see friends from home.”
The man lived in the adjoining estate in Kent and their families had mingled and intermarried off and on for centuries. Carbury was a decade or more older than Julian and bore the signs of age in his lined forehead and thinning gray hair.
“Good evening, Carbury,” his mother addressed him. “Are you in town for the running of the races?”
“I am. Cannot resist the lure.” He took the duchess’s hand to bow over it and then took up Elanna’s to offer the same homage. “Here for another few weeks, then back to the lair. Winter comes. Must do the accounting. Hideous task. What of you? Here for the winter?”
“We return home next week.” Julian had to smile at the way Carbury could not seem to take his eyes off Elanna. The widower was too old, too much of a fuddy-duddy for his virginal sister, but Elanna enjoyed his company when he came to call. And he had called often last spring and summer. He’d made no overture to Elanna. Made no offer for her hand. Yet the fact that he was here in Paris at the same time seemed a bit of a coincidence and Julian wondered if Elanna or his mother had told the middle-aged duke of their travel plans.