The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(123)

Thirty-Seven





Julia stared up at the imposing facade of her parents’ house in Belgrave Square. It had been less than a month since Jasper had carried her out in his arms. Only a few weeks spent in the country, living as his wife, and stepmother to his children. Not much time, really, and yet . . .

It had altered her completely.

A shimmer of anxiety still fizzed in her veins, but it didn’t overpower her. Alone on the front step, she raised her hand and knocked firmly on the door.

It was opened by a footman she didn’t recognize. Jenkins Five, presumably, hired to take the place of Jenkins Four.

His gaze flitted over her. “Madam?”

She smoothed her hands over her lobelia blue silk carriage dress. Thanks to Anne’s maid, Jeanette, it was freshly sponged and pressed. Jeanette had seen to all Julia’s gowns on their final day in Yorkshire. It was a reminder of how invaluable a trained lady’s maid could be.

Julia was resolved to hire a new one for herself while in London. Perhaps, when visiting the employment agency, she could inquire about a governess for Daisy, and a tutor for the boys.

First, however, she had to regain control of her fortune.

“Please inform Sir Eustace and Lady Wychwood that Mrs. Blunt is here to see them,” she said.

The footman betrayed a flash of recognition at the name. No doubt he’d heard of her elopement. For all that Papa abhorred gossip, there was no way to stamp it out completely.

“Mrs. Blunt.” He bowed. “This way if you please.”

Julia followed him upstairs to the morning room. The curtains were drawn shut, and the remains of a fire crackled in the hearth. Papa must have been in earlier to meet with someone. Hicks, possibly. Or else he’d had a consultation with someone from his new firm of solicitors.

The thought of it put steel in Julia’s spine.

“What is your name, sir?” she asked the footman.

“Jenkins, ma’am.”

“Your real name.”

He tugged at his collar. “It’s, er, Cedric.”

“Cedric,” she said, “you may tell my parents that, if they wish to see me, they can do so here in the morning room.”

“Ma’am?”

“Here,” she repeated. “Not in their bedchambers.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The footman beat a hasty retreat.

Julia stood a moment in the darkness and suffocating heat before impatience spurred her into action. She first removed her bonnet and her gloves, and then one by one, pulled the curtains back from the tall windows, letting the sun shine fully into the room.

Whether her parents would agree to bestir themselves, she didn’t know. Part of her hoped they would, and the other part—a remnant of the girl who had grown up here, shy and frightened—prayed they would not. She didn’t relish a confrontation with them.

But there was more at stake than her own fears.

She waited by the window as the clock ticked down the minutes. At length, a familiar tread sounded outside the door.

“Oh ho!” Her father’s thin voice rang with vindictive glee as he entered the room. “Look who’s come crawling back.” He was in his banyan and house slippers, with a muffler at his throat. “Didn’t I tell you she would soon repent her recklessness?”

Her mother was behind him. She wore a quilted dressing gown, her hair covered by a muslin cap bordered in guipure lace. She clutched a handkerchief in her hand. “And for this I must be summoned from my bed?” Her watery eyes squinted into the sunlight. “Who opened these curtains?”

“I did,” Julia said. “We’re going to speak candidly, and I’d rather the conversation not be had in darkness.”

“We’re going to speak candidly?” Mama echoed. “What about, pray?” She sank onto the settee. “Coming here and making demands, as if you were in any position to do so. Were I stronger, I’d slap your face for such impertinence.”

Papa sat down in a chair, drawing a blanket over his knees. “Your poor dear mama would be within her rights to chastise you. No one would dare stop her.”

“I would stop her,” Julia said quietly.

“You what?” Papa looked up with a start. “What did she say?”

“She says she would stop me.” Mama’s eyes kindled. “You’ve no right to put on airs, my girl. You’ve shamed us, and made Lord Gresham a laughingstock. He’s turned his attentions to Bingham’s daughter—the silly little chit. She’ll be his countess now. And you, wed to an ex-soldier of dubious fame, with no money or connections to recommend him. An alliance doomed from the start. I could have told you it wouldn’t last. Count yourself lucky we’re willing to have you back.”

Julia sat down, facing her parents. “You’ve mistaken me,” she said. “I haven’t come back.”

Papa chuckled. “I expect Captain Blunt will have something to say about that. He knows my terms. He won’t get a penny if he doesn’t relinquish you to us.”

“My husband has no intention of relinquishing me. Not ever.” Julia felt the truth of it to her marrow. Jasper would never let her go. He’d scarcely been willing to allow her to leave Yorkshire with Anne. Only his guilt had kept him from forbidding her departure.