The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(28)

“Yes, she is. Though my father has had to remind her of her duties once or twice.”

“She forgets?”

“On occasion. She prefers the company of her friends at parties. It’s why she’s so eager to hand me off to Lord Gresham.”

Captain Blunt gave her a look that was hard to read. “Lord Gresham has taken a particular interest in you.”

“I suppose.” Julia could think of nothing else to say on the subject. There had been no opportunity yet to speak to her father. Until she did, she had only her suspicions to inform her. She hoped she was wrong, that Papa hadn’t come to some agreement with the earl.

The mere idea of it was enough to dispel the glow of warmth within her.

Up ahead, a thin gentleman trotted toward them on a rangy gray hunter. It was Lord Milburn. He gave them an interested look as he passed.

A scalding flare of self-consciousness took Julia unaware.

Good gracious.

How long had she and the captain been riding together, immersed in private conversation? And how many people had observed them?

Owing to the fine weather, the park was growing busier. Gentlemen were out alone and in pairs, and ladies were riding in company with their grooms. Glancing back, Julia caught the eye of her own groom, Luke Six. His face was set in a frown of disapproval.

Her spirits sank. No doubt he would report her meeting with Captain Blunt to Papa.

“I had better head back,” she said.

Captain Blunt followed her gaze, taking in both the increasing presence of riders and the look on her groom’s face in one comprehensive glance. “Of course. I won’t detain you.”

She turned Cossack around. “Good day to you.”

He bowed to her—the same stiff, militaristic inclination of his head with which he’d greeted her. “Good day, Miss Wychwood.”

She pressed her heel into Cossack’s side, anxious to put as much distance between herself and Captain Blunt as possible. Until she did, she’d continue being the recipient of knowing whispers and curious stares.

Thank goodness for her veil. No one could truly see her face through it. Not when she was moving at a quick clip. But she couldn’t be seen to be running away. She was careful to keep Cossack to a walk.

She’d gone no more than a few lengths when another rider fell in beside her. An exceedingly fashionable, and all-too-familiar, blond lady mounted on a graceful little mare.

It was Viscountess Heatherton.

Julia’s pulse surged on a rush of anxiety.

Lady Heatherton was one of the most prominent figures in London society, famous as much for her beauty as for her vicious and vindictive nature.

Julia hadn’t seen her since a recent ball at Cremorne Gardens. There, on one of the gardens’ dark walks, Lady Heatherton had instigated an altercation with Evelyn and her beau, Mr. Malik. Julia had been present, along with Anne and Stella. Only the intervention of Anne’s mother, Lady Arundell, had prevented the incident from erupting into a full-blown scene.

Since then, Julia and her three friends had steered clear of the viscountess. Not out of fear. They weren’t intimidated by her. But as Anne said, there was no need to provoke her ladyship into another senseless attack, the result of which could only serve to harm their own reputations.

Julia kept that firmly in mind. She had no wish to provoke anyone. In truth, she felt a little sorry for Lady Heatherton. Everyone knew her marriage to the much older Lord Heatherton was an unhappy one.

“Miss Wychwood,” her ladyship said. “You’re without your friends today, I see.”

“I am, my lady. They’re out of town at present.”

“And Miss Maltravers with them?” Lady Heatherton’s face spread into a self-satisfied smile. “Well, well. I thought she had more mettle.”

Julia’s gloved fingers curled tighter on her reins.

The viscountess had taken a particular dislike to Evelyn, owing to Evelyn’s involvement with Mr. Malik. Julia didn’t know the full story. It was something about Mr. Malik having once been Lady Heatherton’s dressmaker. A falling-out had set the two of them at odds. A romantic falling-out, Julia suspected. As a result, Evelyn had become Lady Heatherton’s enemy.

“Miss Maltravers will be back,” Julia said. “She’s only gone home to Sussex for a fortnight.”

“Oh?” The smile froze on Lady Heatherton’s lips.

“Miss Hobhouse and Lady Anne will be returning soon as well. I expect them by Sunday evening.”

“You’re quite alone until then, are you? Or, not quite alone.” Lady Heatherton’s eyes glittered with renewed malice. “Was that Captain Blunt I saw you with?”

Julia didn’t know why the viscountess should ask when she clearly already knew the answer. “It was.”

“Fascinating.” Lady Heatherton’s blond hair glimmered in the sunlight. It was caught up beneath a silvery-gray felt hat, trimmed in black and white ostrich feathers. The stylish chapeau complemented her formfitting riding habit, a costume made to showcase her narrow waist. Her ladyship was a well-known proponent of tight lacing.

Next to her, Julia felt a veritable dowd.

“Brave of you, too,” Lady Heatherton added. “To be alone with him that way.”

“We weren’t alone,” Julia said. “No more than anyone else riding in the park.”