‘She would be de lighted,’ Lady Narborough assured her. ‘She stays at home during the mornings at the moment, which stops Stanegate fussing, but she will appreciate a visitor. It is just around the corner if you want to walk. Ask Wellow to send one of the footmen with you when you are ready to go.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Verity said.
‘No, dear.’ Lady Narborough sent Julia a look that seemed to say she under stood the need for one newly married young lady to talk to another. ‘I want you with me this morning.’
Wondering just what Hal’s mother thought she needed to talk about, if it was not hats, Julia set out with Richards the footman in attendance. It was not until she found herself seated in Nell’s boudoir that it occurred to her that she had not planned quite how to phrase her questions.
‘Hal must be a challenge as a husband,’ Nell remarked while she was still composing herself. ‘I love him dearly as a brother, but my goodness, the man is wild.’
‘Not at the moment,’ Julia said, crumbling the biscuit Nell had pressed upon her.
‘His wounds, you mean? Yes, I suppose that would slow even Hal down. Marcus says they were severe.’
‘Hal has reformed.’ As Julia said it she realized how dreary that sounded. It was not a reformed rake she had fallen in love with, it was the real man with all his faults and foibles.
‘Congratulations! It must be true love if you have that much control over him.’
Julia winced. ‘I loved him as he was. He seems to feel he needed to change, for me. And he felt he had to marry me because I had compromised myself.’
‘And saved his life,’ Nell pro tested. ‘You mean he has not told you he loves you?’
Julia shook her head. ‘He said—Nell—may I call you Nell? He wanted me, he said, but then he told me why he could not marry me. And after the battle, when I found him, then he said he had to marry me. And now he doesn’t even seem to want me either, not like…not in…’
‘In bed?’ Nell swung her feet down off the foot stool and sat up, frowning. ‘What has come over the man?’
‘I think he believed that, because I was a virgin and he had lived a dissolute life, that he would shock me. He didn’t seem very confident about, um, making love to a virgin.’
‘But he has? You said you were a virgin.’ Nell seemed wonderfully un embarrassed about this.
‘Last night. It was a disaster,’ Julia said and then, to her own surprise and shock, burst into tears.
Another pot of tea and at least three pocket handkerchiefs later, Nell sat back and laughed. ‘Oh, I am sorry, I can see it is horrid for you. But to see the most outrageous flirt I know laid low by virtue really is poetic justice.’
‘But what can I do?’ Julia demanded. Somehow her spirits were rising, it did seem possible that there was some hope if Nell was so amused.
‘Why, seduce him, of course. And learn to flirt your self. But first we need to go shopping.’
Shopping under Nell’s tuition was a luxurious adventure. It seemed London was full of small shops where one could buy the most frivolous, expensive and delightful trifles if only one knew where to look—and provided one had no care for the resulting bill.
‘I haven’t discussed a dress allowance with Hal yet,’ Julia whispered urgently in Nell’s ear. Nell was sit ting at her ease, directing the assistant in a shop whose entire stock appeared to be either transparent, semi-transparent or made of lace. To Julia’s dismay, the prices were in inverse proportion to the modesty of the garment.
‘That is very remiss of him, but he should know he must pay for his pleasures. You do not think we are buying these things for your sake, do you? Men are very visual creatures, bless them, and we must give them something to look at. I think that sea-green gauze negligée with the matching slippers, the embroidered muslin camisoles and the Chinese silk night gowns will do for now.’
An hour later, they emerged from another of Nell’s favourite modistes, leaving an order for a delicious evening gown to be ready as soon as possible, and repaired to the nearest bookshop. ‘Racy poetry and novels, that’s the next thing,’ Nell announced. ‘And I am going to sit here and con the pages of The Repository for the latest bonnets.’
Julia obediently went to find the right sections, blinking a little at the choice of titles that her mama would condemn unopened as quite outrageous. They all looked wickedly tempting, and Nell had said they would put her in the mood for romance. Not that she needed putting in the mood…
‘Are you having to buy your own love poetry, Mrs Carlow?’
Julia jumped and almost dropped her pile of books. There was the gem dealer from Brussels, the man Hal spoke of with such bitterness and his brother with such hatred. Only now, he did not look like a polite business man; he looked dangerous. Predatory even. Or perhaps she was seeing him in the light of what the brothers had told her about him.
The shiver of sensual awareness he seemed able to produce just with a look from those bold dark eyes trembled through her. ‘Mr Hebden! Are you following me?’
‘What hot-blooded man would not?’ he enquired, leaning his shoulder against the book stacks and smiling at her. Julia stopped herself licking her lips nervously and lifted her chin instead. ‘You intrigue me, Julia. Such a very good wife for such a man as Hal Carlow.’ He was dressed like any of the gentlemen strolling past in Piccadilly, only perhaps they did not show the glint of gold in their earlobe or wear their dark waving hair quite so long.
And their voices would not have that intriguing lilt, even if their eyes held as much impertinent masculine appreciation. Julia felt her pulse stutter and not, she realized, entirely through apprehension.
‘What do you want, sir?’ she demanded. ‘If I call for help, the proprietor will have you apprehended.’