“I saw the Duke of Bewcastle in London this spring,” Julianne said. “He is dignified and haughty and everything one would expect of a duke. And just imagine! His brother is coming to visit Lady Beamish, his grandmother and our neighbor.”
Since Aunt Louisa, Uncle George, and Grandmama must have been well aware of the fact that Lady Beamish was their neighbor, Judith gathered that she was the intended recipient of this startling information. Lady Beamish, presumably the maternal grandmother of the Duke of Bewcastle, lived close by.
“I know she is looking forward to Lord Rannulf’s arrival,” Grandmama said, lifting one sparkling, heavily ringed hand from the arm of her chair. “She told me so when I called on her a few days ago. May I trouble you to pass the cakes again, Judith, my dear? Cook has made them unfortunately small today.
You really ought to have a word with her, Louisa. Three bites and they are gone.”
But Julianne had not finished her recital. “And Lady Beamish particularly wishes to present Lord Rannulf to me,” she said. “She eagerly accepted Mama’s suggestion that he participate in the activities of the house party. She has invited me and our houseguests to Grandmaison for a garden party.“
“Of course she has, my love,” Aunt Effingham said, smirking with pride. “Lord Rannulf Bedwyn is Lady Beamish’s heir as well as being in possession of a sizable fortune of his own. It is natural that she should wish to see him make a good match, and what more suitable choice could she make than a pretty young lady of birth and fortune who is also her neighbor? It will be a splendid match for you, will it not, Effingham?”
Uncle George, who was reading a book, grunted.
“And you can see now, Julianne,” her mother continued, “why it was wise of you to take my advice not to encourage the addresses of the first gentleman or two who would have offered for you in London.”
“Oh, yes,” Julianne agreed. “I might have married Mr. Beulah, who is a bore, or Sir Jasper Haynes, who is not even handsome. I may not marry Lord Rannulf Bedwyn, either. I will see how I like him. He is rather old.”
Judith was sent upstairs at that point to return her grandmother’s jeweled earrings to her jewelry box because they were pinching her earlobes as they always did if she wore them for longer than an hour at a time, and to bring down the heart-shaped ruby ones instead.
Hearts! Her own was heavy indeed, Judith thought as she trudged up the stairs. She had been released mercifully soon from her worst anxiety—her courses had begun the day after her arrival at Harewood.
But nothing, she suspected, was going to release her from deep depression for a long time to come. She could think of nothing but her day and a half and two nights with Ralph Bedard, reliving every moment, every word, every touch and sensation, unwilling to let go of the memories for a single moment lest they fade away entirely, wondering if it would not be kinder to herself to let them do just that.
Sometimes she felt that her heart would surely break. But she knew that hearts did not literally break merely because their owners were unhappy—and foolish. How dreadfully foolish she had been. Yet she clung to the memories as to a lifeline.
Late on the morning of the day before the houseguests arrived, while Tillie was curling her grandmother’s gray hair into its usual elaborate style and Judith was mixing her morning medicine, the one that ensured her ankles did not puff up too badly, Julianne burst into the dressing room, fairly bubbling with excitement.
“He is come, Grandmama, Judith,” she announced. “He arrived a few days ago and is to call here this afternoon to pay his respects.” She clasped her hands to her bosom and pirouetted on the carpet.
“That will be delightful,” Grandmama said. “A little higher on the left, I believe, Tillie. Who is coming?”
“Lord Rannulf Bedwyn,” Julianne said impatiently. “Lady Beamish sent word this morning announcing her intention of calling on us this afternoon for the purpose of presenting Lord Rannulf. Eight and twenty is not so very old, is it? Do you suppose he is handsome, Grandmama? I do so hope he is not downright ugly. You can have him if he is, Judith.” She laughed merrily.
“I daresay that if he is a duke’s son he will look distinguished at the very least,” Grandmama said. “They usually do, or did in my day, anyway. Ah, thank you, Judith, my love. I am feeling rather short of breath this morning, a sure sign that my legs are going to swell up.”
“We must all be sure to be in the drawing room, wearing our very best,” Julianne said. “Oh, Grandmama—a duke’s son.” She bent her head to kiss her grandmother’s cheek and darted lightly back across the room to leave. But she stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “Oh, Judith, I nearly forgot.
Mama says you must be sure to wear the bonnet cap she gave you. You had better not let her see you bareheaded like that.”
“Do hand me the bonbons, Judith, if you will be so good,” Grandmama said after Julianne had left. “I never can abide the taste of that medicine. Louisa must have windmills in her head, insisting that you wear caps when you are a mere child. But I daresay she does not want your hair outshining Julianne’s blond curls. She need not worry. The girl is pretty enough to turn any foolish male head. What shall I wear this afternoon, Tillie?”
A short while later Judith changed into her pale green muslin dress, one of her favorites, though it now hung loose and almost waistless about her person, and tied the narrow strings of the bonnet cap beneath her chin. Goodness, she looked like someone’s spinster aunt, she thought with a grimace before turning firmly away from the mirror. No one was going to be interested in looking at her this afternoon anyway.
She wondered if Julianne would have Lord Rannulf Bedwyn even if he turned out to be a three-foot-tall hunchback with a gargoyle face. Her guess was that her cousin would not be able to resist the lure of becoming Lady Rannulf Bedwyn no matter how he looked or behaved.
Rannulf had spent the whole of his first day at Grandmaison in his grandmother’s company, talking with her, strolling with her in the formal gardens, where she refused the support of his arm, telling her more about the recent activities of his brothers and sisters, sharing his first impressions of Eve, Lady Aidan, his new sister-in-law, answering all her questions.
He noticed that she was slower than she had been, that she seemed tired much of the time, but that pride and dignity held her upright and active so that she did not once complain or accept his suggestion that she retire to rest.
He dressed with care for the visit to Harewood Grange, allowing his valet to heft him into his tightest, most fashionable blue coat with its large brass buttons, and to create one of his elaborately folded neckcloths. He wore his buff, form-fitting pantaloons and his white-topped Hessian boots. Since his hair was too long for a fashionable Brutus or any other style currently in vogue, he had it tied back at the nape of his neck with a narrow black ribbon, ignoring his valet’s pained comment that he looked like something escaped out of a family portrait from two generations ago.
He was going courting. He winced at the mental admission. He was going to view his prospective bride.
And he did not see how he was going to get out of it this time. He had promised his grandmother. She was definitely ill—it was no trick she was playing on him. Besides, she had asked him to promise only that he would consider the girl, not that he would marry her. She had been as fair to him as she could be.
But he knew he was trapped. Trapped by his own sense of honor and his love for her. He would give her the sun and moon if she wanted them, he had told her. But all she wanted was to see him eligibly married before she died, perhaps with a child in his wife’s womb or even in the cradle. He would not be looking at the girl just to see if she might suit him. He would be courting her. Marrying her before the summer was out if she would have him. There was not much doubt in his mind that she would. He had no illusions about his eligibility, especially to the daughter of a mere baronet of impeccable lineage and sizable fortune.