“And quite prettily behaved too,” she said. “If there is any excess, it is mere youthful folly and will soon mature under the demands of matrimony and motherhood and the patience of a good husband. She will be a good match for you, Ralf. Not brilliant, perhaps, but I believe even Bewcastle will not protest too loudly.”
“It was never understood,” he said, “that Wulf would choose my bride, Grandmama.”
She chuckled. “But I would be willing to wager on it,” she said, “that he was near to having an apoplexy when he discovered that Aidan had married a coal miner’s daughter.”
“After that shock,” he said, “I am confident that he will approve of someone as eligible as Miss Effingham.”
“You will seriously court her, then?” she asked, setting one hand on his sleeve. He noticed how the skin stretched thin and pale over the bones, and covered it with his own hand.
“I agreed to go back tomorrow for dinner, after the house-guests have arrived, did I not?” he reminded her.
“You did.” She sighed. “I expected you to be far more difficult. You will not be sorry, I promise you.
Bedwyn men have always been reluctant to marry, but they have invariably made marriages that turned into love matches, you know. Your poor dear mama never did recover her health after Morgan’s birth and died far sooner than she ought, but she was very, very happy with your papa, Rannulf, and he doted on her.”
“I know,” he said, patting her hand. “I know, Grand-mama.”
But his head was pounding with thoughts about Judith Law, alias Claire Campbell. How the devil were they going to avoid each other during the coming weeks? At least now he could understand why she had fled. He had wanted to go with her so that he could see her act , not realizing that everything he had seen of her from the first moment on had been nothing but an act.
He was no less furious with her now. She had deceived him. For all the excesses of his life, he would never have dreamed of seducing a gently nurtured woman. And that was exactly what he felt like—a seducer of innocence. A damned lecherous villain.
Life had certainly taken several turns for the worse since his grandmother’s letter had reached him in London.
He is so very large, mama,“ Julianne said, nevertheless clasping her hands to her bosom as if in ecstasy.
Uncle George had gone downstairs to see Lady Beamish and Lord Rannulf Bedwyn on their way and had not returned to the drawing room.
“But a fine figure of a man,” Aunt Effingham said. “There is no padding in his clothes, I declare, nor does there need to be.”
“He is not at all handsome, though, is he?” Julianne said. “He has such a big nose.”
“But he has blue eyes and good teeth,” her mama said. “And all the Bedwyns have that nose, Julianne, my dearest. It is what is known as an aristocratic nose. Very distinguished.”
“His hair!” Julianne said. “It is long, Mama. He had it tied back .”
“That is a little strange, I must confess,” Aunt Effingham said. “But hair can always be cut, dearest, especially when a lady for whom he cares requests it. At least he is not bald.”
She and Julianne tittered merrily.
“In my day, Julianne,” Grandmama said, “long hair on men was still all the rage, though many of them shaved their heads and wore wigs. Not your grandpapa, though. His hair was all his own. Long hair is very appealing, in my opinion.”
“Ugh!” was Julianne’s comment. “What did you think of Lord Rannulf Bedwyn, Judith? Do you think he is handsome? Shall I have him?”
Judith had had more than half an hour in which to compose herself. She had thought she would surely faint when he first came into the room. It could not be, it just could not be, she had thought for the merest moment. Her eyes and her mind must be playing tricks on her. But it was unmistakable and indisputable—Ralph Bedard and Lord Rannulf Bedwyn were one and the same. All the blood had drained out of her head, leaving it cold and clammy, dimming sounds and making everything before her eyes sway and swim in a strange unreality.
Ralph—Rannulf. Bedard—Bedwyn. Close, but different enough to keep his true identity from a potentially demanding and ambitious actress. And different enough that she had not even noticed the similarity before being confronted by the man himself. She had fought not to swoon and thus draw unwelcome attention to herself. But she still felt unsteady enough to faint if she allowed herself.
“Handsome?” she said. “No, I don’t think so, Julianne. But he is, as Aunt Louisa says, distinguished looking.”
Julianne laughed, jumped to her feet, and pirouetted as she had done in Grandmama’s dressing room earlier.
“He was very attentive, was he not?” she said. “He listened to every word I spoke and did not look superior or bored as so many gentlemen do when one speaks. Shall I have him, Mama? Shall I, Grandmama? Do you not wish you were in my place, Judith?”
“He will have to make Papa an offer first,” Aunt Effingham said, getting to her feet. “But he was clearly very taken with you, dearest, and it is clear too that Lady Beamish fully intends to promote the match.
She must have considerable influence over him. I believe we can be optimistic.”
“Judith, my love,” Grandmama said, “would you be so good as to help me to my feet? I do not know why I am so sluggish these days. We will have to have the physician again, Louisa. He must give me more medicine. We will go upstairs and you must summon Tillie for me, Judith, if you will. I believe I will lie down for an hour.”
“Ah, then you will be free, Judith,” Aunt Effingham said. “You will join me in the library in a few minutes’ time. There are place cards to be written for dinner tomorrow and numerous other little tasks to be accomplished. You must not remain idle. I am sure your papa has told you about the devil finding work for idle hands.”
“I will come down as soon as I have seen Grandmama settled,” Judith promised.
“Julianne, dearest,” her mother said, “you must go and rest and not overexert yourself. You need to be looking your prettiest tomorrow.”
Judith’s mind was still whirling. He was Lord Rannulf Bedwyn , and he had come here to court and to marry Julianne. At least, that was what her aunt and cousin believed. She would surely see him every day for the next two weeks. She would see them together.
Did he know? Had he recognized her? Why, oh why, had she looked up when his hand had lifted to refuse a cake and then paused? Why had she not simply anticipated his gesture and moved on? Their eyes had met. She had lowered her head again before she had seen any recognition in his eyes, but she had sensed it.
He had recognized her ? The humiliation of being seen thus, of being known for who and what she was, was just too much to bear. But if he had not recognized her this afternoon, then surely he would sometime during the next two weeks. She could not hide from him for all that time. She had overheard Grandmama arranging to call on Lady Beamish tomorrow afternoon while all the houseguests were arriving at Harewood. Would she, Judith, be required to go too? Would he be there?
She had thought life could not possibly get worse. But she had been wrong. She felt raw with pain.
Dreams and reality were not supposed to mingle. Why had this dream— the most glorious one of her life—come crashing into her present reality? Perhaps because it had not been a dream at all?
“I’ll take your arm, Judith, if it is not too much trouble,” Grandmama said, leaning heavily on it. “Did you notice how Louisa forgot to introduce you to Lady Beamish and Lord Rannulf? I saw you hang your head in mortification and was indignant on your behalf, I do not mind telling you. You are her own niece, after all, and Julianne’s first cousin. But that is the way of people who have set themselves to climbing the social ladder, never looking back at those who are on lower rungs lest they be dragged downward themselves by association. Louisa was always foolish in that way. Have you lost weight since you came here, my love? Your dress is hanging on you today and not showing your lovely figure at all to advantage.