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JULIA TRIED NOT TO laugh. She knew it would be absolute disaster if she did.
She had never received a proposal before, so she hadn’t exactly known what to expect. Still, she had always imagined it would be dignified and touching, even romantic and passionate. But this—this was just ridiculous.
Sir Stephen Saville meant well, she was sure, but filling her aunt’s drawing room with flowers and referring to her as “the flower of his heart, and he hoped, his hearth” as he ardently clasped her hand to his chest was too much, even for a girl who enjoyed a good novel.
That was the problem, actually. She enjoyed a good novel, and this was like something out of a bad one. The flower of his hearth? As she thought of it again, her cheeks dimpled despite herself, and she tried desperately to appear serious while Sir Stephen still gripped her hand.
“You are smiling,” he noted. “Can it be that my proposal meets with your approval? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”
Oh, good Lord, the man needed an answer right away, and she had no idea what to say.
Here it was, the proposal that she was supposed to angle for throughout her season, from a man that James had recommended to her as kind and good. Now that the moment was here, though, she was startled all the same. Utterly without the right words, which was a terrible feeling for her.
Why hadn’t they prepared her for this, her aunt and James? She knew everything else about how to act in polite society, from when to use a fish fork to how to curtsy to the queen. But she had no idea what to say when she received a proposal.
Or maybe she did; at least, she knew what she wanted to say. She thought of the letter that Louisa had asked her to deliver, breaking an engagement to a man who was otherwise perfect, but whom she didn’t love. Like her sister, Julia couldn’t marry where she ought rather than where she longed to.
Especially not after last night.
Images of James, the revelation of the carriage ride, and her note to him that morning bobbed into her mind and sobered her at once. No, she couldn’t marry Sir Stephen, no matter what her aunt Estella wanted her to do, or what her parents—or the whole ton, for that matter—might be expecting.
What could she say to him, though? What did girls always say in novels? She thought desperately and seized on a vague thread of memory.
“I am honored by your proposal,” she began.
Oh dear, that couldn’t be right. He looked far too happy all of a sudden. “But,” she quickly continued, and his face fell at once. “I cannot accept your offer. I am so sorry.”
The baronet inhaled sharply as if punched, then seemed to shake off the blow with an effort. He still clasped her hand, peering closely at her face. “Have I done something to offend you? Perhaps I danced with you an insufficient number of times last night, or I did not bring enough flowers with me today? I have tried to make my regard for you clear, and I assure you I will make a most devoted and steadfast husband. It will be my delight to meet your every need.”
Julia smiled again, this time in genuine appreciation for his kindness. It was a shame he was wasting it on her, really. It wasn’t his fault she wasn’t reacting as she ought.
She tried to lessen the blow, responding in like manner to the quiet formality of his words. “Dear sir, you have not offended me in any way. You’ve always treated me with great respect and warmth, and I feel the honor of it. But . . .” She trailed off, losing courage, and dropped her gaze. “My heart is already engaged, although not in any formal sense. I feel it would be wrong to promise myself to you under the circumstances.”
She nodded in satisfaction as she finished speaking. That sounded like something out of a novel, definitely.
He squeezed her hand gently, then released it. “I’m sorry to hear it, for my own sake. You have my best wishes for your future happiness. Will you at least allow me some hope, and promise me that you will still consider the possibility of marriage with me? If not now, perhaps at some point in the future? I am sure my own wishes shall remain unchanged, if yours ever do.”
Oh, good heavens. Now she really didn’t know what to say. How did one decline a man’s proposal twice when—in his view and the view of one’s rather pushy aunt—there was no earthly reason to do so? How could she possibly let him know that no, there was no way she could ever marry him, because she could never get over James, but she could never have him, because he’d just been jilted by her sister, so she could probably never get married at all to anyone, ever?
Right. She’d just spill all of that out to Sir Stephen.
Suddenly mortified, Julia settled for what she hoped was a timid-looking nod. “Thank you,” she offered. She knew she ought not even to have said that much, but she wanted to put an end to this interview at once. She was too agitated to be more insistent with the baronet at this time. Vague though she had been on the details, she thought she had probably been remarkably tactless to bring up another man during his proposal.
A man with whom she had precisely no chance of a future.
Yet she wouldn’t change her answer, she mused, as she vaguely heard Sir Stephen making his proper good-byes to her and, on his way out of the house, to her aunt (who had reappeared from the nonexistent errand that had caused her to vanish from the room upon his arrival). She couldn’t take back her no. She just couldn’t marry out of obligation, ever, and she could never marry someone else while her heart and mind were so full of James.
She sat frozen for a few minutes, nervous energy coursing through her body. She wanted to go somewhere else. She needed to talk with someone about Sir Stephen’s proposal, and what she had said, and why, and about what—or more precisely, who—was weighing on her mind.
But today of all days, she couldn’t talk to Louisa about engagements of any sort. And she knew what her aunt would say, should she explain the situation to her. Lady Irving would call her a fool and insist that she summon the unlucky gentleman back so she could accept his proposal at once. She could still remember the feeling of her aunt’s talon-like nails gripping her arm and dragging her around the Alleyneham House ballroom in search of Sir Stephen.
No, there was only one person she could talk to about all of this.
She had to act quickly; she had very little time before her aunt came in and demanded a full account of what had passed. Alive with purpose, she peeped out of the parlor, and finding no one around, retrieved Simone’s cloak. The capacious garment was the best she could do to disguise her appearance. It wasn’t much, but anything that would keep her from being recognized would help, since she was going to do a thing a gently bred young lady ought never to do.
She was going to James, to see him at his home. Alone. Now.