The carriage stopped outside an elegant townhouse in Bird Street, and a footman opened the door.
“I thought we were going to the party at East India House?’ said Caroline.
Francis jumped down from the carriage and offered her his hand. “Change of plans. Before I was advised of the delicate situation with Timothy Walters, I made mention to him of our plans for this evening. In light of that, I thought it might be prudent for you and I to attend Viscount Munroe’s party instead. I hardly think Walters will try and hunt you down if he discovers you are not at East India House.”
Once inside, Caroline fell into her usual routine. A small group of admirers quickly formed around her, but she felt safe with them. One or two of the bolder members of the group asked to place their names on her dance card, but the rest seemed more than content just to be close to her.
“I shall be in the cards room if you need me,” said Francis.
Caroline was about to remind her brother that as Harry was not present this evening, he was leaving her unchaperoned, but she thought the better of it. The idea of having an evening without Timothy, Harry, or Francis lurking nearby was suddenly quite liberating.
If pressed, Julian would have confessed to cowardice. Since Lady Margaret’s revelation that the former Dowager Countess Newhall was in town, he had steadfastly refused to attend any social functions. At the end of the week, Lady Margaret had finally called him on his behavior and ordered him out of the house.
Stepping into the ballroom of Viscount Munroe’s home, Julian held his breath. As a child, he had turned avoiding his mother into an artform. He called upon all those finely-honed skills once more as his gaze slowly scanned the room. He would do all he could to avoid having any contact with her.
You are a grown man, Newhall. When are you going to stop being afraid of your mother?
But the scars from his childhood ran deep, right to his bones.
He quickly sought out a footman and downed two large brandies in rapid succession. With the edge taken off his nerves, he slowly began to circulate, ever conscious of checking and rechecking the people around him. A trickle of sweat worked its way uncomfortably down his back.
A space had been cleared to one side of the main reception room for dancing, and he stopped to watch four couples as they stepped through a quadrille. The smooth motion of feet and swirling skirts moving in time, coupled with the brandy, soon calmed his mind.
He was still swaying gently with the music when the quadrille finally came to an end. To his surprise, the orchestra then quickly changed tempo and he caught the opening strains of a waltz. Other dancers now crowded onto the dance floor. In some quarters the waltz was considered scandalous, but its popularity in London high society continued to rise.
With an impending house party, it occurred to him that he would have to brush up on his footwork. It wouldn’t do to go stepping on the toes of any young ladies who may have it in mind to be his future countess. Crushed toes did not win hearts.
Lady Margaret’s plans for the house party were moving forward, and he was now reconciled to playing his part in securing the Newhall line. He would do all he could to make the event, and the search for his future countess, a success.
He was still in two minds as to whether to seek out a dance partner to practice his waltz, or indulge in a third brandy, when the decision was taken roughly out of his hands.
From out of nowhere, a hand appeared under his arm and he found himself being dragged toward the dance floor. When he looked down, he was shocked to discover that the owner of the hand was the same blond beauty who had insulted him in the hallway at the recent party. The very same woman who had told him to mind his own bloody business.
“Dance with me,” Caroline Saunders commanded.
Julian was the prisoner of the Ice Queen.
Words of protest died on his lips as they neared the edge of the dance floor. Across the ballroom, to the right of the orchestra, he caught sight of his mother. She was standing to the side, so had not yet seen him, but it would only take a small movement of her head for their gazes to meet.
The long years apart were swept away as he beheld the hard face of the Countess of Lienz. Her disapproving frown had now become permanent in the lines around her mouth.
Caroline tugged on his arm and he tore his gaze from his mother. Caught between his lifelong nemesis and the presumptuous beauty who held him captive, he immediately chose to dance. He would choose many other things before he would voluntarily speak to the countess.
He took hold of Caroline and spun her into the waltz. “We meet again,” he said.
She looked up at him and when their gazes met, he was certain he heard her curse under her breath. But to her credit, she quickly recovered. Impressive.
“Caroline Saunders, and you are Earl Newhall. Since this is the first time we have made proper introductions, I think we should both forget about our previous encounter. I know I certainly have done my best to put it behind me,” she replied.
He raised an eyebrow. She was a feisty creature, beyond just a little rude. He tightened his grip of her hand and was rewarded with a hard stare. “And yet you have chosen me to rescue you from something or someone. I cannot think of any other reason why you would pressgang a chap into dancing with you. Don’t tell me you inadvertently misplaced your group of sycophants this evening? How careless of you.”
The flash of anger which crossed Caroline’s face was deeply satisfying. “How dare you! Why I should . . .”
Her gaze drifted to something behind him, and she immediately fell silent. At the next turn of the dance, he checked to see where she had looked. Across the floor, some ten feet away, stood the same young man she had been arguing with at the party some days earlier. The man who had demanded that Caroline dance with him. What was his name? Thomas or something? Whoever he was, his gaze never wavered from Caroline.
“Your fiancé?” he asked.
Caroline grasped his hand tighter. “No. His name is Timothy Walters. He is an admirer. An unwelcome one. I had hoped to avoid him this evening but he has managed to run me to ground,” she replied. The earlier haughtiness in her voice disappeared.
“I take it you don’t share his sentiments or affections,” he said.
“No,” she replied.
Julian had heard it all before. His mother’s constant lament at having been forced into an arranged marriage with his father. How her ethereal beauty had been squandered on a man who was short and fat. She was a shining light of London society, while the late Earl Newhall had been little more than a boring country squire.
The fact that he worshipped his wife and did everything to make her happy mattered nothing to her.
Her disdain for her husband had then been transferred to her son from the moment of his birth. Julian’s mother had never attempted to hide her disgust at his very existence.
“Are you here with someone who can take responsibility for your safety? You cannot hide out all evening on the dance floor,” he asked. He had no intention of becoming the man responsible for protecting her.
The sooner he was rid of the tiresome Caroline Saunders, the better. Women like her would never be satisfied with their choice of husbands. Pity the poor fool who did marry her. He, for one, was determined not to be a cuckold the same as his father had been.
Her shoulders dropped. “Yes, my brother, Francis, is in the card room. If you could see your way to accompanying me to locate him, I would be forever in your debt. He is a very tall young gentleman with a shock of white hair, he should be easy to spot in the crowd. While I don’t wish to cause a public scene, I fear that if I am forced to speak to Mister Walters, I may not be able to hold my tongue.”
Having already been on the receiving end of Caroline’s fiery temper, Julian did not wish to witness it a second time. “Of course.”
They fell silent, after which Julian was content to let his thoughts wander as he continued to pull Caroline skillfully through the turns of the waltz. When she stepped closer to him, and he was forced to adjust his hold on her waist, he did his best to maintain the distance between them.
At the end of the dance, he quickly ushered Caroline from the dance floor and went in search of Francis. Her brother could deal with his self-centered sister. Francis, however, was not in the card room.
She turned to him, then nodded toward the doors which led outside to the garden terrace. “He may have gone out into the garden to smoke a cigar; he does do that at times. I shall see if I can locate him outside,” said Caroline, stepping away from him.
Julian kept his hold on her arm. She was still his responsibility and he was most definitely not going to let her go outside on her own. It was a crowded party, but if her unwelcome suitor had it in mind to find her, he would. Julian was not going to let Caroline go until he delivered her safely into the hands of her brother. “Let me help you. One of the benefits of being as tall as I am is that I can spot people in a crowd.”
His mind now occupied on finding Francis Saunders, Julian failed to see his mother when she appeared from a nearby room. By the time he did see her, it was too late. The countess crossed his path and then stopped. She turned and gave both him and Caroline a look that would wither grapes on the vine. “Newhall.”
“Your Highness,” he replied.
His mother’s eyes sparkled at the acknowledgement of her exalted status. Her new husband was of royal Austrian blood.
Caroline dipped into a curtsey, giving his mother the respect to which her title deserved. Julian knew the woman herself did not merit any sort of deferential treatment.
The countess did not acknowledge Caroline’s elegant manners. “I see you have put on weight Newhall. I hope you know the name of the tailor the Prince of Wales uses, because from the look of your girth, you shall also require his services shortly,” she sneered.
Julian ignored the spiteful and unfounded comment and dipped into a respectful bow. Years of his mother’s constant berating of him for his physical appearance had afforded him a degree of thick skin when it came to her barbed insults. “Mother,” he replied, loudly enough so that others around may hear.
The downturn in the corner of her lips was payment enough for him. The former Countess Newhall had always been one to lie about her age. Having a fully-grown son was not something she would appreciate being mentioned in public.
When he lifted his head, his gaze fell upon the emerald and diamond choker which the countess wore at her throat. A pair of emerald drop earrings completed the set.
He gritted his teeth. They were part of the Newhall estate collection. She had taken them, along with a number of other priceless pieces of jewelry, when she’d abandoned Julian’s father and fled to Austria to be with her royal lover. She had no right to them. None at all.
“Madam, those jewels do not belong to you. I demand that you return them, along with the other estate items you still have in your possession forthwith. I can supply you with a list if you require one, starting with the Crusader Ruby,” he said.
The ruby and diamond necklace had been the centerpiece of the Newhall estate jewels for more than seven hundred years. To this day, Julian could not understand why his father had let the symbol of his family’s honor be taken out of England. To be stolen by a woman who hated the very sight of him.
“As you have not yet married, that still leaves me as the Countess of Newhall. So, I am fully within my rights to wear them,” she tartly replied.
Julian held back the satisfied grin he would have loved to have shown her at that moment. “Actually, madam, since you have remarried and are now the Countess of Lienz, your point is mute. You are no longer the Countess Newhall. I would be happy to speak to the count about recovering my property, if you so wish.”
Word of his mother’s marriage had reached him while he was working in Paris. She was now the wife of an Austrian count, the same man she had run off to be with all those years ago.
She waved her delicately painted, evening fan in his face. “Oh, very well. I shall call upon you tomorrow and you may have your trinkets back. To be truthful, they are rather garish. The gold on the tiara your father gave me has tarnished somewhat, which I suppose is what comes from cheaply made goods.”
Julian was quickly tiring of the encounter with his mother. It had been more than ten years since he had last seen her, and the enmity between them had not lessened with time.
“Speaking of cheap goods, I see you have not developed any taste when it comes to women,” she said. Her gaze was now locked firmly on Caroline, who dug her fingers into his arm. “God forbid you would taint the English purity of the Palmer family blood with a half-French wife. Your father would turn over in his grave. Please tell me she is your mistress and nothing more.”
Julian was about to summon up gallant words to defend Caroline’s character and breeding, but he didn’t need them.
“Having met you, I should hope never to simply be a man’s mistress. From the way you are aging, I can see the years of living in sin have done nothing for your looks,” remarked Caroline.
You could have cut the air with a knife. Julian wondered if his mother had ever been addressed in such an insulting and disrespectful manner before in her life. He doubted it.
The countess opened her mouth, and Julian steeled himself for a vile retort.
“Considering your reputation as a cock-tease, I don’t expect you shall ever have to worry about any man bedding you, my dear,” said the countess.
She had not failed him.
Caroline gasped.
Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw the white-haired Francis Saunders come in from the garden. He waved him over in the vain hope of avoiding imminent bloodshed.
“Ah, Newhall. Thank you. I have been looking for Caroline for the past fifteen minutes. Well done in finding her,” said Francis.
Caroline let go of Julian’s arm and hastened to her brother’s side. She gave Julian a brief nod in thanks, and Francis hurried his sister away.
The countess watched them go, then turned back to Julian. “Seriously, Newhall, why are you wasting your time with a harlot like that? Everyone knows she has a private group of young men who follow her everywhere. Of course, if you want a wife who will give you a brood of children all fathered by different men then be my guest. It would save you the trouble. I had heard you were not that bothered about women. If that is true, then the Saunders chit might be exactly what you are looking for.”
Julian took a deep breath and forced down the automatic response to his mother’s barbed insults. They were just the latest ones in a long series of taunts, all designed to cause him maximum pain and embarrassment.
They did however agree on one thing. Caroline Saunders would make a terrible choice for the next Countess Newhall.
“No, your highness. Rest assured, Caroline Saunders is the very last woman I would ever wish to make my wife. From my short acquaintance with her, I would say that she is as ruthless and cold as you. And after enduring the misery of my childhood, I would never inflict that same unhappiness upon my own children.”
And with that, he gave the countess a curt bow and took his leave. What should have been a quiet and relaxing evening in good company had been turned into one of frustration and slow-burning rage.
As he climbed into his carriage, he pulled a hip flask from his coat. He quickly emptied the flask down his throat before stuffing it back into his pocket.
Beautiful, conceited women could go to the devil.