Page 7 of Discovering the Duke

He glanced about furtively. “If you see—”

“Oh, Lord Hesterton, there you are!” Lady Jane was upon them in a second, her curls bobbing about her comely, glowing face.

Before the poor marquis could protest, her arm was tucked in his, and he was forced to walk her down to the drawing room. Downstairs, they discovered they were all nearly late. All, except for Lady Venerton who strode in minutes after them in an exceedingly low-cut gown, offering excuses for Lord Venerton’s absence as he was apparently unwell.

That might have been well and good if it were not for the sultry gaze she leveled in William’s direction, and the unfortunate fact that she was seated on his other side for the duration of a dinner that promised to be interminable.

Chapter 3

It was impossible for Julia not to notice Lady Venerton, and the way she fawned over William at dinner. Through five courses, the woman had chattered on with batted eyes and insipid giggles. At times, she even settled her dainty fingertips on William’s forearm as she spoke. Her behavior was shameful.

Shameful and infuriating.

Though William had been coolly polite in his interaction with Lady Venerton, Julia could not quell the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. A hard ball of stubborn dread she couldn’t dislodge.

The only thing which had brought her joy was the white puff of a dog beneath the table that readily lapped up scraps of food Julia smuggled down to it. William had tried to dissuade her against it, warning her the little beast would forever follow her around, but she hadn’t bothered to listen.

In fact, with the exception of the dog, it appeared many of the guests were rather unhappy. Lord Mortry was lost in his own world of inner torment, and the unfortunate Lady Cecelia next to him was regaled with his perpetual tales of woe. On Julia’s other side, Lord Hesterton’s sardonic replies to Lady Jane indicated an undeniable element of misery. And then there was Lord and Lady Doursly who were, well, dour — no doubt at the lackluster reception from Hesterton toward their daughter. And then there was Julia, who was lost in the storm of her own distress.

“Poor Lord Venerton,” Lady Jane said, opposite Hesterton.

“Agreed,” he muttered. “The poor sod has to put up with that prattling ninny for the remainder of his life.”

Julia pressed a napkin to her lip to suppress a laugh.

“Oh,” Lady Jane replied after a brief pause. “I was referring to his illness. I do hope he recovers quickly.”

“I’m quite sure not all in attendance would agree with your hopeful sentiment,” Hesterton stated with a bored drawl.

Hesteron had barely finished speaking when Lady Venerton gave a throaty chuckle at something Lord Bursbury had said.

William’s hand slid over Julia’s under the table. The touch should have brought comfort, but it was foreign, and the ache in her chest was far too great. She wanted to leave, to run from the room and lock herself in her chamber.

Nancy addressed the table with a pleasant expression, as if Lady Venerton hadn’t flirted with every man in the room, including her husband. “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their port while we ladies retire to the drawing room? Then we can reconvene for a night of games together.”

Julia almost gasped out her relief. Without the men, Lady Venerton wouldn’t have the opportunity to flirt and touch William. He had been formal in return, but still polite, as was expected. Regardless, it was still too much for Julia.

She needed to get out. Now.

She rose from her chair and suddenly William was there, pulling her seat out for her. His hand caught hers. “I confess I’m grateful for the reprieve, though I’ll miss your presence.”

What was wrong with her? Why was this affecting her so deeply?

She nodded and tried her best to offer him a convincing smile. As soon as his back was turned, she fled and made her way to their chamber, chased there by a string of memories battering her mind. Memories of her nineteenth birthday when Mother had acquiesced to Julia’s insistent begging to see the new play. However, their family box had not been empty. Father had been in the shadowed rear of it with a woman on his lap, her skirts raised as she moved over him.

He hadn’t offered excuses, or even bothered to look surprised. He’d simply regarded them with an irritated scowl. They left, riding home in a painfully silent carriage. The woman had been barely older than Julia.

Even now she shuddered in revulsion.

No one had discussed it with her later. Her father had offered no apologies; her mother mentioned not one word of it. As though the entire incident had never happened. It was then Julia realized she needed to leave that house, a family that was built on lies with a father who would do…that…and a mother who allowed it.

Julia buried her horrified disgust beneath a veneer of civility, but she never forgot. Never.

Once in her room, she dismissed the servants and lay on the bed for a goodly amount of time, but the burning ache in her chest did not dissipate. Nor did the understanding she would be missed downstairs and must return. She drew herself together, one shattered piece at a time, until she was composed enough to appear with the other ladies.

She was on her way to the drawing room when she heard the sound of her husband’s deep voice resonating beyond the thick wooden door. “She’s a beauty, with a long, thick mane of hair.”

She paused, a smile softening her demeanor at the idea of her husband talking about her to the other men.