than the elaborate rites of the aristocracy’s Marriage Mart—which were as foreign to Julian as the deserts of Araby. An impecunious younger son, he’d left home, school and family behind for the navy at the tender age of thirteen and never learned to navigate the subtleties of polite society. Or women.
Senses drawn once again to Miss Vance, Julian watched as she sidled away from the family and found a chair alone by the window. Careful indifference almost—but not quite—masked an aura of loneliness as she drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
“Ah, Elizabeth. There you are.” Sotherton left Teresa to greet his wife as she joined them in the drawing room.
Elizabeth’s grimly pursed lips echoed the dowager’s dourness more than Maman’s serenity, as if such expressions were contagious.
Perhaps they were. Already tension tightened along Julian’s jaw.
His sister’s gaze brushed past him without acknowledgment before alighting on her daughter. “Don’t slouch, Teresa.”
Insecurity wavered in Teresa’s violet-blue eyes as she whipped her shoulders to attention like a new recruit. The wind rattled against the window, memories carrying Julian back to his first days as a midshipman, to the uncertainty and anxiety and loneliness of an ignorant boy trying to please a demanding captain.
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Miss Vance’s jaw tighten. Julian’s reluctant respect for her rose.
“Where’s Reginald?” Elizabeth’s querulous tones set his teeth on edge.
“I’m here, aunt!”
Miss Vance flinched, as if trying to make herself smaller inside her shawl.
“Finally.” The dowager’s cane thumped against the floor as she rose from her chair. She tottered for a moment, then clasped her son by the elbow.
“Late as usual, Reggie.” Disgust darkened Killiane’s eyes as a young man with black curls and an apologetic grin dashed into the room.
Elizabeth’s mouth flattened into a narrow white line as her glance slid to Julian. As the highest ranking gentleman in the room, etiquette required she take his arm and allow him to escort her to the dining room. Mischief bubbled up in him and he returned her frown with a knowing smirk. Her antipathy tonight couldn’t hurt him more than her twenty years of silence.
With a lift of her chin she sailed to Killiane’s side. Given the disdain still stiffening the viscount’s lips, the two could share a charming evening of mutual misery.
Julian strolled toward his niece. “Lady Teresa?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“‘My lord’ is so formal, considering our relationship.” Not to mention the specters the title brought to mind. “I would welcome being your uncle in truth as well as in name.”
“I should like that. Uncle.”
“I realize I am not exactly an eligible young man, but may I escort you to...” His words died away as he followed the line of Killiane’s narrow-eyed stare to Miss Vance.
Reginald Fleming waited with proffered elbow and challenging stare to usher the governess to the dining room. Revulsion and...fear?...churned in her eyes, but she lifted her chin and pasted an impassive expression on her face.
“Uncle?” queried Teresa.
“Ah...” He yanked his attention from Miss Vance to Teresa. “Yes, dinner. My apologies.”
A sly grin tweaked one corner of his niece’s mouth and washed the lingering shadows from her eyes as she tugged on Julian’s arm. Not toward the dining room but in the opposite direction. Toward her governess. “Perhaps you can be...the mysterious older gentleman. Uncle, do you know my cousin Reggie Fleming?”
“My lord. Rather cold here, isn’t it?” Fleming bowed with a flourish. His overly bright eyes, faint slur and potent breath bespoke a fondness for liquid warmth. “What brings you to Northamptonshire this winter?”
“Business.”
Teresa released Julian’s arm and positioned herself between her cousin and Miss Vance. “You made a grand entrance, Reggie.”
“I
Senses drawn once again to Miss Vance, Julian watched as she sidled away from the family and found a chair alone by the window. Careful indifference almost—but not quite—masked an aura of loneliness as she drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
“Ah, Elizabeth. There you are.” Sotherton left Teresa to greet his wife as she joined them in the drawing room.
Elizabeth’s grimly pursed lips echoed the dowager’s dourness more than Maman’s serenity, as if such expressions were contagious.
Perhaps they were. Already tension tightened along Julian’s jaw.
His sister’s gaze brushed past him without acknowledgment before alighting on her daughter. “Don’t slouch, Teresa.”
Insecurity wavered in Teresa’s violet-blue eyes as she whipped her shoulders to attention like a new recruit. The wind rattled against the window, memories carrying Julian back to his first days as a midshipman, to the uncertainty and anxiety and loneliness of an ignorant boy trying to please a demanding captain.
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Miss Vance’s jaw tighten. Julian’s reluctant respect for her rose.
“Where’s Reginald?” Elizabeth’s querulous tones set his teeth on edge.
“I’m here, aunt!”
Miss Vance flinched, as if trying to make herself smaller inside her shawl.
“Finally.” The dowager’s cane thumped against the floor as she rose from her chair. She tottered for a moment, then clasped her son by the elbow.
“Late as usual, Reggie.” Disgust darkened Killiane’s eyes as a young man with black curls and an apologetic grin dashed into the room.
Elizabeth’s mouth flattened into a narrow white line as her glance slid to Julian. As the highest ranking gentleman in the room, etiquette required she take his arm and allow him to escort her to the dining room. Mischief bubbled up in him and he returned her frown with a knowing smirk. Her antipathy tonight couldn’t hurt him more than her twenty years of silence.
With a lift of her chin she sailed to Killiane’s side. Given the disdain still stiffening the viscount’s lips, the two could share a charming evening of mutual misery.
Julian strolled toward his niece. “Lady Teresa?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“‘My lord’ is so formal, considering our relationship.” Not to mention the specters the title brought to mind. “I would welcome being your uncle in truth as well as in name.”
“I should like that. Uncle.”
“I realize I am not exactly an eligible young man, but may I escort you to...” His words died away as he followed the line of Killiane’s narrow-eyed stare to Miss Vance.
Reginald Fleming waited with proffered elbow and challenging stare to usher the governess to the dining room. Revulsion and...fear?...churned in her eyes, but she lifted her chin and pasted an impassive expression on her face.
“Uncle?” queried Teresa.
“Ah...” He yanked his attention from Miss Vance to Teresa. “Yes, dinner. My apologies.”
A sly grin tweaked one corner of his niece’s mouth and washed the lingering shadows from her eyes as she tugged on Julian’s arm. Not toward the dining room but in the opposite direction. Toward her governess. “Perhaps you can be...the mysterious older gentleman. Uncle, do you know my cousin Reggie Fleming?”
“My lord. Rather cold here, isn’t it?” Fleming bowed with a flourish. His overly bright eyes, faint slur and potent breath bespoke a fondness for liquid warmth. “What brings you to Northamptonshire this winter?”
“Business.”
Teresa released Julian’s arm and positioned herself between her cousin and Miss Vance. “You made a grand entrance, Reggie.”
“I
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