“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.
