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‘Jealous of whom?’ Lady Geraldine enquired. ‘Mr Smyth or the colonel?’
‘Major Carlow,’ Julia said, hurling oil on flames.
‘Hal Carlow!’
‘But you said he was a rake, Julia,’ Mrs Tresilian said into the silence that followed Lady Geraldine’s exclamation. ‘What could you possibly have done with him to make Mr Fordyce jealous?’
‘Nothing,’ she denied vehemently, managing to blush rosily at the same time. She had done nothing that Charles Fordyce knew about, that was true. But she had done more than enough with Hal Carlow to send her mother into fits of the vapours.
‘Julia,’ her mother began as Lady Geraldine’s eye brows arched in surprise.
‘I let slip that I know him. So Mr Fordyce treated me to a lecture on the danger to my reputation. Which he had no call to do,’ she added hotly, guilt making her protest too much. ‘Anyone would think he had made me an offer.’
‘Who?’ Mrs Tresilian gasped. ‘Which of them? What kind of offer?’
‘Mr Fordyce. Marriage,’ Julia said, hanging on to her temper with difficulty. ‘But he has not.’ What was the matter with her? She never lost her temper, never answered Mama back. And now listen to her!
Her mother subsided, fanning herself. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
‘Mama, I do not want to marry a man who could exhibit such jealousy when I have done nothing to deserve it,’ Julia said, trying for a more moderate tone. ‘Mr Fordyce has no reason to suspect Major Carlow of anything.’
Lady Geraldine smiled. ‘The day that one did not suspect Major Carlow of something, the moon will be made of green cheese.’
Julia smiled tightly and poured more tea. This promised to be a long afternoon, and all she had to distract herself was the guilty knowledge that she had lost one suitor and had lost her temper with Hal.
But to her surprise, and relief, their guest turned the conversation. ‘Have you been to hear Madame Catalani at the Opera yet, Mrs Tresilian?’
‘No, I am afraid not.’ Tickets for the opera were not within the house hold budget. ‘I believe she is very good.’
‘Oh, stupendous! Her Semiramide has such passion, such dramatic range,’ Lady Geraldine enthused. ‘I have written to ask her to perform at the reception I am giving in honour of the duke.’ There was no need to ask which duke. In a city full of the aristocrats of half a dozen nations, ‘the duke’ could only mean Wellington.
To Julia’s relief the conversation turned to plans for the reception and her mother’s attention to what she should wear for it. All she had to do was to behave herself and not alienate either of her remaining suitors. That was her duty, especially now that Mama had spent so much money on her gowns. But it all sounded rather dull. It was not until several minutes later that Julia realized what she was thinking. Two weeks ago, she would have been stunned with de lighted disbelief to have a pair of eligible gentlemen showing an interest in her. But then, two weeks ago, she had not met Hal Carlow. I must not think of him. I must marry.
The next morning there was a note with her post.
My dear Julia,
Madame C. has refused my request that she sing at the reception!! And I am laid on my bed with a putrid sore throat and am thus unable to go and reason with the creature face to face. Imagine refusing the Duke!!
Julia, my reliance is entirely upon you utterly—go and reason with her—my dear Masters is from town and will not return soon enough to press the matter. Offer her what ever is necessary to secure her agreement.
G.M.
Julia passed it across the table, trying to imagine herself confronting a demanding prima donna and insisting upon her performing.
‘My goodness,’ Mrs Tresilian said faintly. ‘How alarming. But you cannot refuse to oblige Lady Geraldine, not after her kindness to you. You must take Maria and go at once.’
‘But, Mama, the marketing…’
‘Do it at the same time, dear. The shops in the Lower Town are acceptable, and cheaper.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ At least she could not get into any scrapes at the Opera.
Chapter Six
Julia stared at the imposing portico of the building in front of her. Did one go through the public entrance at the front, or around to the stage door? Beside her, Maria shifted the weight of the basket from one hand to the other and sighed.
Julia put back her shoulders and marched up the front steps. She was, after all, the representative of one of the leading figures of Brussels’ Society, calling on a singer of inter national renown. ‘Wait there.’ She gestured to some niches along the walls of the heavily gilded entrance hall. ‘And hide the basket underneath the bench.’
