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Chapter 31
Robert cleared his throat, his gaze sticking to the pile of books on the edge of his desk. His large, thick fingers tapped the desktop before he strung them together over his belly.
“Did you wish to go over the details for the ball?” Giulia asked. Wells had fetched her from the parlor, explaining that the earl needed to speak to her. But thus far, the man had not said anything beyond an initial greeting.
“The ball…” he said, drawing out the word. “Yes. In a sense.”
Giulia waited for him to continue. His thick, white eyebrows danced a rhythm on his forehead, drawing together before rising. He was clearly contemplating something. His gaze flicked to the doorway and he muttered something incoherent under his breath.
“Would you like me to inventory my expenses?” Giulia asked. “I have managed to keep the decor at a reasonable—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I have asked you here to introduce you to someone, but she is late.” Lord Hart glanced to the door again.
Giulia peeked over her shoulder, but the solid wood door remained closed. The silence in the room was reminiscent of their earlier dinners at Halstead and she graciously thanked the heavens that they had managed to move past those quiet, awkward moments—her gaze flicked to the uncomfortable earl—at least, for the most part.
A knock at the door preceded Wells and he stepped aside to allow a short, gray-haired woman in a plain, violet gown to bustle inside. She carried a work basket on her arm and wore a look of determination, mixed with a dose of apprehension, if Giulia was correct in her assumption.
“Madame Chastain, please come in,” Lord Hart said.
The woman dipped in a curtsy before setting her work basket down and crossing the floor, narrowing her gaze as if to inspect Giulia.
“Beautiful,” Madame Chastain said. “Emerald green, perhaps? Or a deep violet would do nicely.”
Lord Hart rose, his hands coming up in the air. “I will leave the details to you.” He made to leave, but Giulia was no more enlightened now than she was before the woman had entered the earl’s study.
“My lord, wait,” she said, gathering his attention.
He paused, turning back. His face displayed his desire to be anywhere but his own study at the moment.
“Forgive me,” she said, “but I still do not know what is going on.”
Lord Hart’s cheeks grew rosy. “I have ordered you a gown.”
A scoff escaped Giulia’s throat and she clamped her mouth closed.
“Well,” amended the earl, “I have sent for Madame Chastain so you might order a gown of your own choosing.”
“And I will have my hands full completing the order in time for your ball,” Madame Chastain said, her French accent so thick it caused Giulia to wonder at its authenticity. “Come,” she said, motioning for Giulia to stand, “we have no time to waste.”
Giulia stood, stepping around the older woman and gazing at the earl with such gratitude in her heart. “You’ve done this for me?” Never before had someone taken measures to gift Giulia such an extravagance. Never before had Giulia owned a formal ball gown. It simply was not practical.
Lord Hart grunted, but he sounded more uncomfortable than bothered. A smile erupted on Giulia’s face, matching the burst of joy in her heart.
“I cannot thank you sufficiently,” she said.
Lord Hart paused, his body growing still. Something of a smile flickered across his time-beaten face and he dipped his head. “You needn’t thank me. I believe it is I who has some making up to do.”
“Nonsense,” Giulia said. “But I will take the gift, regardless.”
“How polite of you,” Lord Hart returned, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I am certain Madame will not forget the entire order, but I will have you know that I directed her to fulfill whatever it is you are in need of.”
Giulia’s heart stopped. All jesting left her tone as she said, “That is too much, my lord.”
“No,” he argued. For once, his gaze remained firmly fixed on hers as he spoke with authority. “And I won’t hear another word about it. You are my niece—my family.”
He turned, fleeing the room before Giulia could wrap her head around the situation. He had accepted her role in his life. He had called her family. Could this mean the man had softened his opinion of her? Of course, she had imagined in recent weeks, and more certainly in recent days, that the man was beginning to grow fond of her. He had done his best to cover his amusement, but she could see that he claimed much of the same sense of humor that his brother had.
Madame Chastain bustled to the desk, laying fashion plates atop it and pulling a measuring ribbon, pencil, and sheet of paper from her basket.
