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“We could spend a few minutes on the terrace,” he said. “No longer than that for it is very cold tonight, but if you wrap up warmly, you will not take a chill.”
“Very well, but no silliness, James.”
She cursed herself for her carelessness in addressing him by his Christian name, but he said gravely, “No silliness, I promise.”
He took a shawl from the pile and wrapped it around her shoulders, opening the French door for her to step outside. Two braziers had drawn clusters of refugees from the dance, and the torches spilt pools of light around the perimeter, but there were still shadowy corners for those seeking to hide from observation. James was not such a one. He led her to the balustrade directly beneath a torch, where they could be clearly seen. Below them in the garden little could be discerned, but Julia stood and gazed out anyway, as if the shapes of trees and flowerbeds would materialise out of the gloom if she only stared hard enough.
Beside her, James was silent too, but whenever she glanced at him, he was looking at her, his face serious.
“What is it?” she said, smiling to lighten the strangely solemn atmosphere. “Have I offended you?”
“No! Not in the least.” But there was no answering smile, which gave her a twitch of alarm. “It is too chilly out here. The wind has turned to the east, I believe.”
“What does that mean?” she said.
“Bitter cold and perhaps snow, who knows. Let me take you back inside.”
She allowed him to tuck her arm in his, his other hand resting on hers firmly enough that she could feel the warmth of it even through her glove. They turned and moved back towards the door, passing one of the braziers. A woman’s clear voice rose from the huddle of people gathered around it.
“She is a brazen hussy! Why, did you hear that she—?”
Someone hushed her, and the whole group fell silent, eyes focused on the ground or the flames, anywhere but at Julia and James passing by.
Julia knew. “They were talking about me, weren’t they?” she said, as soon as they were back in the warmth of the ballroom.
Without answering, he ushered her to a secluded pair of chairs, half hidden from the room by foliage.
“Tell me the truth, James.”
“I believe they were talking about you, yes, but no one takes any notice of such gossip.”
“What sort of gossip?”
He sighed, and she suspected would have refused to answer if he could. “About us,” he said slowly. “It has been rumoured that you are…setting your capat me, as the vulgar expression goes.”
“A brazen hussy. Well. I have been called worse, I suppose. But how does such a story get about when there is not an iota of truth in it? You know better than most how inaccurate it is.”
That brought a wry smile. “Indeed, the boot is very much on the other foot, so to speak. But no one says such things to me, or to any of my family, so there has been no opportunity to say so. Thomas does what he can to squelch these tales as he goes about the parish, but I am not sure if it helps. He may be seen as partisan, as my curate. But we will all be gone to town soon, and the rumours of Hertfordshire will be left behind.”
“We?” she said, grasping the most surprising part of all this. “You are going to London too?”
“I go most years,” he said easily, with a flicker of his usual smile. “This year I have more reason than most.”
“Aren’t you supposed to minister to your flock… or something of the sort?”
“You know how useless I am at ministering, or any part of my parish duties. Thomas ministers far better than I, and no one will miss me in the slightest, I assure you. ”
She should have been irritated by his unwelcome persistence, but oddly she was not. At least she would have one friend in the foreign country that was London in the season, one person who would merely laugh if she tripped over or spilt her wine.
“Give no thought to these stupid rumours, Julia,” he went on. “Hold your head high and ignore them.”
And for fully half an hour she did exactly that. Instead, they watched the dancing, admiring Rosie’s beauty and Angie’s elegance. They teased each other about bulls and fox hunting. They talked of London and what delights she might enjoy there — not the balls and routs and other uncomfortable society events, but the parks and theatres and great buildings and the lions at the Tower of London.
“Vauxhall Gardens,” he said, his face animated. “You cannot imagine how much fun it is. Music and dancing, for those who wish it, and strolling about under the coloured lanterns, andfireworks.Have you ever seen fireworks, Julia?”
“Oh yes. Mr Malpas, the Sagborough mayor, had some once, when he held his first ball. He has one of the fancy new mansions on the York Road, and he had a ballroom put on the back, so we were all treated to a display of fireworks. But that was the only time, and I should very much like to see such a thing again. What about a balloon ascension? I read about one in the newspaper and there was even a little drawing of it, but I’m sure the artist got it wrong, for the balloon looked huge and the people in the basket hung below it were so tiny. Have you ever seen one?”
“Several, and the balloon is indeed huge. It is a great sight to behold, as it gradually fills with hot air and rises up from the ground like a sleeping monster.”
