Deborah Hale - My Lord Protector

“No. The Underhills have little room to entertain a guest. I doubt Cecily would be equal to it, in any case. I trust you are not suggesting I holiday with my stepbrother, for I’d sooner throw myself in the Thames!”

Her earlier tears hovered, ready to fall again. Even as she bit her lip and willed them back, one escaped, then another.

“There now, child. I had no idea you had so little family.”

He had hardly taken the time to find out, had he?

Sir Edmund knelt beside her, swiping his handkerchief across her face, as one would do with a howling infant. Julianna felt mortified.

“We will keep the staff on, and plan some entertainment for our first Christmas together,” he declared in a voice tinged with desperation.

Julianna pushed away his hand and his clumsy attempt to comfort her. She was not a child. She had survived worse than a lonely Christmas.

“No, Sir Edmund. I will not spoil the servants’ holiday. I’m quite capable of dressing myself and finding a bite to eat.” Something possessed her to add, “Could we not continue your accustomed arrangement? I know I am not an agreeable substitute for Crispin....” But neither are you. She was barely able to stifle this biting assertion.

“Not so. I should be delighted to have your company,” said Sir Edmund, evincing all the delight of a man facing tooth extraction. “You can help me celebrate, as Crispin used to. I believe he would like that.”

Sir Edmund departed, obviously relieved to make his escape and likely wondering what he had let himself in for. Julianna thanked heaven that she would be free from the disapproving eyes of the Fitzhugh servants for a few days. At the moment, she could imagine no better Christmas gift

Looking forward to her holiday lifted Julianna’s spirits. The following morning found her up at an early hour, preparing for an excursion into the City. At lunch, she ordered Brock to arrange her transport, mentioning her errand with the seamstress to forestall his usual diatribe.

Being so new from girlhood, Julianna had seldom dealt with tradespeople. However, she soon found herself taken under the wing of the motherly seamstress Cecily Underhill had recommended. Though Julianna recognized the woman’s obliging manner as mere merchant’s courtesy, she hungered for a kind word, whatever the source. She spent a pleasant two hours in the cozy shop, ordering a modest but suitable winter wardrobe.

“These gowns should do quite nicely, Mrs. Naseby, but I would like something new, and rather special—for Christmas.”

The seamstress wagged her finger. “Say no more, Lady Fitzhugh. I have the very thing. A customer ordered it, and by the time I’d got the cloth she wanted in just the color, all made up as she’d asked, wasn’t the lady big with child, and me stuck with the gown. The color should suit you nicely, my dear, with that pretty hair. I believe you’ll find it a perfect fit.”

Mrs. Naseby bustled off to the back room, calling behind her, “I offered it to several of my other customers, but they found the cost too dear. I’ll make you a good price of it, Lady Fitzhugh, just to take it off my hands.”

Julianna gasped at the sum mentioned but gasped again, in admiration, when she saw the ravishing swath of lustrous deep-green silk in the seamstress’s arms. She needed no urging to try it on and perform a turn before the mirror. The gown’s rich hue, with ruches of cream-colored lace at the elbows and bosom, brightened her hair and complexion. Having never owned so becoming a garment. Julianna was determined to buy this one. Let Mr. Brock choke over the bill when it crossed his desk. She would remind him, sweetly, that her costume must reflect well upon his master.

From the dressmaker’s, Julianna made the rounds of the milliner’s, the bookseller’s and the fruitmonger’s, before stopping at her cousin’s place of business. There she delivered Christmas presents for all the Underhills, and entrusted Francis with her letter to Winnie. Just as she was setting out for home, Jerome hailed her. This was their first encounter since her wedding. Better ten irascible stewards, thought Julianna, than a single Jerome.

“Upon my word, Lady Fitzhugh! So I have run you to ground at last, sister dear. You and your bridegroom have been keeping so low a profile, I wondered if you would ever emerge from your honeymoon. I know newlyweds are traditionally preoccupied, but Sir Edmund scarcely seems the uxorious type.”

Julianna could hardly wait to show Jerome what a fool they had made of him. For the moment she affected an offhand retort. “Jealous, Jerome?”

“Of you?” His smirk deepened into a sneer. “I like a more womanly figure. You’re fading away to transparency. I don’t believe it suits you—playing broodmare to your old stallion.”

Sir Edmund might not have won her affection, but he had gained Julianna’s unqualified gratitude and respect. She would not stand to hear him spoken of thus, particularly by Jerome. Stepping past him into her carriage, she leaned toward her stepbrother and purred in his ear, “Any sane woman would give herself to my husband a thousand times, before suffering vermin like you to kiss her hand.” At her signal, the carriage pulled away smartly. Not before she had time to savor Jerome’s murderous look.

Julianna returned home late in the day, well laden with packages and flushed with the triumph of finally putting her stepbrother in his place. Not even Brock’s bristling scrutiny could cow her.

“Have someone bring these packages to my sitting room, and ask Mrs. Davies if she can spare me a cup of chocolate.” Julianna pulled off her gloves. “Pray don’t glower so during this merry season, Mr. Brock. I am certain it will. have a detrimental effect on your digestion.”

Flouncing away from the sputtering steward, she met Sir Edmund descending the staircase. Immediately regretting her impudence, she ducked her head in shame, steeling herself for his rebuke. Much to her surprise, he passed without a word. When Julianna glanced up, his face looked grave and impassive as ever, but she detected an unmistakable twinkle in his gray eyes.

Chapter Four

“Milady!” squealed Gwenyth, “a new cap for me? What a treat!”

Holding up the daintily laced creation for inspection, Julianna passed it to her maid with a flourish and a warm smile.

“Yes, Gwenyth, you must be sure to wear it on your visit. I understand it is the latest style. It would not surprise me in the least if you received several marriage proposals, thanks to this cunning bit of millinery. So, you must promise not to desert me—unless your beau is quite irresistible! Take along these nuts and sweetmeats for your Christmas feast. Eat plenty, sleep late and enjoy yourself completely. I will expect an entertaining report of the festivities upon your return.”

Gwenyth’s attention strayed momentarily from contemplation of the exquisite little cap. Her brow puckered. “Are you sure you’ll be all right without me, ma‘am? ’Tis all very well, two men on their own for several days, but a lady needs her maid. Who will help you dress and bathe and do your hair?”

“Never fear. I am quite capable of drawing my own bath and pinning up my own hair. As for dressing—if I encounter a hook or lace that I cannot reach, what else is a husband for?”

The thought of Sir Edmund stooping to the incongruous role of tiring woman sent both maid and mistress into an irrepressible fit of laughter. Impulsively, Julianna took Gwenyth’s hand. “I shall miss your company and high spirits more than all the services you do me. I wish you the merriest of Christmasses.”

Two ponderous knocks at the sitting room door announced the presence of Mr. Brock. “Gwenyth, your aunt is looking for you. I believe your ride has arrived.”