Deborah Hale - My Lord Protector

Tilting his head back, Edmund held the razor poised above his neck. He started at the sound of someone barging into his bedchamber. “Who’s there!” he barked—a wonder he hadn’t slit his throat from ear to ear!

“It is I, Sir Edmund,” came an apologetic squeak. “I lost my way in the galleries and opened your door by mistake. Please excuse the intrusion.”

Before he could reply, Edmund heard the door close again. With a growl of vexation, he dropped the razor and splashed a palmful of water on his face. Tugging on a coat and grabbing a candle, he set off after Julianna.

“No need to run away,” he said, puffing as he caught up with her. “I didn’t mean to snap your head off, but the noise startled me. Even as I called out, I realized it must be you. Ghosts seldom haunt new houses.”

She glanced over at him with a nervous smile, probably wondering if he meant to flay her alive over an honest mistake. Had he given her reason to think him such an ogre? With a spasm of chagrin, Edmund acknowledged the possibility.

“Besides...” He made an effort to allay her fears. “I have been looking for you. I reserved us a box at Drury Lane for this evening. The company is staging a revival of Mr. Congreve’s The Way of the World. It is an excellent piece, very amusing.”

“I have read the text of the play,” Julianna replied eagerly. “I would love to see it performed. This will be my first time at the theater. Papa always protested I was too young. He had finally promised to take me...” Her voice trailed off.

Fearing she might start blubbering, Edmund hurried on, determinedly cheerful. “Then I must keep his promise.”

They reached Julianna’s rooms, where Edmund immediately set to work banking the coals of her sitting room fire.

“You must dress quickly... and warmly,” he called over his shoulder. “They put small braziers in the boxes on cold nights, but it can take a while to heat up.”

Having completed his fire-tending chores, Edmund replaced the screen. He sat on the chaise for a few minutes, twiddling his thumbs. “Have you eaten yet?” he shouted in to Julianna, but received no reply. “I thought we might take a late supper at one of the eating houses around Covent Garden. If you get hungry in the meantime, we can always buy some oranges at the theater.”

Edmund sat for a few minutes more. Then he got up and wound Julianna’s mantel clock, admiring the Flemish craftsmanship. He sat down again, drumming an impatient tattoo with his fingers on the arm of the chaise. Though he had managed to forget many aspects of his first marriage, he still vividly recalled how long it had taken Amelia to dress for any outing. Despite lengthy preparations, the result had never satisfied her.

“Sir Edmund...”

He spun about to see Julianna standing in her bedroom door, the half-secured back of her snuff-brown frock presented to him.

“May I impose upon you to finish hooking my gown?” She gave a deprecatory laugh at her own plight “I’m unequal to the contortions required to reach the two between my shoulder blades.”

“This will be a new job for me,” Edmund quipped, “but I believe I can manage.” He set to the task, resolutely trying to ignore the tantalizing distraction of wispy red-gold curls clustered at the nape of Julianna’s neck.

When, for an instant, his fingertips brushed the warm silk of her skin, he was overwhelmed by disquieting memories of the kiss she had offered him on their wedding night—memories he had ruthlessly suppressed for weeks.

“There, how is that?” He quickly stepped back. “I think I have all the hooks matched with their eyes. Throw on a cloak, girl, and let us go before we miss the first act.”

Julianna fairly danced at his side as they walked down to the foyer of Fitzhugh House and climbed into the waiting carriage. She kept up a voluble chatter about the plays she had read and would like to see performed. Edmund relaxed, sensing that he need not contribute much to the conversation. He couldn’t help approving of the girl’s taste in reading matter and her cogently expressed opinions.

As they took their seats in a prominent front box, Edmund felt many eyes upon them. On the nearest faces he read mingled respect and envy. How curious that no displays of his wealth had ever occasioned such covetous looks as his squiring of a beautiful young woman. Edmund scowled, trying to mask the ridiculous rush of elation that surged within him as the play commenced.

It concerned family intrigue—a battle for control over the estate of Lady Wishfort. Through the evening, Edmund found his glance often straying sidelong, to catch Julianna’s reaction to a particular jest or bit of stage business. She sat indecorously hunched forward, elbows resting on the lip of the box. Her chin cupped in one hand, his young wife appeared blind and deaf to anything but Congreve’s brilliant comedy.

Every nuance of the action played across Julianna’s luminous, mobile features. No one in the theater that evening laughed so readily and merrily at the subtlest quip. No one clapped with such appreciative glee when a favorite character gained the upper hand. No one joined so enthusiastically in the ovation when the actors took their bows. Edmund found his own laughter and applause flowing with less than usual restraint. Never could he remember enjoying an evening of theater so keenly. Julianna’s spontaneous delight was as contagious as it was refreshing.

The air had turned milder and damp when Edmund steered Julianna through the stream of exiting theatergoers. They made their way to supper on foot, through the light Christmas fog. A group of waits, the Yuletide street musicians employed by London’s aldermen, was performing carols near the busy intersection of Catherine and Russell Streets. As Edmund and Julianna approached, the waits concluded a lively rendition of “I Saw Three Ships.”

“My father’s favorite carol,” Julianna mused aloud.

In the diffuse glow of the streetlamp, Edmund looked down into her rosy girlish face. He saw a wistful luster in her wide doe eyes. Why, she was little more than a child, he realized, an orphaned child living on the charity of a virtual stranger. Who could blame her if she pined, or wept, or craved the poor comfort of his company? Edmund felt his craggy features warmed by a kindly, almost paternal smile.

‘“Three Ships’ is my favorite carol, as well,” he said, “like many an old sailor.” With that, he fished in his waistcoat pocket for a few coins to offer the waits.

Carriages clattered to and fro on the cobbles of busy Bow Street as they crossed. On a side street near Covent Garden, they entered a building whose signboard ostentatiously proclaimed it Eldridge’s Select Supper Club. Engrossed in the play, Julianna had not given food a second thought Now, as a host of succulent aromas assailed her nose, she found herself heartily famished. The warmth of the dining alcove made a pleasant change from the drafty theater box. A glass of port warmed her further, whetting her already sharp appetite to a keen pitch.

Fortunately, the food soon arrived. It was abundant and delicious: clear soup, rabbit smothered in onions, accompanied by herb dumplings, braised celery and carrots. Julianna groaned when offered her favorite Banbury cakes. If only she could have loosened the stays of her corset to relieve the pressure on her stomach! Throughout the meal, Sir Edmund ate little, as was his wont, but imbibed of his wine more liberally than usual. Perhaps for that reason he proved a surprisingly agreeable conversationalist. Julianna found their usual tongue-tied formality eased.

“Do I take it, from your rapt attention this evening, that you enjoyed the play?” he asked.

“It was everything I could have hoped,” Julianna sighed.