A Michaelmas Wager, page 3
“Because you needed company, and your father cannot say no to the Duke of Daventry,” replied Audrey promptly. “Here, let me get you some punch.”
Her hand was reaching out, but it was overtaken by Juliana’s own. “Please don’t worry yourself,” Juliana said hurriedly, reaching the ladle first and pouring her own drink. “I’ve been more than ungrateful enough for your graciousness in having me invited to this party in the first place, and for visiting me when I know your Father would rather have you all to himself.”
She brought the punch glass to her lips, and it was cool and refreshing. Her eyes closed, revelling in the sensations, but she opened them sharply when Audrey’s hand grabbed her wrist.
“Goodness, Audrey, what on earth – ”
“Do you know him?” Audrey interrupted.
Juliana stared at her friend in amazement. “Know who?”
“Him.”
Looking in the direction of her friend’s gaze, she saw that the young man from the raucous group was striding towards them, staring . . . well, at herself.
“You must know him,” whispered Audrey, a gleeful smile dancing across her face. “Look at him, he’s making straight for you!”
“But I’ve never seen him before in all my life!” It was ridiculous to panic, but all Juliana could think about was the Lovell name, and that did not have much to recommend it. “Audrey, do something!”
“My darling, I may be the heiress to the Marchwood fortune,” and here she winced and as Juliana had heard the same rumours about her father’s financial difficulties, they both chose to ignore her wording, “but I am unable to control the decisions of young men – especially those who are smart enough to realise that you are the most beautiful woman here!”
Juliana laughed tersely. “Now you know that is nonsense – honestly, Audrey, what is he doing!”
But they did not have long to wait to find out. Indeed, before the last syllable had escaped her lips he was before them, and he bowed low.
“Rufus Lovell, at your service.”
Juliana could feel her cousin curtseying beside her, but she didn’t seem able to control her legs in a way that society demanded. Her curtsey seemed to be more like a steady fall which then suddenly moved in the opposite direction, and she felt her face blush.
Now that Rufus Lovell was closer, she could see that he was arguably very handsome. The sharpness in his eyes that Audrey had described as a Lovell trait seemed to be more intelligence than cruelty, as she had assumed, and his strong jawline and dark hair seemed perfectly formed to give a sense of manliness and – focus, Juliana! She forced herself to speak, instead of getting lost in her own banal thoughts.
“Good afternoon, Mr Lovell,” she said curtly.
She had hoped that her sharpness would discourage the young man, but if anything it made him smile all the broader.
“My dear ladies, I must apologise for I know but one of you by name and neither of you by reputation, for which I am sadly lacking and am determined to make up for immediately. Lady Audrey, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your friend?”
Juliana wanted to gape but she kept a hold of herself. Nervous hands smoothed down her white gown as her cousin spoke.
“Mr Rufus Lovell, may I introduce Miss Juliana Honeyfield, my dear cousin on my mother’s side. Miss Honeyfield is joining me for some of the season and her father, the Reverend Honeyfield, is being so good as to extend his welcome and hospitality during my stay here in London.”
How on earth did she do it? Juliana wondered. Perhaps there was something with good breeding that simply created a poise that could not be shaken, not under any circumstances whatsoever. Despite the fact that their mothers had been sisters you would not have known them to be related at this moment.
Mr Lovell bowed again, and smiled at the pair of them. “Your cousin you say, Lady Audrey? Well, I must say how glorious it is to make your acquaintance, Miss Honeyfield; I hope you are enjoying the party?”
“Not particularly,” Juliana found herself saying. “The heat is excessive, and yet despite that I had hoped for some dancing.”
What had come over her – and how was she to stop herself from talking! Frantic eyes turned to her companion, and she was rescued.
“Yes, is it not astonishing how hot the day is?” Lady Audrey fixed a smile on Mr Lovell, tilting her head slightly at the sky and gesturing with an elegant hand at the sun that was beating down on them. “And yet I had read that this May was going to be tirelessly grey.”
Not for the first time, Juliana gazed at her cousin’s loveliness. It was impossible to avoid being the lesser of the beauties when you attended soirees, card parties, and assemblies with the Lady Audrey: her opal eyes, never quite green, never quite blue, were always enough to captivate people even if you ignored her porcelain skin and the way she never seemed fazed by anything that happened to her.
She herself was not plain, certainly, but her beauty was that of an everyday kind. Regular features, unremarkable complexion, the same brown hair you could see on a hundred debutantes, and neither wit nor education nor fortune to recommend her. This was the time in the conversation, Juliana knew, that she would fade slightly into the background, like a velvet cushion that had been left out in the sun, and before long the conversation would continue as if she were not there.
And yet . . . why did Mr Lovell’s eyes keep slipping over to her? He was conversing quite happily with Audrey, that was true, and yet his attention did not seem to be on her. Was he – yes, he was more focused on herself than on her cousin.
“And have you attended the opera recently, Miss Honeyfield?” Rufus Lovell asked with a polite raise of his eyebrow. “I have heard that the music is simply divine at the moment, simply the best musicians in the world.”
Juliana willed herself to be charming, hoped beyond hope that she would be able to keep a close reign on her words, but they spilled out before she could even think to filter them. What did this man do to her?
“I have not the funds nor the means to attend the opera,” she said bluntly. “Tickets are already sold to those who are in the highest ranks of society – and moreover, even if I had access to them there would be no way that I could afford such a luxury.”
Crimson now flooded her cheeks, and she knew that there would be no way for her to blame that on the sun. The second eyebrow of Mr Lovell was raised, but he said no more. Instead he bowed shortly in her direction, then in Audrey’s, and strode back to his party.
“God in his Heaven, what has come over you?” Audrey hissed at her, eyes wide. “I know that we are honest and open with each other, but I have never seen you speak so brazenly before! And to a Lovell!”
Juliana sniffed. “I know, but what does it matter now? He’s gone, hasn’t he, and perhaps my lack of social graces was a prompt to get him to go away!”
But Audrey was shaking her head. “Go away? Do you not see him, he’s coming straight back here!”
And so he was. Rufus Lovell was tall and so it did not take him long to return back to them at the punch bowl – but instead of addressing Audrey, as Juliana had expected him to, he stopped in front of herself, and held out a hand.
“Miss Honeyfield?”
Mouth open, she was about to ask what on earth he expected of her, when the strains of a Scotch reel wafted on the air. Three musicians had appeared, instruments tuned, and couples were going hand in hand towards an area to their left, where dancing was evidently to begin.
“You wanted to dance, Miss Honeyfield,” said Rufus with a grin on his face – a grin, Juliana saw in dismay, that only increased his good looks. “I am a friend of the Quinn family, and a gentle word in the right ear ensured that a dance you could have.”
Juliana could hear a quiet gasp of astonishment from Audrey beside her, but it was nothing to what she felt. Who was this man, this Rufus Lovell, that he could demand music for dancing at a party given by the Duke of Daventry? And who was he to think her wishes, her desires important enough to take such a step – and now, to return and claim her hand?
Flattered she may be, but she was not overwhelmed. She was not about to fall head over heels in love with a man whom she had just met, let alone a Lovell.
“And of course she’ll dance with you,” Audrey pushed her slightly so that she took a stumbling step towards Mr Lovell.
He smiled, and Juliana’s traitorous heart fluttered. “Nothing could make me happier.”
Rufus Lovell beamed, and Juliana became very conscious of his smile, and his eyes never left her. “You never know, Miss Honeyfield. I may just end up proposing.”
CHAPTER THREE
Juliana sat at the breakfast table, and attempted to convince herself that she was not, as her feelings were leading her to believe, Cinderella. Why, she had read the story written by the Grimm brothers only this year, and she did not fit the story at all.
You did not go to a ball last night, Juliana reminded herself severely as she picked at her ham and potatoes. You did not meet Prince Charming, and golden shoes would be far beyond her father’s financial reach . . . and yet it was lovely to sit at the breakfast table and daydream about a young man who asked you to dance, beyond all others, and was so witty and so charming when –
“Good morning, my dear.”
Juliana started, and yet she should have expected the voice at any moment. “Good morning, Father.”
“You had a good day yesterday, I trust?” The Reverend Honeyfield seemed to his daughter almost entirely composed of trust: trust in the Lord, trust in herself, and trust that another day would come and go with little sadness. His sunny disposition made him a firm favourite with his parishioners, and Juliana doted on him.
Rising to pull out a chair for her Father, she said, “I am sorry that I missed you yesterday, but by the time that Audrey and I returned from the Duke of Daventry’s party, you had already gone out.”
“Indeed,” said Reverend Honeyfield, “to see whether I could gain any support for my Michaelmas celebration – the 29th September is fast gathering towards us and as far as I can see, there will be no patron for our gathering this year.”
“We worry about that every year,” Juliana said patiently, pouring him a drink of hot chocolate, “and every year we find someone. Leonard Tyndale and the other missionaries in India will have the support they need, and we will raise funds for their good works out there – I read a letter from him only yesterday telling us about the new well that they have dug.”
Yesterday – yesterday seemed so far away, and yet it was not even twenty-four hours since Mr Lovell had smiled when they spoke together, making their way through the dance. Was it only yesterday?
“I suppose you are right,” sighed her Father with a wary smile, “but if you are wrong – ”
Exactly what they should do if she was wrong she was never to learn, for a gentle cough in the doorway from the breakfast room to the hall announced the presence of their maid, Charlotte.
“Excuse me, Reverend, Miss Honeyfield, but there is a man here with a delivery.”
The Reverend Honeyfield blinked. “Well then, send him to the deliveries entrance so that Cook can receive him – Charlotte, you know how things are done here.”
Charlotte blushed, and Juliana noted a hint of curiosity in her voice as she replied.
“Yes sir, but the delivery isn’t for Cook. It’s for Miss Honeyfield.”
Two pairs of eyes turned to look at her. Cheeks pink, Juliana said hurriedly, “A delivery?”
Another door opened from behind them, and Audrey walked in beaming, attempting to hide a yawn. “I do apologise, am I late? I stayed up all night reading and now I’m completely done in for the day, Juliana we’ll have to stay at home. Is there anything we can help you with Charlotte?”
“Juliana has a delivery,” the Reverend Honeyfield said blankly. “A delivery for Juliana.”
Audrey threw herself into a chair and reached for a bread roll. “Goodness, for you my darling? What on earth could it be?”
Juliana turned to her cousin, and then to her father, with mouth open but no words appearing.
“Shall I send him in, Reverend?” asked Charlotte. “Only, he’s been told that he must deliver them directly to Miss Juliana, in person.”
“Them?” was the only word that Juliana seemed capable of saying, but Audrey clapped her hands in mirth.
“My word Juliana, what on earth are you to receive?”
Before any of the three of them could guess, a young man with reddish hair and a complexion of embarrassment that matched stepped in, his arms absolutely festooned with red roses.
“Ohhh,” breathed Juliana, a sentiment echoed in Audrey.
The man bowed to all three of them, and then said in a clear voice, “For Miss Juliana Honeyfield: a field of roses from her greatest admirer, Rufus Lovell.”
His arms outstretched towards Juliana, she felt beholden to take them immediately, and as soon as he was released from his burdensome task, the messenger left the room.
“My word.” The Reverend Honeyfield seemed speechless, but Audrey, as Juliana knew she would be, seemed unfazed. Perhaps this sort of thing happened to her all the time.
“Not bad, Juliana, not bad,” she said, taking a jar of preserve from the platter in front of her. “But it’s hardly a field of roses, is it?”
It may not have been that Tuesday, but by the Friday, the daily delivery of roses was starting to fill up the house, large as the rooms may be. Every morning, without fail, the same delivery man (whose name they soon learned was Edwards) would arrive between the hours of nine and ten, arms laden with roses with the same or similar message, and then he would be on his way again.
“So, who is this Mr Lovell?” asked Reverend Honeyfield of his daughter when a full week had passed and the delivery of roses did not seem to be abating. “I have no wish to pry, my dear, but after a week . . . An admirer, young Edwards says?”
“And one that I am not interested in, Father,” Juliana hastened to reassure him, her eyes purposefully ignoring the grin on Audrey’s face. “He is a gentleman that Audrey introduced me to at the Duke of Daventry’s May Day party, and there is an end to it.”
And yet, that it would be! A second week, and then a third passed, and the roses showed no sign of abating. Juliana had purposefully not responded in the hope of dampening whatever ardour this Rufus Lovell had managed to convince himself into, but it did not seem to cow him – if anything, the roses started to become more plentiful, and more extravagant.
“I hope this Mr Lovell is not bankrupting himself to gain your notice, my dear,” said Reverend Honeyfield eventually when, on the last day of May, no fewer than five men appeared with Edwards to lay roses down at her feet (something that Juliana had begged Edwards not to do the day before, to no avail). “It cannot be inexpensive, sending one lady so many flowers . . . unless you think that you are just one of many young women that he is courting?”
“He is not courting me, Father,” replied Juliana helplessly, “and the Lord knows that I have done nothing to encourage him! This is a joke, surely, and he will grow tired of it eventually.”
Audrey, sat opposite her at the breakfast table, raised a quizzical eyebrow, but said nothing.
Three days later, however, when no fewer than twelve messenger boys paraded into the breakfast room to lay down twenty-four roses each, all of different hues and shades, Juliana realised that enough was enough.
“Edwards: if you wait five minutes, you may take a message back to your Mr Lovell.”
It did not even take her the five minutes allotted to write what she wished on the small notecard that she handed over to him:
Mr Lovell: you will drive me mad by Michaelmas! Impossible to ignore as you are, why not visit us in person instead of sending floral tributes. We are at your leisure this afternoon, June 3rd. JH
“Is that all?” Edwards asked, in a small voice, clearly considering the short note rather perfunctory considering the number of roses that he had walked into her home.
“He is lucky to get that,” Juliana retorted, “and you can tell him that yourself.”
The Reverend Honeyfield shook his head with a smile. “Juliana, one day that sarcastic tongue will come out and bite you! Poor Edwards, I suppose it is not his wish to play Cupid!”
“He is not playing Cupid!” Her indignancy showed in every syllable. “Mr Lovell is just a man who cannot take a hint!”
“What hint have you given him now?” Audrey’s plate was empty and she was smiling up at her cousin who was standing resolutely by the window, watching Edwards and his messenger boys leave.
Juliana swallowed. “I’ve told him that if he wants to call this afternoon, then . . . he can. It is just a call, after all, and you two will be here.”
Audrey laughed, and rising from the table, shook her head with a smile. “Oh Juliana, you are the definition of a mixed message! Cannot you see that by ignoring him for over a month and now inviting him, this very day, to your home you could not have given more encouragement?”
She walked out of the room to complete her toilette, and Juliana turned to her father. “You do not think what I did was wrong, do you?”
Reverend Honeyfield stood up and went over to his daughter, clasping her in his arms. Whenever he did this, she never felt more safe.
“My child, what’s done is done – and you have done naught that I would be ashamed of. Let us meet this Mr Rufus Lovell, and see what we make of him.”
Rufus coughed. Then he coughed again. He had not expected Juliana’s note, but he was starting to get a tad desperate; more than a month had passed since Nicholas had made the wager, and though Michaelmas Day was fast approaching, he had been making absolutely no progress with Miss Honeyfield. And yet today, her note.
Admittedly, there was not a huge amount of warmth in her words. If anything, he thought he could discern a little frustration, perhaps a little pique. What woman didn’t like flowers, Rufus thought to himself ruefully as he stood in front of the Honeyfields’ door on Cannon Street. Surely he had sent enough flowers to sink a ship – and finding so many, even in London, had been no easy feat. He’d had to send away as far as Maplebridge, to Baldwin Flowers, to find roses enough to turn what seemed to be a frosty reception into . . . well, a frosty invitation.
