of an action they’d never seen, just because he’d told them about it. And though possibly one or two of them might have followed the course of the war against France, the general level of ignorance of the others had been hard to stomach.
They hadn’t cared, not really, that men like him had spent their entire adult life fighting so that they could lounge about their clubs and country estates, secure from threat of invasion.
‘I shall do all in my power,’ said Lord Mountnessing, now, to his daughter, ‘to prevent any slur being cast upon his name because of this. And you will do the same, d’ye hear me?’
She hung her head again. And in a small, chastened voice, a voice that might have fooled him had he not known how many lies she’d told this evening, said, ‘Yes, Papa.’
* * *
One good thing about having been at war for most of his adult life was that Alec was used to surprise attacks from the enemy. Not that Lady Julia was his enemy, but she’d certainly surprised him. Which meant he’d had to come up with a strategy to deal with the new tack on which he was going to have to steer his life. He’d spoken the truth last night when he’d said that, like a press-ganged man, there was no point in struggling against the inevitable. Marriage, like life on board ship, would depend a great deal upon how a man went about it. So the question was, what did he want from marriage?
He’d had a vague notion of finding a sympathetic companion, one day, eventually, to be a mother to his children. A woman he could trust to run his household while he was away, and make it a place he’d be glad to return to after an arduous voyage.
Instead, he was going to have to make a life with a woman he neither liked nor respected. He was facing a lifetime with a challenging, unprincipled, hot-blooded siren for his wife. Just as she was facing a lifetime with the last man on earth she would have chosen, to judge from the look on her face when the masks had come off.
Well, he’d been faced with seemingly impossible challenges before. He wouldn’t have gained promotion to captain without displaying ingenuity and daring. Could making a success of his marriage truly be more daunting than closing with a French frigate twice the size of his own vessel, or leading a boarding party against apparently insurmountable odds?
No. Besides, though his mind balked at spending a lifetime with a woman of Lady Julia’s stamp, his body wasn’t paying attention. His body was eager to engage with her all over again.
And so he planned to tell her. At least, that his conclusion was that they were both going to have to make adjustments. Huge adjustments, if they didn’t want to make each other completely miserable. He had to let her know that he bore her no ill will, that he was willing to put in the effort required to make the match run as smoothly as it could, all things considered. And not just for themselves, but for the sake of any children they might have. He didn’t want his children to become casualties of the kind of warfare waged between his own parents.
To that end, he’d decided to go along with the fiction that this was a love match. He was pretty certain she’d see the sense of that. For the one thing he’d learned about her last night was that she didn’t want anyone to suspect he wasn’t her choice. Which suited him fine. Alec didn’t want anyone to know what a tangle they’d landed in, either, nor have any shadow of scandal cast over his children’s lives. So he had to speak to her in private, as soon as possible, and negotiate terms.
Lizzie had informed him, when he’d managed to corner her briefly at luncheon the day before, that most ladies took breakfast on trays, in their rooms. She’d offered it up as an explanation as to why he’d not been able to locate her, though it was a poor excuse. She’d been avoiding him. And continued to do so.
Women! He still hadn’t got to the bottom of what Lizzie was up to—though he hadn’t been in Ness Hall for five minutes before discovering it wasn’t what she’d led him to believe—and now he was entangled in another net, cast by another scheming, manipulative female.
But at least he could begin to make some headway with Lady Julia. Though he had hardly seen any female make it to the breakfast table during the time he’d been here, and scarcely more of the men either, she’d always been up, acting as hostess.
Or, as he’d thought of it before last night, queening it over the breakfast table and all its occupants.
* * *
Well, he’d have to erase any trace of disdain from his face before he spoke to her this morning. The success of his plan depended on it.
As he descended the stairs, he schooled his features into what he hoped passed for the kind of expression a man would wear, who’d just been granted the hand of a woman with whom he was infatuated.
He was glad he’d taken the precaution. There were decidedly more people clustered around the table this morning. Mostly men. Dressed in riding gear.
Of course—the hunt.
It was a tradition for the guests staying here to join the local hunt on Boxing Day, so Lord Mountnessing had informed him upon arrival. He’d even offered to provide him with a mount, should he wish to take part.
He was glad he’d declined now.
He glanced to the head of the table, where Lady Julia was sitting next to her father. Alec breathed a sigh of relief. For she was dressed in a simple morning gown, which meant she wouldn’t be joining the hunt either.
It would give him an opportunity, he hoped, to speak with her alone. Surely, with so many of the houseguests being out of doors, they would be able to find ten minutes in which to negotiate the terms of truce? It shouldn’t take much longer than that. He’d already seen signs she might be amenable to his terms when she’d admitted she’d been at fault, and defended him against the charge of being a fortune hunter.
Lady Julia was sitting, as usual, at her father’s left hand. She looked pale, but calm. Her eyes were clear. She didn’t look as if she’d spent the night weeping into her pillow, at least. Nobody would guess how very upset she must be to have landed herself in this predicament.
He ignored the footman who was holding out a chair halfway along the table, went to where she was sitting, and pulled out his own chair, sitting down on it without taking his eyes from her face.
Which put paid to her pallor, anyway.
‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said, then, her blush deepening, lowered her head to stare at her plate.
‘Good morning, indeed,’ he replied, edging his chair a little closer to hers.
One or two people, he noted out of the corner of his eye, were already shooting curious glances their way.
He leaned in close.
‘Follow my lead,’ he murmured into her ear. Then took a crust of her toast from her plate and popped it into his own mouth.
‘Coffee or tea, my lord?’ A footman thrust a silver pot between them, dangerously close to his face, obliging him to heel to port. He had to admire the servant’s loyalty. And wonder at the devotion she appeared to have inspired in him, since he’d come to her defence from what he must assume was an importunate male guest, with such alacrity.
‘Ale, if you have it,’ he replied, which made the servant glower at him, since it meant he’d have to desert his mistress, to go to the sideboard and fetch him a tankard.
