“You know I don’t like to.”

“What you like has little to do with it. You must marry. Your husband will help to look after us. He’ll see to Hicks in future, and to accompanying your poor mother to Bath when her illness commands it.”

Julia had heard this, too, with increasing frequency. According to her parents, her future husband would be yet another caretaker for them. Julia’s own happiness—or lack of it—mattered not at all. “I don’t think I shall ever marry,” she confessed.

“Nonsense. You’ll do your duty, and willingly.”

“I have been doing my duty.”

“Not according to Mrs. Major. She sent a report round this morning, says you wandered off during last night’s musicale.”

“A report?” Julia was incredulous. “You make it sound as though I’m a probationer.”

His wiry brows lowered. “With your proclivities, you may as well be. Why else would your mother impose on Mrs. Major to chaperone you? She’s meant to prevent this kind of behavior. And so I’ve reminded her.”

Julia expected he had. Her father was a great one for dashing off complaining notes from his sickbed. When he was in residence, the second footman was forever on the trot.

“Setting a dour old matron to guard me isn’t going to make me any more attractive to suitors,” she said.

“I’ll hear no arguments on the subject.”

“But Papa—”

“Enough, child.” Beads of perspiration gathered on her father’s brow. He withdrew a linen handkerchief from his pocket to blot his face. “Away with you, now. You’ll tire me out before I’ve done my work.”

Her shoulders slumped. There was, indeed, no point in arguing with him. He and Mama always won. Naturally, they did. It was they who held all the power.

“Yes, Papa.” She rose from the ottoman, smoothing her skirts. “I’m going shopping for a new book. I’ll return directly.”

“Mind you do,” he said. “I may have need of you.”

Bloxham’s Books was a small shop at the end of an alleyway off of Charing Cross Road. Julia was a frequent visitor to the premises. In the last month alone, she’d been there three times on the hunt for new novels to read.

Mr. Bloxham served as both bookseller and publisher. He did a steady business in lesser-known sensation novels, adventure stories, and romances. Books written by people like J. Marshland or Mrs. Trent-Watkinson. Authors most of the general public had never heard of before.

“They write them fast and we print them fast,” the shop clerk confided as Julia explored the shelves. “Not much in the way of literary value, but they pass the time.”

Mary trailed behind them, looking as dour as a crow in her black stuff dress and bonnet. As lady’s maid, she was obliged to accompany her mistress on errands, but she made no secret of her opinions about novels. She seemed to think they were the main reason Julia hadn’t yet been successful on the marriage mart.