Contents ( 52)
- praise for
- The Siren of Sussex
- Also by Mimi Matthews
- belles of london novels
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Literary Inspiration
- Victorian Views on Novel Reading and Bloodletting
- False Names, Marriage, and the Law
- The Fall of Sebastopol
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Questions
- What’s next on your reading list?
“I thank you,” Miss Throckmorton replied.
“May I introduce you to an acquaintance of mine?” Lord Ridgeway gestured to someone in the crowd. “Lady Holland has informed me he’s to be your partner at dinner.”
“Oh?” Miss Throckmorton followed Lord Ridgeway’s gaze.
So did Julia.
It was Captain Blunt. He came toward them, looking as solemn and soldierly as he had at Bloxham’s.
Her heart performed a disconcerting little somersault.
But like Lord Ridgeway, Captain Blunt wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Miss Throckmorton.
As Lord Ridgeway introduced the pair of them, Julia could do nothing but sit woodenly on the drawing room settee, her hands clasped in her lap.
The scene before her was unsettlingly familiar.
Just so had Lord Ridgeway introduced Captain Blunt to her at Lady Arundell’s ball. In response, Julia had fled.
Miss Throckmorton, by contrast, was perfectly composed. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” she said. “I’ve heard of your exploits, of course. The Hero of the Crimea, isn’t that what they call you?”
“An overstatement,” Captain Blunt said. “I’m no hero.” As he spoke, his icy gray eyes met Julia’s. It was the barest glance. A mere heartbeat of connection—of acknowledgment—before he turned his attention back on Miss Throckmorton.
Julia’s chest constricted almost painfully.
No. He wasn’t a hero. He was just a man. One that, only yesterday evening, she’d asked to stop pursuing her.
And he had done so. Obviously.
It wasn’t a rejection. He was respecting her wishes. An honorable action, really. It made no sense that it would hurt.
She schooled her features, even as she again cast about her for some means of escape. Her gaze lit on the Earl of Gresham. Newly arrived, he stood at the entrance to the drawing room, speaking to Mrs. Major.
Mrs. Major replied, motioning toward Julia with a toothy smile.
Julia’s palms dampened beneath her gloves. She had no affection for Lord Gresham. Not only was he too old for her, he was rather insensitive, too. The kind of blustering gentleman who always talked over a lady or insisted she do this thing or that.
He made a direct line for her from across the drawing room, wasting no time in presenting himself.
“Miss Wychwood,” he said, bowing. “Ridgeway. Captain Blunt. Ladies.”
“Gresham,” Ridgeway said.
Captain Blunt gave Lord Gresham a stiff nod. He didn’t seem pleased to see the earl.
Julia wondered if they knew each other.
“You will excuse me, gentlemen.” Lord Gresham offered his hand to Julia. “Miss Wychwood’s estimable chaperone has granted me the honor of escorting her into dinner.”
“An honor indeed,” Ridgeway said.
Captain Blunt said nothing. But he wasn’t looking at Miss Throckmorton any longer. He was frowning at Julia.
She took Lord Gresham’s hand, permitting him to draw her to her feet. Escape was escape, even if it came in the form of a long-winded, condescending old man who stared overlong at one’s bosom.
“Take care you avoid the drafts,” Lord Gresham said, guiding her away. “There’s a chill in the air this evening. Your father mentioned it particularly.”