The Errant Earl by Amanda McCabe - The Errant Earl

Author:Amanda McCabe - The Errant Earl [McCabe, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Regency, Nineteenth Century, Traditional Regency
ISBN: 9780451206299
Google: ukJyv6QOhcQC
Amazon: 0451206290
Barnesnoble: 0451206290
Goodreads: 1597801
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2001-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

With the Flemings gone at last, Julia crept up to her room and threw herself across her bed, rumpling the skirt of her mother’s fine gown. Her head ached abominably, and she swore that she would retch if she had to drink another cup of tea—or syllabub—ever again.

The thought of a wretched evening with those people at their own home filled her with dread. She could have declined, of course, and probably should have after that disgraceful scene. But that seemed like conceding defeat. Defeat in what battle Julia was not sure, but defeat nonetheless.

She refused to wave the white flag to Lady Angela. She might have to leave Rosemount soon, but she would not do it like some whipped puppy, shrinking away quietly. Well, not so quietly after the Syllabub Incident of today, which would surely supplant the Punch Incident in local folklore. By Jove, people might remember her as a clumsy ox, but they would remember her!

And she would make Marcus remember her, too. Then, some day, when he was shackled to Lady Angela and had ten bratty children, he would be sorry he let her go.

Julia sat up in the middle of the bed and reached up to free her hair from the pins that were gouging into her scalp. Whatever was she thinking, vowing to make Marcus remember her? Was she in love with him, then?

Perhaps she was, she admitted to herself. Just a tiny bit.

That was probably why she felt so jealous of silly Lady Angela, and why she felt such a wicked satisfaction at that ugly scene in the drawing room.

Julia giggled at the memory of Lady Angela covered in sticky syllabub, screaming like an Irish banshee while Abelard and Marcus ran about looking for towels. John and Ned had fled the room at the first opportunity, the cowards. They probably thought Lady Angela truly meant to feed their noses to her horse. And maybe she did, at that.

Julia laughed even harder to recall how the marquess had surreptitiously scraped some fluffy cream off his daughter’s skirt and plopped it in his mouth.

She fell back to her pillows again, tears of helpless mirth streaming down her cheeks. She kicked her heels in the velvet counterpane, and laughed and laughed.

Her stream of amusement was soon interrupted by a knock at her door. She sat up, wiping at her streaming eyes. “C-come in,” she called.

It was her maid, Elly, looking rather like a frightened kitten. “Beg . . . begging your pardon, miss, but his lordship would like to see you in the library. At your convenience. But his lordship did make sure to mention that your convenience had best be soon.”

So, it was time to pay the piper, was it? Well, Julia was willing to do so. He had played her such a merry tune this afternoon.

“I suppose the Flemings really are gone, then?” she said. She had stood on the front steps and watched them leave the house, but she thought it best to be sure.

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