The Desire for Dearborne

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

“I vow, Julien, I am quite annoyed with you.”

Julien Sutcliffe arched a dark eyebrow. “I tremble at the prospect of your wrath. Pray tell, what have I done to offend your sensibilities?” He knew himself to be perfectly safe with his teasing. Not only was his aunt unable to remain angry with him for any length of time, her sensibilities were not easily offended.

“I did not see you at Lady Rockingham’s soirée last night.”

“I should be worried if you had, as I did not attend.”

“I trust you have a good reason for your absence. One that does not involve Gabriel Hartley.”

Julien favored her with a wry smile. Although his aunt had never shown any disapproval of his preference for male bed partners in general, she also never hesitated to voice her opinion about particular lovers she didn’t care for. His latest, Gabriel Hartley, was definitely among that number. Most women in Society would overlook such peccadillos of family members, especially when that family member was also the Earl of Blackstone, but not the Viscountess Carysfort. It was one of the things Julien most admired about his aunt. “Not at all, Aunt Cordelia. In truth, the reason had more to do with a young lady.”

“Do not try to fob me off with such fustian.” Cordelia’s normally warm brown eyes narrowed.

“Upon my honor, such as it is. Did you not see Miss Norville at the ball?”

“Sir Francis Norville’s chit?” Cordelia set her cup back in its saucer with a crash. “Never say she is out among Society again.”

“It is so. I had it from Lord Archer that she was at the Mountraths’ dinner party the evening before.”

“That is no reason for you to avoid attending balls.”

“It is an excellent reason, Aunt. I have no desire to revive old gossip, and should she encounter me, I’m sure she would take it as an excellent reason to renew some of her complaints.”

“Complaints which no one attends to. Not a soul believes her sordid tale.”

“No, they made up sordid tales of their own, didn’t they?”

“Because you refused to speak of it.” Cordelia sounded truly annoyed, and Julien knew this time it was genuine. It never failed to irritate her that he refused to tell her the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Lavinia Norville’s brother.

He’d never told anyone. No one gave any credit to Lavinia’s claim that Julien had killed her brother, Tobias, in a duel over her honor. It was common knowledge—even if it was never referred to—that the earl had no interest in women. Instead, the ton chose to believe that it was Tobias whom Julien had been involved with and that he had killed young Norville in a fit of anger or rejection. Since there was never word of a duel and no proof that Tobias had been killed, no one ever spoke of the affair to Julien—at least not directly. There had been whispers and looks and innuendos, however, and Julien had no desire for it all to begin again, two years later. “And I don’t intend to ever speak of it,” he said firmly.

“Be that as it may.” Cordelia sipped her tea, still looking somewhat disgruntled. “If you let it be known that you will not attend any event where Miss Norville is present, she would soon be excluded from every guest list.”

No doubt. Lavinia Norville was only the daughter of a baronet, not nearly as desirable a guest as an earl, especially a wealthy earl that flouted the laws of Society just enough to make himself intriguing. “She’d never get herself married that way. Once she has secured a husband, she’ll have no more time for old grudges.” He didn’t add that he felt sorry for Sir Francis and didn’t want to cause the older man any further embarrassment. “Besides, you know I’m not fond of such things to begin with.”

“It’s not good for you to be shut away in this manner.”

“I’m hardly a hermit, Aunt Cordelia.”

She fixed him with her sternest look yet. “Julien, if you refer to that Hartley creature, you know very well that is not what I—”

“I do not refer to Gabriel,” Julien assured her. He found Gabriel stimulating in many ways, but intellectually was not one of them. The man’s conversation centered around himself or the most scandalous gossip he could uncover. “I attended a dinner party given by Viscount Seaforth not two days ago.”

“Certainly that is preferable.” Cordelia wasn’t entirely placated. “Even if Seaforth tends to be just as odd as you.”

“I believe his fiancée might take issue with that remark.” Julien flashed a rare grin.

Cordelia shot him another quelling look despite the fact that her scolding was having no effect. “You know very well that’s not what I meant. And for that matter, Lady Penelope is something of an Original herself. Very nearly a bluestocking. I suppose it is a good match, seeing as they’re both interested in dusty tombs and crumbling ruins and heathen gods.”

“Actually, crumbling ruins and heathen gods are my area of study, Aunt. The Roman Empire, you know. Lady Penelope is concerned with the truth of the legend of King Arthur, while her brother studies the Roman occupation of Britain. Viscount Seaforth enjoys the study of ancient Egypt.” Julien didn’t continue, knowing his aunt only concerned herself with the here and now.

“And a fine, lively conversation there must be around that table.” Cordelia’s dry tone rivaled her nephew’s. “Speaking of oddities, have you heard of the new American Earl?”

“The what?”

“The new Earl of Dearborne.”

“I thought the title was set to go to Morleigh Mayfield.”

“Most did,” Cordelia said, setting aside her now-empty teacup and warming to the subject. “But it was discovered that Stephen Mayfield’s younger son married and had children. He was the younger son of a younger son, so went off to America to make his fortune. Never expected to be in line for the title, I daresay. Thomas is dead now, but one son survived him. He arrived in London four days ago. It’s all quite mysterious; no one has seen him except his cousin and servants. Lord Rockingham had it from Mayfield that the young man is sickly, coarse, and dull-witted.”

Julien didn’t consider Morleigh Mayfield’s opinion reliable.

“I intend to pay a call soon,” Cordelia continued. “No one has ventured to do so thus far. I’m sure I would have heard if anyone had. There is a slight connection, you know. The late earl’s daughter, Constance, was such a help and comfort when I first entered Society. She made it much easier for Octavius’ family to accept me.”

Twisting the amber ring he wore on his last finger, the one his mother gave him because it matched his eyes, Julien reflected on what a shame it was that Constance Mayfield hadn’t been a part of the family when his parents married. Perhaps she would have been able to ease some of the tension in that marriage as well. His mother, Arabella, along with his Aunt Cordelia and Uncle Carlisle, were the children of Leonard Osgood, a very wealthy merchant. Wealthy enough that all three children married into the aristocracy, despite the fact that their father was in trade. Arabella had married Julien’s father at the prompting of both families; her father wanted a connection to the Earl of Blackstone, and his wanted the funds to continuing living in the style he felt was his family’s due. The union was not happy. Sebastien Sutcliffe made no secret of the fact that he thought his wife beneath him, and Arabella never let her husband forget that she had been misled. The Earl of Blackstone never thought much of Sebastien’s branch of the family and had as little contact with them as possible.

Later, Carlisle married Constance Mayfield, and making for a much easier transition when Cordelia wed the Viscount Carysfort. Having often been the pawn or prize in his parents’ battles, Julien couldn’t help but wonder how much different his childhood would have been had Constance been there to make things easier on his mother.

“I believe I’ll issue him an invitation to my ball in a fortnight,” Cordelia mused, then fixed her gaze on Julien again. “A ball I expect you to attend, I might add. Certainly you don’t make plans with Mr. Hartley so far ahead.”

“No, I do not.” Julien didn’t dare tell her that lately he’d been considering ending his association with Hartley. If she knew that, she wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace until she was certain he had. “You have my word that I will be there.”

“Excellent.” Cordelia rose, shaking out the skirt of her fashionable walking dress. “I must be going. I have to pay a visit to my modiste.”

Julien stood as well, seeing her not only to the door, but also handing her up into her coach. She was the only person to whom he extended such a courtesy, leaving it to his staff to show any other guests out.

Walking back inside, he ignored the front parlor and instead walked into his study. He picked up the latest edition of Roman Antiquities Quarterly, hoping to find an article that would occupy his mind and take it off the prospect of his aunt’s ball.

It was more than a week away, but Julien already felt oppressed by it. It seemed as though there were more balls and entertainments this Season, many of them more elaborate than had ever been seen. It was almost as if the aristocracy was making up for the fact that their new king had chosen to have a very plain coronation and lead a simple lifestyle—an immense contrast to his predecessor, the flamboyant and extravagant George IV.

Completely turning his back on the ton would only make things difficult for his aunt, so Julien contrived to go to just enough balls to keep Society from feeling shunned and thereby shunning him in return. He chose carefully, hoping to avoid too many evenings of tedium. Well-known though his preference for men might be, most mamas saw no reason why that should keep him from making one of their daughters a countess. The rumors of his refusal to marry Lavinia Norville after being purportedly discovered in a somewhat compromising position two years before had made those mamas a bit more cautious about throwing their daughters into his path, but it wasn’t enough to put them off completely. There were also adventurous widows who presumed they could change his preference if they tried hard enough.

Most men of the ton, on the other hand, rarely wanted to be seen speaking to him alone for any great length of time for fear of starting rumors. There were other titled men who shared his preference, but most of them wanted to keep it a secret from Society—and their wives.

Julien could never be bothered with that sort of secrecy. He knew what he did with other men was a hanging offense, but he also knew that as a member of the peerage he was perfectly safe as long as he didn’t make a spectacle of himself.

And Julien had no desire to make a spectacle of himself. He much preferred being left alone except for people who shared his interests and could satisfy his need for intelligent conversation. When he wished it, there were men of the demimonde who could satisfy his other needs. At times he wondered what it would be like to have one person in his life who fulfilled both needs, but Julien was never one to dwell too long on something that could never be.