The Desire for Dearborne

Chapter 4-2

Parr’s understudy was tall and slender with hair a shade darker than Gabriel’s, a beautiful face that stopped just short of being feminine, and sly green eyes. After speaking to him for only a few moments, Julien knew that he was likely more clever than Gabriel, but similarly self-interested. It would make for the same situation Julien had with Gabriel, the only difference being the face and form. At least Gabriel already knew Julien’s limits, and Julien didn’t care to deal with someone new testing his temper and generosity.

If Julien were looking for that sort of novelty, it would be a simple matter to have a different companion every month as so many men did. As long as one had the money, it was possible to have all variety of men provide all variety of pleasure, and in his younger days Julien had done just that. At one-and-thirty, however, he was growing weary of such companionship. There were, of course, other men in Society who shared his inclinations, and many of them would have been more than willing to enter into an association with him, but most of them were unwilling to have their preference known and several were even married. Although Julien preferred to keep his private life private, he did not attempt to hide what he was, and had no intention of entering into the deception of marriage, either by involvement with a married man or by marrying himself.

Dissatisfied with the understudy, Julien abruptly left the backstage area without engaging anyone else in conversation. Men of wealth and rank were always welcome backstage before and after performances. Theater managers were always eager to meet potential backers. While some of the men who attended were enthusiasts, most—like Julien—were there to meet the actors and actresses.

Julien decided he might as well stay and watch the play. It was a new offering by a playwright whose other work Julien had enjoyed. Hopefully it would take his mind off his current discontent. Fortunately, attending was never a problem, as the Earls of Blackstone had always taken boxes at Covent Garden—as well as at the Theatre Royal—for the Season and Julien had continued the tradition, making the box available to family and a few select friends.

When he arrived at his box, he found that he would not be attending alone, as the Viscount and Viscountess Carysfort were already seated.

“Julien!” his aunt smiled when she saw him. “Wonderful! We weren’t at all certain you’d received our note.”

“Might have sent a note back,” her husband grumbled. “You could have escorted Lady Carysfort and I could have stayed comfortably at home.”

“My apologies,” Julien said as he bowed over Cordelia’s hand. “I did not know you were attending tonight. I only decided to attend myself at the last moment.”

Cordelia gave him an arch look as he took his seat, but declined to comment. Julien knew the only thing saving him from some very frank remarks was the presence of Lord Carysfort. The viscount was accepting of his wife’s nephew but would definitely not appreciate a discussion about Julien’s love life and probably wouldn’t have cared for it even if Julien’s interest had been in women. Viscount Carysfort had only three passions—his wife, his horses, and his hounds, in that order—and anything he did usually centered around one of the three. He likely never would have bothered with the London Season or the Earl of Blackstone if he was not so thoroughly wrapped around Cordelia’s finger.

“Have you any plans after the play?”

Damnation. Julien stifled a sigh. Cordelia was no doubt planning to drag him along to whatever round of balls they were attending. “Only to return home,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Cordelia said firmly. “You worry me, Julien, spending so much time alone. We are attending the Tracy soirée later. You will join us, of course.”

“Of course,” Julien replied, knowing there were very few excuses his aunt would accept. Perhaps putting in an appearance at a ball or two tonight and attending her ball would earn him some peace for the rest of the Season.

The play was a sharp satire, and even more entertaining than Julien had expected. Likely it would enjoy a long run. As they made their way out of the theater, Cordelia tried to convince him to send his coach home and join them in theirs, but Julien had no intention of being stranded at a ball until Cordelia decided it was time to go. He managed to placate her by promising to meet them at the entrance.

Once the niceties of greeting the hostess and her two daughters were out of the way, Julien moved to the edge of the ballroom in order to search for certain faces. Primarily for that of Lavinia Norville, because although he wouldn’t leave if she was present—his aunt would never forgive him—he did want to be prepared in order to avoid a scene. He didn’t see her, but nor did he see anyone else he cared to speak with.

His aunt and Octavius were already in the midst of a conversation with several friends, so Julien took himself off to the card room. If he had to spend several hours at a ball, this was the most painless place to do it.

Fifteen minutes later, he was settled at a table, playing commerce with four other gentlemen. One of them was Lord Belmont’s son, who fancied himself a dashing gambler but was too afraid of his father’s wrath to ever actually visit a gaming hell. Julien also recognized Morleigh Mayfield, Viscount Ferrand, and Lord Witley, none of whom he liked, but fortunately that wasn’t a requirement in a game like commerce. The play was deep and reckless, and Julien knew that it wouldn’t require much concentration on his part to win a fair bit of money—not that he needed it.

He easily won the first two hands, which appeared to bother no one except young Belmont, who, unlike the other men at the table, hadn’t yet learned to lose money easily. Or perhaps he was worried about explaining any losses to his father.

“When is the new Earl of Dearborne going to put in an appearance, Mayfield?” Ferrand asked as he made his wager. “My wife has been talking of nothing else for weeks.”

“There’s no need for her to be anxious to meet him, and you may tell her so. He’s a pale, dull creature with nothing of importance to say.”

“How old would you say he is? You talk of him as if he were a child.” There was an unhealthy interest in Witley’s voice that made Julien’s stomach turn.

Julien kept his attention focused on the cards, but gritted his teeth. It was just another reminder of the utter hypocrisy in the ton that infuriated him. Because he was wealthy and titled, he was included on every guest list, yet at the same time he had to constantly deal with sideways looks and snide remarks because he lived outside their invisible boundaries and didn’t bother to hide it. Mayfield and Witley were both considered excellent gentlemen despite the fact that they visited London’s worst hells on a regular basis because they presented the façade that Society wanted to see.

According to what Julien had heard from the workers at Madame Rimbaude’s and Mother Madge’s over the years, neither man cared much about the gender of the person they paid for. Witley’s only requirements were that they be young and innocent, while Mayfield liked them fair and helpless. Both men preferred their victims terrified. Some of the young men who worked at the houses Julien frequented had been subject to the men’s attentions themselves before managing to escape the hells for the relatively safer world of male brothels.

“He’s not much above twenty, I daresay.” Mayfield’s voice brought Julien back to his current surroundings. “But he might as well be a child. I’ve never met a more backward or unworldly fool in my life.”

“Then I do hope to see him in Society.” Ferrand smirked. “It sounds as though he would be vastly entertaining.”

The viscount’s words didn’t surprise Julien. Most of the ton relied on the mistakes and scandals of others to provide them with entertainment. Julien found it distasteful, but not nearly as despicable as he found Mayfield and Witley.

“I wouldn’t anticipate much amusement from him.” Mayfield shrugged. “He’s such a sickly thing that I doubt he’ll even live out the year.”