My Fair Marchioness (Scandalous Affairs Book 3) by Christi Caldwell (best short books to read txt) 📗

Harris dropped a kiss upon it. “And leave you, Your Grace? I can’t imagine anything would leave me more bereft.”

She snorted. “You’ve arrived just in time. Smelling of brandy, so I can imagine what you’ve been up to.”

“I was at my clubs,” he said, and an endearing color suffused the rugged planes of his cheeks.

“No doubt with that Barrett boy and Rothesby. I only tolerate the former because I was friends with his mother, you know.”

“I do, Your Grace.” As if he and Julia shared a secret, he caught Julia’s eye and winked, that seductive flutter of his tawny lashes bringing havoc to her heart.

The duchess removed her gloves and dusted them together. “He might be a scoundrel, but he’s a good brother to Calla, and he does serve some purpose.”

Warning bells went off. Oh no. Dread settled in her belly.

“I want him present for Julia’s entry next week.” And there it was.

Julia surged forward. “Entry into what?” she asked, her voice thin to her own ears. Praying she’d heard wrong. Praying the favor being called in even now by a duchess from some duke, and one of Harris’ friends at that, had nothing to do with—

The duchess spared her a brief look. “Why, your debut.”

Julia could only manage to stare blankly.

“Into Polite Society, girl. Of course, you’re being presented to Polite Society.” The duchess scoffed. “Why wouldn’t you be?” And as Adairia’s aunt returned her focus to Harris, panic welled in Julia’s breast, and she eyed the door, contemplating making a break for it.

Instead, Julia stood there with an increasing pit of dread growing in her belly. Harris and the duchess’ voices moved in and out of focus.

“… already late spring… Almack’s is not the best for this… Small, intimate…”

When Julia had confessed all to the duchess, she’d believed that was sufficient. She’d been so relieved to be rid of the lies and forthright about her identity that she’d failed to properly consider the other woman’s response. More specifically, her kindness. In Julia, she saw a replacement for Adairia. Something and someone Julia could never and would never be, for the simple reason that there had been only one Adairia. Now, Julia was left playing pretend in a charade with no end in sight.

“… no more than three hundred guests,” the duchess was saying.

Julia jolted back to the moment. “Three hundred guests?”

“Yes, we’ll begin small.”

“This is small?” she asked weakly.

“By the duchess’ standards.” Harris gave Julia a commiserative look that only added a layer of guilt to her quickly compounding regrets.

“By the standards of all Polite Society, Harris,” the duchess said, tapping him on the arm. “And I expect you to secure her two sets from Rothesby.”

“You know Rothesby—”

“Yes, yes. You hate polite events more than anyone, except that rascal Rothesby. He’s not turned back my invitation. See that he is there for Julia’s debut.”

She’d be sponsored by a duke and duchess of different titles, and it was ludicrous and madness. The world would know precisely what she was—an impostor. Julia stared blankly at the servants outside loading food into the carriages. She didn’t want to be an impostor. She was sick of pretend. She wasn’t sick of the security and safety. Nay, a person could never tire of that. But they were unmerited. They didn’t belong to her, because she wasn’t who the world took her to be.

“Excuse me, my lady.”

Julia glanced up at the kindly footman, Stebbins, his arms laden with a basket. Registering belatedly that she blocked the doorway, she quickly stepped aside. “My apologies.”

His smile widened. “None necessary, my lady,” he said and hurried outside to join the other assembled army of maids and footmen.

“Dare I ask?” Harris asked the duchess.

“You may. Julia is taking food to the hungry.”

She felt his gaze swing back to her. “Indeed?” Harris asked, and Julia tried to make sense of that quiet murmuring.

“Yes, she is. And you should be a dear boy and accompany her.”

And in an instant, Julia found herself and focused on more pressing matters than her entry into Polite Society. She turned quickly to the duchess. “Lord Ruthven does not want to do that, I’m sure.” There was, no doubt, anything else he’d like to do, not to mention that every moment more she spent with him only wrought further havoc upon her senses.

“Are you in the habit of speaking for a person?” the duchess asked with her usual bluntness.

“I… on occasion?”

The duchess froze and then tossed her head back and laughed. “Harris will go with you.”

“But—”

“He is happy to do it.”

The gentleman inclined his head. “Happy to,” he said softly, and Julia hesitated a moment more before she placed her fingertips upon his sleeve.

Yes, this was a mistake for so many reasons. Everything about the intimate moments she stole with him could only prove problematic, making it that much harder to disentangle herself from this life, and yet, as he escorted her to the carriage, she couldn’t resist the lightness in her breast at the very real sincerity that had threaded his words.

Since the moment Julia had showed up at the duchess’s, Harris had been skeptical of her and her motives. He’d cynically judged her at every turn.

He’d worried about the duchess being fleeced, and yet, in the end, what Julia had taken from the duchess hadn’t been jewels or silver. It hadn’t been fine baubles or expensive pieces. Rather, she’d amassed food—and with the permission of Her Grace—all to distribute that food to other people. Hungry ones.

Not for the first time since Julia’s arrival, Harris had found himself completely humbled and more than a little bit… ashamed.

There’d been a level of self-absorption to him. Not for the first time since Julia’s arrival, he was struck by the