Her answer startled him enough to stay his hand as he started to flick the reins. "Practicing?" he repeated, studying her expression with a glimmer of amused interest. "Practicing for what?"
Julianna lifted her chin, raised her brows, and said in an offhand voice what she hoped would pass for droll wit rather than stupidity, "I'm practicing to become a highwayman, obviously. By way of an apprenticeship, I jump in front of innocent travelers in the park and waylay their horses."
Turning her back on him, she took her mother firmly by the arm and steered her away. Over her shoulder, Julianna added a dismissive and deliberately incorrect, "Good afternoon, Mr er Deveraux."
Her mother's exclamation of indignant horror at these outrageous remarks muffled a sound from the man in the carriage that sounded almost like laughter.
Lady Skeffington was still furious with Julianna later that night.
"How could you be so impertinent!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Nicholas DuVille has so much influence with Society that if he utters one derogatory word about you, no one of any consequence will associate with you. You'll be ruined! Ruined, do you hear me?" Despite Julianna's repeated apologies, albeit insincere, her mother was beyond consolation. She paced back and forth, her hartshorn in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. "Had Nicholas DuVille paid you just a few minutes of attention in the park today, where others could see it, you'd have been an instant success! By tonight we would have had invitations to every important social function of the Season, and by the day after, eligible suitors would have been at our door. Instead, you had to be insolent to the one man in all London who could put an end to my hopes and dreams with a single word." She dabbed at the tears trembling on her lashes. "This is all your grandmothers fault! She taught you to be just like her. Oh, I should be horsewhipped for allowing you to spend so much time with that dreadful old harpy, but no one could oppose her will, least of all your father."
She stopped pacing and rounded on Julianna. "Well, I know more of the real world than your grandmother ever did, and I am about to tell you something she never did a simple truth that is worth more than all her fantastical notions, and that truth is this -" And clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she said in a voice shaking with purpose, " A man does not wish to associate with any female who knows more than he does! If the Ton's gossip mill finds out how bookish you are, you'll be ruined! No gentleman of consequence will want you! You will be ruined!"
Five
A trill of feminine laughter pulled Julianna's thoughts back to the masquerade, and she listened to the sounds of adults behaving like naughty children, wondering how many feminine reputations were being "totally ruined" out there tonight. Based on what Julianna had gathered from her mother's frequent lectures, it seemed there were countless ways to be ruined, but there were two different and distinct kinds of ruination. Mistakes made by the female alone, such as appearing too intelligent, too clever, too bookish, or too glib, could "ruin" her chances of making a splendid match. But any mistake she made that involved the honor of a gentleman resulted in " total ruin," because it eliminated her chances of making any kind of match at all.
It was very silly, Julianna decided gaily as she reflected upon the myriad ways of blundering into " total ruin."
A female could be " totally ruined" by allowing any gentleman to be alone with her in a room, or allowing him to show a partiality for her, or even allowing him a third dance with her.
As Julianna contemplated all this, she realized she would have been far, far better off if she had done only one of the countless things that could "totally ruin" a female's chances of making any match. If she had been totally ruined, she realized with a sudden flash of new insight, she would not now be facing a repulsive marriage to Sir Francis Bellhaven!
The thought of him banished her momentary mirth and made the moon waver as her eyes filled with tears. She reached for her handkerchief, realized she didn't have one, and sniffled. Then she had another sip of her drink, trying unsuccessfully to buoy her plummeting spirits.
For several minutes after he had finished his cigar, Nicki remained where Valerie had left him, deliberating about turning to his right and returning to the garden of turning left and walking deeper into the maze until he came to a path that, he knew, led around to the side of the house and ultimately to his bedchamber.
He was tired, and his bedchamber had an enormous and very comfortable bed. If his mother hadn't specifically asked him to stop here on his way from London and to give her regards to Valerie's mother, he wouldn't have come. According to his father's note, his mother's health had taken a sudden and precarious turn for the worse, and Nicki did not want to do anything, no matter how minor, to disappoint or distress her. Turning, Nicki walked along the convoluted path that led out of the maze and into the garden, ready to fulfill his social obligation this night and his filial obligation on the morrow.