Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 2B

Julia Marlowe worried her lip. One of the calling cards lying in tray that a footman had brought up was not one that she wanted to see. Yet to refuse that person while accepting the other was a cut direct, making it absolutely clear the him that she no longer sought the acquaintance.

Could she be that heartless? She glanced at her mother who entered the drawing room. Would she even be allowed to?

Lady Welles wandered over to where the tray was. "Who has come calling today, my dear?"

Unfortunately Julia possessed no quick fingered ability to whisk the offensive card from the tray without her mother seeing it. And so she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to see him. While in the company of others.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was a Marlowe. She possessed the mental fortitude to present a pleasant front that would be able to hide all her emotional turmoil within.

And Viscount Healey would be present. She might have an ally. Or at least another person whom she'd be able to direct her attentions towards.

Steeling herself, she marched over to one of the cupboards that held her needlework and plucked the top one. If all else fails, the needlework that she kept in this room for the specific purpose of keeping herself occupied in a socially acceptable way — the only way — would serve her well.

Just as she settled into her seat, a footman announced the visitors. "Viscount Healey, and Mr Arthur Shearing."

She leapt up immediately as the two men entered. Bows and curtseys were exchanged, and her mother directed them to take a seat. She looked the viscount and hoped he could read the message in her eyes to take the seat beside her.

Alas, she must not have been forceful or competent enough in communicating with her gaze alone for Shearing took the seat next to her.

Resigned to the fact that she was going to have to spend the next fifteen minutes with a man she very much wanted to avoid, she sighed before taking her seat on the settee. She was a little cheered by the fact that his lordship was seated to her right on the solitary chair. There still stood the possibly she would be able to escape conversation with the odious Shearing.

While they waited for tea to arrive, pleasantries were exchanged and the men introduced to one another for they hadn't been previously acquainted.

Julia busied herself with pouring the tea, happy to have something to occupy her so that she wouldn't need to make polite conversation. Or look at Shearing.

But that short reprieve soon ended. "How do you take your tea, my lord?" She looked at Healey. "Any sugar and cream for you?"

He shook his head. "I prefer my tea as it is. Thank you," he said as she handed him his cup. Their fingers brushed, but there was no tingling unlike what would happen should hers and Shearing's fingers touch again, something she wanted to avoid at all cost. She couldn't bear that her body responded to him when everything else in her loathed to be near him.

"We have something in common! How delightful!" She cringed inwardly at her high tone, aware how forced and unnatural it sounded. Plastering on a bright smile, she turned to face the man she did not want to meet, unable to avoid the inevitable."And how about you, Mr Shearing? How would you like your tea?"

"Julia, really!" Her mother's chiding tone grated on her nerves. "Arthur here has been taking tea with us regularly for years now. Surely, you remember how he likes it."

Julia struggled to keep her breathing even and her hands steady. Trying not to speak through gritted teeth, she smiled pointedly at her mother. "I didn't want to presume, Mother. Maybe Mr Shearing decided he'd rather have some sugar instead of cream today. It would be quite poorly done of me if I served him something he didn't like based on the assumption that his tastes never changed. It is always best to ask, don't you agree, my lord?"