The Seductress' Marriage Ploy

9. Mother

"I don't have the faintest idea what you are talking about," Julia cooed, placed her hand on her chest and gasped for added effect.

He just smiled at Julia, and she got the impression that perhaps she was a bit out of her element. That he was a man who has played games like this before and won. Julia swallowed as she tasted fear. "The war, what was it like?" She asked to shift the conversation to safer ground.

"The war." He echoed and scowled. "Is not a nice thing to talk about in the presence of a respectable lady."

Julia huffed, "Don't tell me, you are afraid to hurt my delicate sensibility."

"Afraid." he murmured softly as if he just learned how to speak the words for the first time. "Afraid." Wychford murmured again, this time with more energy behind his words. "Of your delicate sensibility? — Somehow you don't strike me as that type."

"And what type do I strike you as? Your grace." Julia purred into his ears.

Wychford chuckled. "Oh, you know. You very well know what you are. And you use it well to your advantage."

Julia drew back and frowned. Did they even talk about the same thing?

"Don't detract from what we were talking about," Julia stated.

He quirked a brow. "Which was?"

"How the war went."

"Oh!" He said as if he suddenly remembered it. "It was wicked." He paused. "Blood everywhere, men dying every day. You fight without knowing if you would die or live through the next day. The worst was the stench, the stench of dead bodies, men who were supposed to be my sworn brothers." His words came out in a hurried format, as if he just finished a race. He looked visibly tortured, as if he could still experience everything he mentioned, the blood, the dead bodies, life, death.

Julia didn't know what to think. She didn't know what came over her, but she wanted to know more. As her hands raised up to touch his arm, he quickly snapped out of whatever phase he was in, murmured his apologies and quickly returned her safely back to her mother.

Julia watched him go, disappointment etched all over her face.

Clasping her hands together in front of her. Ophelia muttered "well?"

"Well, what?" Julia asked.

"Do you think he might come up to scratch?"

"Mother!"

"What?" Ophelia echoed, sounding unbelievably innocent as If she hadn't just asked if Wychford would offer for her. Julia clamped her hands on her mouth, horrified that she had possibly screamed in such a manner, but surely her mother knew how to infuriate someone.

"I have barely spoken two words to Wychford and you are already planning a marriage!

"What?" Julia snapped as she noticed that her mother was looking at her like a proud mother. Clapping her hands slowly in glee. Julia eyed her mother's hands as she noticed the action that was fast becoming her favourite way of acting.

"I noticed you said Wychford, " Ophelia said, whispering the last part as if someone might hear. "And not your grace." Releasing a breath she didn't even know she was holding. Julia excused herself from her mother and headed towards the refreshment table to the assorted foods she eyed earlier, hoping that they were still some left for her to eat. Taking a glass of lemonade and freeing her parched throat, she stood by the table and savoured the taste as her eyes scanned the room.

Her feet were killing her, she wanted nothing more than to remove her slippers and bury her feet in a warm soft grass.

She missed their estate at Warwickshire. The stables, the smell of hays, the field where she and her sister played. Even her mare, Boon she missed her. She missed riding bareback with her breeches. The wind blowing her hair about her face. The excitement of it, the pleasure, the sheer joy she derived from it as she rode in the woods. The lake, the coolness of water whenever she dips into it to take a swim after her morning rides.

Most especially, what she did miss was her father. The way he smiled, in that lopsided old fashion way of his. His kind eyes always warm, staring at her with understanding, never judging her. He taught her many things, how to play faro. How to ride properly, even how to hunt, even though that was what killed him.

She could still remember everything how her father had been found in the woods where he went hunting. His leg had been caught in a trap. He was bleeding profusely. The doctor had been called, her father had lost too much blood already, and the wound was already infected. And if he were to survive, his leg had to be bled to remove the infection. The doctor had ordered that her father should take a dose of laudanum morning, afternoon, and night.

Her mother wasn't satisfied with the doctor's prescription, so she sent for a second doctor. This one said that her father's leg should be amputated, if not he might not survive the injury. Her mother had cried till her eyes puffed out and her pretty face was no longer pretty.

Aunt Annis was there to console her, it was probably the only time they worked together with no altercation.

A great deal was at stake. It was a trying time for them. The next day his leg was bled, and he was given laudanum. Her father drifted in and out of sleep, sweating all the time. And her mother mopped his face with cool, wet linen.

Camila had cried when his leg was bled, Julia had wanted to cry too, as much as her sister cried, maybe even more than she did. But she had to be stronger for the two of them. She held her sister each time she cried and consoled her till she quieted, and when Julia found herself alone, she would slump down on the floor and cry properly, cry until her eyes turned red.

On the third day, her father died. He slept like he normally did and when morning came, he refused to wake up, just laid there lifeless, not breathing and pale, his mouth slightly hanging open. Her mother had thrown herself on the bed and refused to stand up, just laid there on her father, and wailed.

She would never forget that look, neither would she forget how it made her feel, empty. She didn't even have time to say a proper goodbye.

Julia quickly dashed her hands about her eyes as she noticed that tears were slowing seeping from the corner of her eyes. She shook her head to properly wake her self from her thoughts, dashed her hands in front of her gown, and set out to find her mother. She was done with the party.