The Courtship of Julian St. Albans by Amy Crook Page A

it was obvious he’d learned the lessons of good
stewardship at his brother’s side just as Henry had learned with Victor.
Willoughby and Pembroke started another topic with Julian, who clearly had no
interest in such mundane details.
    Alex wondered if Emmeline Fitzhugh could be
persuaded to stay on and run things, and then wondered why he cared. It wasn’t
as if there was any chance he’d end up the lord of the house, after all.
    The salads were whisked away and replaced with
a palate-cleansing lime and mint sorbet, cool and sweet on the tongue. “No
blood oranges this time,” quipped O’Connor.
    Alex chuckled. “Mint’s useful in spells,
too,” he said, “though mostly I use it for tea.”
    “I’ve always liked mint tea,” said
Julian, looking like a lost little boy as he poked at his sorbet, “but
Cecil never did.”
    Alex’s heart went out to him, though he had
nothing useful he could say. He hated these situations the most, where he felt
helpless for his inability with words, for being trapped in this farce of a
Courtship with a young man whose entire future hung on such a slender balance.
    Not to mention likely
sharing a meal with a murderer.
    “If lovers like all the same things, don’t
you think it gets boring?” said Pembroke.
    Julian chuckled. “I wouldn’t know, really,
though I never did grow bored of Cecil. He was my only lover.”
    “And then to marriage,” murmured
Alex, too softly for anyone to really hear. He managed about half his ice
before the cold and tart was too much for him, and then he sat back and watched
for a moment, letting the conversation wash over him and join the background noise
of the house’s magic.
    A hand came to take his ice and Alex blinked,
ears popping as his senses reversed themselves, magic becoming a hum and words
gaining importance, and he wondered how much he’d missed and if anyone had
noticed the lapse.
    “…get your fill of variety after all the
men take you for their dates,” Willoughby was saying, which meant they
were still on the topic of Julian’s relative inexperience.
    Julian chuckled wryly, taking a sip of water.
“Well, I will admit I’m looking forward to some dates more than others,
but I know that every family represented tonight has sent me their best, so I’m
also hoping for some pleasant surprises.”
    “Which form of Courtship have you chosen,
if it’s not rude to ask?” said Alex curiously.
    The men around him looked a bit shocked, which
meant it probably was rude but no one was going to tell him. Ah, well.
    Julian looked amused, at any rate, and he said,
“Emmy and I chose one of the longest ones, I believe you’re all supposed
to get letters about it tomorrow. I’ll have three dates with each of you before
I have to make the first decisions, an afternoon tea here at the house and two
dinners out.”
    “So we’ll all have several chances to win
your heart,” said Pembroke, somehow managing to make it not sound cheesy.
    Alex nodded. “I’m afraid I’m out of touch
with the fashions in these things, as I hadn’t really intended to take part in
one until I got your invitation.”
    Julian seemed to take this as a compliment, and
Alex heaved a sigh of relief that he’d censored the comment about catching
Mandeville’s murder case. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be nearly so
romantic a notion.
    “Planning on bachelorhood, were you?”
asked O’Connor, looking very pleased by Alex’s near blunder.
    Alex shrugged. “Once you leave the upper
echelons of society, it’s all so much simpler,” he said, then quickly
added. “But yes, mostly I’d resigned myself to bachelorhood.” He
wasn’t sure how much Julian romanticised what little he knew of Alex’s
situation, and he didn’t really want to just announce that he was a terrible
boyfriend and would make a worse husband.
    It seemed impolitic, at the
least.
    More food arrived, this time a crispy-skinned
quarter of a chicken resting on a bed of creamy