The Secret Life of Lady Julia by Lecia Cornwall

consequence. She lowered her eyes. It was his training as a diplomat, she thought, to give the speaker his attention, encourage them to talk, while he remained cool and charming. She ran a hand over her cheek after all, felt the grit on her skin. Yes, a bath would be very nice indeed.
    “I know Dorothea is looking forward to a good English breakfast,” she said, “and a proper cup of tea made in a china pot.”
    “We shall do our best to give her all the comforts of London, but we’ll have to encourage her to ‘taste the city,’ as you put it, to try new things while she’s here. I wish she’d see this as you do, as an adventure. She has not enjoyed the journey.”
    “Not at all,” Julia agreed. “But we’re here at last, and no doubt she’ll find things more pleasant when she is settled. I shall do all that I can to make her comfortable.”
    His smile faded and he nodded crisply, the moment of connection passed, and she was merely a servant once again, with responsibilities to see to. She drew her head in, focusing on Dorothea, who had yet to wake, and he rode on, spurring his horse to a gallop and disappearing in a cloud of dust.
    Julia could not resist one more look at the distant city, which was coming closer by the minute. Her toes curled inside her half boots. Even if she must tread the careful path of a servant, she would savor every moment of her time in Vienna.

 
    Chapter 8

    “C an we afford such a grand place?”
    Thomas smiled grimly at his manservant as they stared up at the facade of a fashionable town house by Vienna’s city walls. “Can we afford not to take it? We will have the second floor. The top floor will probably be rented by another threadbare gentleman, or perhaps a pair of genteel ladies—maybe a mother looking for a rich husband for her daughter.”
    Donovan laughed. “Best be careful she doesn’t snag you, imagining you’ve got money. Which, hopefully, you will have before our time here is done.”
    Thomas eyed the building’s yellow and white facade. “Such a woman will be canny enough to know I am not wealthy enough for her purposes, or I would be at least two streets closer to the palaces where the ambassadors are lodging. Once the scramble begins for places to stay, we may find ourselves with a junior diplomat, or even a displaced lord who couldn’t find better accommodations, living on the first floor.”
    “And how do you know all this?” Donovan marveled. “I wasn’t aware you’d done the Grand Tour, or traveled widely, even before you were disowned.”
    Thomas set his top hat on his head. “I’ve been to Brighton at the height of the summer. Every mama with a marriageable daughter, every lord who needs a favor, is there to be close to the Prince Regent. Bath, I hear, is much the same. There are subtle clues to one’s respectability based upon the street your lodging is in and the view your windows afford—of people, that is, not scenery. An eligible bachelor with money and a title learns to spot predatory mamas and hopeful debs early, and to identify the young ladies with rich dowries and high connections. The goal is to make a marriage and the best connections possible. It is a skill that has become inbred in the upper classes.”
    Donovan scratched his head. “What about looks? Don’t they count? I wouldn’t want an ugly wife.”
    “It doesn’t matter what she looks like. It’s the family she comes from, the lineage she will give to one’s heirs, her dowry and lands, and the goodwill of her titled relations. Being lucky enough to find a beauty with all those characteristics is a rare thing indeed.” David Temberlay came to mind as the exception to the rule—a man lucky enough to get dowry, connections, land, and a beautiful bride to boot.
    Donovan still looked baffled. “The upper classes never fail to amaze me. No wonder there are so many ugly earls and hideous heirs to dukedoms, and it all just leads to more ugly brides, doesn’t