He owned a tidy country house, about the same size as the Dower House in the grounds of Julius’s father’s country home. Perhaps six or seven bedrooms, Julius assessed, as he rode up the drive to the main doors. He was relieved to find a groom waiting. Stabling his own horse didn’t feature in his usual plans for a ball. For that matter, neither did arriving on horseback. He’d retained the services of the nag he’d hired at the Appleton inn, livelier than the horse he’d previously used. He would still vastly prefer one of his own. The carriages he owned were becoming fond memories. Accustomed to being waited on, he’d nevertheless taken care to ensure he could look after himself if he needed to, and now he was glad of it. His father couldn’t even shave himself. When his valet had fallen ill, his father had grown a beard until the man had recovered rather than undertake the task or employ someone he didn’t know to do it. Sir Henry lived five miles from the village, and Julius had enjoyed the ride past green fields and flourishing hedgerows.
