by Candace Camp
“Who the devil is Clementine?” he murmured, bending his head closer to hers.
Juliana could not suppress a giggle. “She is Mrs. Thrall’s daughter. She is making her debut this year.”
“Good Gad, another one,” he commented darkly.
Juliana, more accustomed to listening to the gushings of the besotted suitors of Clementine Thrall, could not help but feel a small spurt of amusement.
Nicholas turned to her, putting his hand lightly on her waist and taking her other hand in his. She felt a little breathless, her nerves jumping with excitement, as the music began and they swept out onto the floor. There had been few times when Juliana had waltzed—there had been no Season in London for her, and paid companions were rarely asked to dance—and she was eager, yet scared that she would make a mistake.
For the first few moments she was too aware of following the steps to pay much attention to anything else, but gradually she gave herself up to the rhythm of the music and found herself swirling about the room quite easily. She cast a glance up at her companion. It seemed like a dream, she thought, to be here with Nicholas after all these years.
As if he had read her thoughts, Nicholas said to her, “You know, I’ve had the very devil of a time trying to find you.”
“I’m sorry,” Juliana replied. “I did not realize you were looking for me.”
“Of course I was. Why would I not?”
“It has been a long time,” she replied. “I was only a child when you left.”
“You were my only friend,” he told her simply. “That is difficult to forget.”
His words were true, of course. When she had met him, she had thought that he was the most alone person she knew. At twelve years of age, his reputation as a rebel and troublemaker was firmly established, and even then, there had been a certain hardness in his face that closed out others. But Juliana, herself feeling cast adrift in the world after the death of her beloved father, had felt an affinity with the dark, brooding boy. She had glimpsed in his onyx eyes a lurking loneliness, a vulnerability, that had spoken to her.
“We were the outcasts of Lychwood Hall,” she agreed now, keeping her voice light.
“I told you I would come back, you know,” he reminded her.
“So you did.” And she had lived on it for years, she thought, until she had grown old enough to be wiser. “But I did not hear from you.”
“I was not a very good correspondent,” Nicholas admitted wryly.
Juliana chuckled. “That, sir, is an understatement of the grossest sort.”
“I did not want them to know where I was,” he said, shrugging.
“I know.” Even as a child, she had understood that. “I never expected you to write,” she told him honestly.
“Somehow I thought you would still be there,” he went on.
“At Lychwood Hall?” Juliana asked, surprised.
“Foolish of me, I know. Of course you wanted to get away from them, too.”
“My mother died while I was away at school with Seraphina,” Juliana told him. “After that, there was little to hold me there.”
“I inquired there after you,” he went on. “My uncle is dead now, but my aunt replied. She told me you had gone abroad to live several years ago, and she did not know where you were.”
Juliana raised a brow. “Her memory must be shockingly short, then. I have been back in England for some years now. I send Aunt Lilith a courtesy note every year at Christmas.”
“I suspected her lack of knowledge was terribly convenient. I set my business man to looking for you. Of course, I told him you were in Europe, so it is little wonder that he got no results.” He gave her a quizzical look. “If you have been in London, why have I not seen you anywhere?”
Juliana smiled faintly. “Companions, I’m afraid, are rarely seen.”
“Companion?” Nicholas frowned. “You? Juliana, no…”
“What would you have me do?” Juliana lifted her chin a little defiantly. “I had to make my way in the world somehow, and I did not like the idea of being a governess. My sewing is not good enough to make a living as a seamstress. And call it unseemly pride, but I did not want to seek employment below stairs.”
His mouth tightened. “Don’t be absurd. None of those positions are worthy of you.”
“I could not remain living on Trenton Barre’s charity. Surely you, of all people, can understand that. You set out on your own. So did I.”
“It is different for a woman,” he pointed out.
“Alas, I am quite aware of that. There are very few ways by which a female can support herself—and even fewer that are considered respectable,” Juliana replied tartly. “Believe me, I would much rather have done something exciting—or even just somewhat interesting. Women, however, are given little choice in the matter.”
He smiled a little. “I had forgotten how fiery you can be about one of your causes. Nay, please, do not bristle at my words. I meant no criticism. I am very glad of your passion and dedication. After all, I was once one of your causes.”
Juliana relaxed, smiling. “No, ’tis I who should apologize. You expressed only concern about me, and I became as prickly as a porcupine. I am well aware that I cannot change the world. I am also well aware that none of the fault lies at your feet.”
“I wish that I had known. I should have. I should have realized.”
“And what could you have done?” Juliana asked him, her tone light and teasing.
“I should have helped you. I should—” He stopped, unexpectedly at a loss.
“You see? It was not in your hands. If you are going to say that you would have sent me money to help me live, I am sure you can see that that would scarcely have been considered proper. I should not have cared for any of the labels given to a woman who lives off a man’s largesse.”
“None would dare think that of you,” Nicholas said decisively.
Juliana chuckled. “I am glad you think so. In any case, there is no reason to feel sorry for me. My life has been mostly pleasant. I was companion for several years to a most intelligent and generous woman, Mrs. Simmons, until she became too frail to live alone and moved in with her son and family. She treated me more like a niece or a ward than an employee. I dined with her and slept in a very nice room, and in return I had to do little more than spend several hours a day in enjoyable conversation and help her keep track of her correspondence. We traveled to the continent—and I can tell you that it was far more enjoyable than when I accompanied Seraphina and Aunt Lilith on their tour after she finished school.”
Nicholas winced. “I should think so. That sounds more like torture than travel.”
“Yes, and all the more so given that Aunt Lilith kept reminding me of my good fortune in being given the opportunity to broaden my horizons with them.”
“No good deed is left unheralded with them,” Nicholas agreed.
“It is so good to talk to you!” Juliana blurted out. “No one else would understand exactly how it was. How obligated one was made to feel for every mouthful of food and every stitch of clothing.”
“And how ungrateful you were for the wonderful opportunity of being allowed to associate with them,” he added.
“Just so.” Juliana smiled at him.
It was odd, she thought, that she should feel so instantly comfortable with him again, as if all the years that had separated them meant nothing. He was once again Nicky, her protector against Crandall’s mean tricks and bullying tactics, her confidant and friend.
And yet, at the same time, she was very aware of how different it all was. They were no longer children. He was a man now, large and hard and almost overpoweringly masculine. Being swept around the room in his arms was a far cry from sitting beside him on the bank of the brook, dangling their bare feet in the water. There was an elemental excitement in being so close to him, feeling his hand spread upon her waist. She could not help but think that he was virtually a stranger to her now, someone whose thoughts and deeds s
he had no knowledge of, whose past fifteen years were a mystery to her.
The music finally swept to a close. They stopped and stepped apart. Juliana looked up at Nicholas. She was a little breathless, and she knew it was not just from the exertion of dancing.
He offered her his arm, and they walked back to where Mrs. Thrall sat waiting for them. Juliana saw with a flicker of irritation that Clementine now stood with her mother. The girl was the picture of English beauty—dainty and dimpled in her demure white ball gown, blue-eyed and blond-haired, her dewy complexion touched with soft pink color along her cheeks.
Men were drawn to her china-doll loveliness, and Clementine had achieved a certain success this Season. However, she had not yet caught the eye of any titled gentleman, and Juliana suspected that she and her mother were hoping to correct that omission right now. Mrs. Thrall had obviously been gleeful at meeting Lord Barre, and Juliana felt sure she had drawn her daughter off the dance floor so that she could meet Nicholas when he brought Juliana back to her seat. One glance at the young gentleman waiting with them, scowling, confirmed Juliana’s suspicion.
“Juliana!” Mrs. Thrall said, beaming at Juliana as if she were her dearest friend. “And Lord Barre. Please allow me to introduce you to my daughter Clementine.”
Clementine looked up at Nicholas with a fair semblance of girlish shyness, dimpling into an enchanting smile. “My lord. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you.”
Juliana clenched her teeth, somewhat surprised by the stab of dislike she felt for the girl.
“Miss Thrall.” Nicholas smiled and bowed to Clementine, casting a glance and a nod toward the young gentleman behind her.
Clementine opened her fan and plied it gently, gazing limpidly at Nicholas over the top of it.
Nicholas turned back to Juliana. “I hope you will allow me to call on you, Miss Holcott.”
Juliana smiled. “Of course—that is, I mean…” She turned toward Mrs. Thrall. “If you will permit it, madam.”
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Thrall bared her teeth in a smile so wide it was almost frightening. “We would be honored for you to visit our house.” She told him the address, adding with a deprecating titter, “Not the most fashionable address, I fear. “Tis Clementine’s first Season, you know, and I did not realize how far in advance one must let a house to obtain a truly good address.”
“I am sure that the presence of such fair ladies makes any place fashionable,” Nicholas replied diplomatically.
Clementine and her mother simpered at this remark, and Juliana was aware of a strong and no doubt childish resentment. Nicholas was hers, she wanted to cry out.
But, of course, that was absurd. Nicholas was not, could not be, hers.
Nicholas took his leave of them, with a bow and impartial smile to them all. As soon as he was out of sight, Clementine and her mother swung to Juliana.
“You did not tell me you knew Lord Barre!” Mrs. Thrall exclaimed, her tone a mixture of accusation and delight.
“I was not sure he would remember me,” Juliana replied. “It has been many years since we have seen one another.”
“But how do you know him?” Clementine pressed, moving closer to Juliana and turning her back rudely on the young man who stood with them.
“We were friends as children,” Juliana explained. “I…lived near his family.” It was, she thought, too complicated to explain the relationship between them, and, moreover, she had little desire to expose her history to their curiosity.
“It is generous of him to seek you out,” Mrs. Thrall went on, unaware, as she usually was, of the rudeness of her words.
Juliana, accustomed to the petty stings of being employed as a companion, ignored the disdain inherent in the other woman’s words. “He is a generous man,” she allowed dryly.
“Of course, he doubtless wanted to meet Clementine,” the older woman went on placidly, explaining the oddity of a nobleman acknowledging someone of as little status as Juliana. “It is quite fortuitous, really, that he knew you and could gain an introduction.”
Juliana swallowed her anger, looking away from her employer. She reminded herself that Mrs. Thrall was a woman of little sense and a deficient upbringing. She did not mean to be rude and hurtful—frankly, Juliana thought, she did not consider Juliana’s feelings enough to intend to hurt her—and she did not know what she was talking about. Nicholas had come over because he was glad to see her, not because he wanted to meet Mrs. Thrall’s daughter.
But as the evening wore on and Juliana watched Clementine flirt with her bevy of admirers, and take to the floor time and again to dance, her certainty began to erode. The girl was obviously devastatingly appealing to men, whereas she herself…
She looked down at her plain dark gown and sighed. She was dressed like a governess, her hair pinned into a plain knot. A companion was not paid to attract attention—especially in this case, where Mrs. Thrall would have squelched any semblance of a beauty that might compete with her own daughter. How could any man’s eyes not be drawn to Clementine rather than to her?
CHAPTER TWO
JULIANA FOUND HERSELF brooding over the matter the rest of the evening. She did not believe that Nicholas had merely used her to get an introduction to Clementine. But she was realistic enough to think that he must have noticed the girl’s beauty when he was introduced to her. Nor could she help but wonder if his desire to call on her had as much or more to do with Clementine’s appeal as with his friendship with Juliana.
It wasn’t that she thought Nicholas was interested in her in a romantic way, she told herself. She had long ago given up those girlhood dreams. She was a grown woman and well aware that she did not even know the man; all she had known was the boy. But he had been very dear to her at one time; it hurt to think that his motivation for calling upon her might be only interest in the silly but beautiful Clementine.
All the way home, Mrs. Thrall and her daughter pelted Juliana with questions about the handsome and highly eligible Lord Barre. How old was he? Did he have a London residence? Was he as wealthy as everyone said?
“He is thirty-one. But as to the rest, I really don’t know,” Juliana replied, gritting her teeth. “We did not speak about any of those things while we were dancing. And I have not seen him since we were young.”
“They say he is fabulously wealthy,” Clementine said, her eyes shining.
“I heard that he made a fortune in the China Trade,” Mrs. Thrall said. “Not an occupation for a gentleman, of course, but, then, his lineage is impeccable.”
“And the fortune is great,” Juliana murmured.
“Exactly,” Mrs. Thrall agreed, nodding her head, blissfully unaware of any sarcasm in Juliana’s words.
“I heard he made his money in smuggling during the War,” Clementine put in. “Sarah Thurgood says her aunt told her that he was a spy, as well.”
“Did she say for which side?” Juliana asked.
“No one knows,” Clementine told her, her eyes wide. “He is reputed to be a very dangerous man.”
“Very wild in his youth,” Mrs. Thrall added knowledgeably.
“He has been much maligned,” Juliana started hotly. This was the sort of statement she had heard about Nicholas from the time she met him.
“Everyone says…” Clementine began.
“Everyone doesn’t know him!” Juliana snapped.
“Really, Juliana…” Mrs. Thrall gave her a dark look.
Juliana stifled her anger. Her quick tongue was what had most often gotten her into trouble as a paid companion. It had been a hard lesson, but over the years she had learned not to argue with her employers.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said now. “I did not mean to contradict you. It is just that I know Lord Barre has often been adjudged much more wicked than he really is.”
Mrs. Thrall smiled at her in a condescending way that made Juliana’s fingers curl into fists in her lap. “You must take my word for it, my dear, as one who knows a bit more about the world
than you—where there is smoke, there’s fire.”
Fortunately, Juliana’s ready sense of humor came to her rescue, overcoming her anger. The woman stated the old adage as if she were imparting the greatest wisdom.
“Of course,” Juliana choked out, and pressed her lips together to keep from chuckling. What did it matter, anyway, what someone as foolish as Elspeth Thrall thought about Nicholas Barre?
She settled into her corner of the carriage, only half listening to Clementine chatter on about what dress she should wear on the morrow and what hairstyle would look best. When they reached the house, she went upstairs to her bedroom, a small, sparely furnished room at the end of the hallway closest to the servants’ stairs. As a genteel companion, she was not tucked away in an attic room with the servants, but her bedchamber was hardly what one could consider comfortable. Juliana thought with some longing of her accommodations when she had lived with Mrs. Simmons.
Ah, well, she reminded herself, even a small room and putting up with employers like Mrs. Thrall was preferable to continuing to live on the charity of Lilith and Trenton Barre.
With a grimace, Juliana began to undress, her mind going back to her life at the Barre estate. She supposed it was seeing Nicholas tonight that made her think of it, for she had managed to bury such memories long ago and normally did not even think about that time.
Juliana had been eight years old when her beloved father, the scholarly youngest son of a baron, had died. She remembered lying in her bed at night, listening to the soft sounds of her mother weeping in the room next door. Juliana had been too frightened to cry herself.
Overnight, her world had been turned upside down. Not only was her father gone, but the smiling, warm mother she had known all her life was gone, as well, replaced by a pale, sad, anxious woman who paced the floors, twisting her handkerchief between her hands when she wasn’t collapsed on the sofa or her bed, crying. First the maids had left, and then, finally, their housekeeper, and angry men had come knocking on their door at all hours. Those visits invariably left her mother crying.