An Independent Woman

by Candace Camp

  Managing things was, after all, what Eleanor did best.

  Bartwell tapped on the study door, then opened it at Eleanor’s reply. “Miss Holcott is here to see you, ma’am.”

  Eleanor, who had been busy running down columns of figures, pencil at the ready, looked up in surprise and saw Juliana. She jumped up with a pleased cry and came forward, reaching out to take Juliana’s hands.

  Eleanor was a tall woman, taller even than Juliana, but possessed of a statuesque figure, rather than Juliana’s willowy slenderness. Her hair was jet-black, her skin pale, and her eyes a vivid blue. She was a commanding woman, sure to draw attention in any crowd, and Juliana had always thought her quite beautiful, though detractors were wont to say that her features were too large, her cheekbones and jaw too angular, for true beauty. She dressed as she pleased, as well, favoring clean, simple lines and vivid colors even before she had married, when girls were generally relegated to the whites and pastels that Eleanor termed insipid.

  “Juliana! What a wonderful surprise,” she said now, her voice warm with affection. “Bring us some tea, why don’t you, Bartwell?”

  “Of course, Miss Eleanor.”

  Eleanor kissed Juliana on the cheek, then stepped back, still holding her hands, and searched her face, her own brow knitting in a frown. “What brings you here at this hour on a weekday? Is something wrong?”

  Juliana sighed. “I fear I am throwing myself on your mercy, Eleanor. I have been dismissed.”

  “Let go?” Eleanor’s expressive face filled with gratifying indignation. “By that toad of a woman? Thrall?”

  Juliana could not help but smile at her friend’s description of Mrs. Thrall. “Yes.”

  “Good Lord. I knew she was foolish, but really…Come, sit down and tell me about it.”

  Juliana did as she ordered, spilling out the entire story of meeting Nicholas again and all the events that followed. Eleanor listened intently, stopping her only once to say, looking intrigued, “Nicholas—the boy who was Seraphina’s cousin? The one you used to talk about?”

  At Juliana’s nod, she pursed her lips thoughtfully and told her to go on. Juliana did so, finally winding down just as Bartwell wheeled in the tea cart.

  “What a thoroughly stupid woman,” Eleanor commented, pouring tea into their cups. “Here is her entrée into the very Society where she longs to place her daughter, and she cuts herself off from it. If she had instead kept you on and treated you well, her daughter could have been invited to all the best parties because of her connection with Lord Barre.”

  “Do you know Lord Barre?” Juliana asked.

  Her friend, Juliana knew, moved among a certain part of London Society. Eleanor had established herself as a patron of the arts and maintained an eclectic salon, where artists and pundits mingled with those of wealth or noted lineage who were drawn to intellectual stimulation.

  “No, I have never met him. I have heard about his return—it is one of the more popular stories among the ton, but I did not realize that he was your Nicholas. I would have made an effort to meet him if I had known.” She smiled at Juliana. “Although I suppose I will now.”

  “He doesn’t even know what happened or where I am,” Juliana admitted. “I cannot send him a note telling him where I have gone. That would be far too bold.”

  Eleanor shrugged. She knew as well as Juliana of the restrictions placed on ladies of quality. She was fond of flouting them, but she knew that her friend’s position was far more precarious than her own.

  “Don’t fret. We will think of something.”

  Juliana shook her head. “It does not matter. ’Tis not a friendship I can keep up. A paid companion does not have men—or anyone, for that matter—calling on her. And while I can visit you or Mrs. Simmons when I have a day off, I can scarcely call on a gentleman. When would I ever be able to see him?”

  “Then stay with me,” Eleanor offered. “You needn’t get another position. You know that you are welcome here. I have asked you many times. There will be no problem with Lord Barre calling upon you here. I am sure that I can find a way to let him know that you are staying with me. Edmund and I are going to Italy in three weeks—it is better for his health and his music, you know—but I could delay our departure a bit.”

  “No, do not do that for me. You are very kind, but I cannot impose on you so,” Juliana responded. It was an argument that she and her friend had held many times before, the only bone of contention between them.

  Eleanor grimaced. “You and your stubborn pride! It is no more than you would do for me if our situations were reversed.”

  “And you know that if our situations were reversed, you would feel exactly as I do,” Juliana retorted with a smile. “I cannot live on your charity.”

  “Then I will hire you. I need a companion. Things are ever so much more enjoyable when there is a friend with whom to share them. I shall pay you what Mrs. Thrall did, and then you will be independent.”

  “You do not need a companion, and we both know it. It would still be charity, whatever guise you give it—only then it would be compounded, for you would be paying me money, as well.” Juliana reached over and took her friend’s hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “I know you fairly itch to take me in hand.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Unfair, unfair. Though I will admit to a desire to arrange things.” She gave Juliana a droll look, then added, “But all I want is for your life to be easier. You deserve far more happiness than you have had.”

  “I don’t know what I deserve. But surely you see that however my life goes, I must manage it for myself.”

  “Of course. I realize that,” the American woman agreed. “You are quite independent.”

  “I have to seek employment. And…I have to be realistic about Lord Barre.” Juliana looked at her friend sadly. “I thought about it all the way over here. I have been living in a fool’s world the past few days. ’Tis an impossible situation. I cannot continue to see Nicholas.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  NICHOLAS TROTTED up the steps to the Thralls’ rented house, humming lightly under his breath. He had waited what he felt was a very circumspect two days before calling upon Juliana again. He had found the interim rather dull, frankly, and had thought more than once what nonsense it was that when he wanted to talk to someone, he had to cool his heels for several days before he could do so, just because she was a woman.

  Still, he was accustomed to the fact that the rules of polite society made little sense to him, and it was not for his sake but for Juliana’s that he had to follow them. So he had spent the last couple of days doing the sort of things that gentlemen of leisure did in London and finding them thoroughly boring. He had sold off most of his businesses when he decided to leave America and accept the title, knowing that it would keep him bound to England, and the rest of his concerns his business agent kept in good shape, so that they required no more than a visit from him now and then. The bulk of the money that came with the title was tied to the estate at Lychwood Hall and was managed by the estate manager under the eye of Crandall Barre. Nicholas had yet to travel to the Hall, avoiding, he knew, the inevitable meeting with his relatives.

  His knock at the door was greeted by a parlor maid, who smiled and showed him into the front drawing room when he asked to see Miss Holcott. After a few minutes, Mrs. Thrall bustled into the room, all smiles.

  “Lord Barre! What a pleasure. Clementine will be down in just a moment. You know how girls are. Perhaps you’d care for a cup of tea?”

  “Thank you.” Nicholas resigned himself to spending his visit with Juliana with the Thralls in attendance. It was a nuisance, of course, but he did not wish to get Juliana into trouble with her employer…however much it grated on him that she should have to worry about this woman’s opinion. He wondered where Juliana was—probably helping that wretched girl primp.

  Mrs. Thrall engaged him in idle talk for the next few minutes, and Nicholas grew increasingly impatient. Then Clementine fluttered into t
he room, and he rose to say hello, looking beyond her in vain for Juliana.

  “And Miss Holcott?” he asked, as Clementine sat down on the chair closest to him. “Where is she? I hope she is not indisposed.”

  “Oh, no. I fear you must make do with Clementine and me this afternoon,” Mrs. Thrall simpered. “Miss Holcott is not here.”

  “I see,” he replied, although he did not. “Will Miss Holcott return soon?” It seemed the worst of luck that he had managed to arrive while Juliana was gone on some errand or other. He wondered if he should endure the Thrall women’s company for a few minutes in the hopes of Juliana’s return, or simply leave and return another day.

  “No, I shouldn’t think so. Shall I pour you more tea, my lord?”

  “No.” Nicholas found that his patience was wearing thin. “Where is Miss Holcott?”

  Mrs. Thrall glanced around the room as if the answer to Nicholas’s question might spring up before her. Finally, with some reluctance, she said, “I am afraid that Miss Holcott is no longer employed here.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Nicholas’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the squat woman. “She has left your employ?”

  “Yes. Yes, she has,” Mrs. Thrall nodded.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I am afraid I don’t know,” Mrs. Thrall responded.

  “She did not leave a forwarding address?” Nicholas asked in some disbelief.

  “No. No. She did not. I was, frankly, astonished at her behavior. I would have expected more from Miss Holcott,” Mrs. Thrall told him, warming to her story.

  “Why did she leave?” Nicholas asked, fastening Mrs. Thrall with his flat dark gaze.

  She swallowed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Ah, well, that is, I’m not quite sure. Um…”

  “She was stealing from us,” Clementine declared. “Mama had to let her go.”

  Nicholas swung toward her, and she felt the full force of his black stare. “Stealing from you? Juliana? I suggest you rethink that answer. If I hear that story spread around Town, I will deal with it—and you—summarily.”

  Clementine flushed an unbecoming red, her hands suddenly turning damp with sweat. “What are you—how dare you threaten me?” she finished weakly.

  “I do not threaten, Miss Thrall. I am telling you straight out that if I hear that lie about Miss Holcott, I will know from whence it came, and I can guarantee you that any hope you have of making an advantageous marriage will be at an end.” He turned from the gaping Clementine to her mother. “Am I clear on that, madam?”

  Mrs. Thrall nodded, unable to speak.

  “Now, I will ask you once again. Where did Juliana go?”

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Thrall wailed. “That’s the truth. She packed her bags and left. I don’t know where she went.”

  “The devil take it!” Nicholas jumped to his feet.

  It was no good asking the women why Juliana had left, Nicholas knew. He felt sure that the blame fell on the Thralls, but he was equally sure that he would be unable to get an honest answer out of them. Not that it mattered; he thought they were speaking the truth when they said they didn’t know where Juliana had gone, and that was all that mattered. He had lost her once again.

  He strode out of the room, across the hall to the front door, scarcely hearing Mrs. Thrall’s and Clementine’s voices rising in protest.

  “Lord Barre!”

  “No, wait!”

  Nicholas went out the front door, barely restraining himself from slamming it behind him. He was furious, all the more so because he knew that he was the cause of her firing. He had at best ignored the Thrall girl; at worst, he had been rude to her the day he had taken Juliana out for a drive in his curricle— all because he had been thinking only of himself. The chit was irritating, and he had wanted to be alone with Juliana, so he had given her a decided set-down. He had not thought about how his actions would affect Juliana; he had not considered that the idiotic woman would take out the humiliation of his snub on her.

  Juliana had been tossed out of the house and was alone in the world, without any means of support, because of his hasty words. And he did not even know where she was.

  He stood for a long moment on the Thralls’ front doorstep, thinking his black thoughts. Finally, with a sigh of disgust, he went down the steps and out onto the sidewalk. He had not gotten far when a voice stopped him.

  “Lord Barre! Lord Barre! Wait!”

  It was a girl’s voice, a little breathless, and it came from the side of the house. He turned to see a girl running toward him up the narrow walkway that led from the side door. It was the servants’ entrance, but this girl was clearly not a servant. She was still an adolescent, for her hair was tied back in girlish braids, but her simple muslin dress was of good quality.

  He remembered that Juliana had said that there was another girl in the Thrall household whom she had liked, and hope began to rise in him.

  “Miss Thrall?” he asked.

  She came to a breathless halt in front of him. “Yes. I—my name is Fiona Thrall. I know what really happened.”

  “To Miss Holcott?” Nicholas was all attention now, and he moved a step closer to her.

  Fiona nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t the way Mother said. Miss Juliana didn’t just leave. She wouldn’t have.”

  “I am sure of that. Mrs. Thrall turned her out?”

  “Yes. There was a huge argument. My mother and Clementine were furious. Clemmy said that Miss Juliana had tried to take you away from her, and Mother said…” The girl stumbled to a halt, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “She accused Juliana of…of using her ‘wiles’ on you.”

  “I can well imagine what she said,” Nicholas told her grimly. “You needn’t describe it further. Just tell me that you know where Juliana went.”

  “I do,” Fiona told him, looking pleased to leave the subject of her mother’s absurd and slanderous accusations. “Miss Juliana left me her address so that I could visit her. She went to her friend’s house. Lady Scarbrough. She said she knew her from school.” Fiona held out a scrap of paper. “Here, you may copy the address if you like.”

  He took the paper from her. It was merely an address, which he quickly committed to memory, and he handed the paper back to Fiona.

  “Thank you, Miss Thrall. I am in your debt. And should you wish to visit Miss Holcott…” He reached in his pocket, withdrew his card case and handed her one of his calling cards. “You need only send round to me, and I will send my carriage to take you to see her.”

  “Really?” Fiona took the card from his hand and flashed him a dazzling smile that made him think to himself that one day Fiona would quite outshine her older sister.

  With a tip of his hat to the girl, Nicholas set out toward the fashionable Mayfair address that had been written on the scrap of paper. He walked the distance, deep in thought, his mind ranging over his part in Juliana’s troubles and what he could do about them. By the time he reached the elegant white Queen Anne house where Lady Scarbrough lived, he had come to a satisfactory conclusion.

  The door was opened by a servant—or so he presumed, although the man was dressed not in livery, but in a simple black suit. The man took in Nicholas’s measure in a glance and led him up the stairs to a spacious, gracefully decorated drawing room that managed to be at once warm and elegant.

  Juliana was seated with another woman, a statuesque brunette with arrestingly blue eyes, and they were laughing over something with the ease and affection of old friends. The black-haired woman looked up at their entrance into the room, and Nicholas was pierced by her intelligent, vivid gaze. Juliana’s face remained bent down to the sewing in her lap, and she did not glance up until the servant announced him.

  Then her head flew up, and Juliana looked at Nicholas, her mouth forming an O of surprise. “Nicholas! How did you find me here?”

  “Were you hiding from me?” he retorted quizzically. “If so, you did not do it well enough. Your friend, Miss Fiona Thrall, let the
cat out of the bag.”

  Juliana’s cheeks warmed. “No, I did not mean that. Of course I wasn’t hiding. I merely—I did not know how to let you know. It was, um, rather sudden.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Lord Barre.” The other woman stood, then crossed the room to him, holding out her hand. “I am Eleanor Scarbrough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Juliana said quickly, rising also. “Lord Barre, pray allow me to introduce you to my friend, Lady Scarbrough. Lady Scarbrough, Lord Barre.”

  Juliana felt unaccountably flustered by Nicholas’s presence. When he had stepped into the room, joy had shot through her, throwing her off balance. She had convinced herself just two days ago that she would have to give up his friendship, yet the moment she had seen him, her heart had leapt in her chest, and she had felt breathless and all aflutter.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Barre,” Eleanor said now. Then, with a quick sidewards glance at Juliana, she went on smoothly. “I am sorry, but I’m afraid I have some business I need to attend to in my study. However, I am sure that Miss Holcott will be pleased to chat with you. If you will excuse me…?”

  Juliana knew that her friend was discreetly giving her a chance to talk with Nicholas alone, but, given the tumult in her insides, she rather wished that Eleanor had not been quite so accommodating. She wasn’t sure what she should say to him. She knew that she should explain the futility of their continued friendship, but she was terribly afraid that if she started talking about it, her voice might clog up with tears. She was equally alarmed that he would sense in her voice her inappropriately great pleasure in his visit. It simply would not do to display such emotion, especially given the fact that Nicholas’s face was set in a grim expression. Was he angry with her? she wondered.