An Independent Woman

by Candace Camp

  After the introductions, they were at last led to their bedchambers, and Juliana was finally alone. She flopped down on the bed and lay for a long moment staring up at the heavy brocade tester that hung several feet above her head. The bed was a massive Jacobean piece in dark walnut, upon which were carved a riot of animals, faces and scenes. The tester that was suspended from the tall, thick posts was patterned in rich dark green and gold, with matching draperies tied back at all four posts. Given the heavy magnificence of her bed, she could only imagine how large and ornate the master’s bed must be. She wondered if this was always the bed of the current Lady Barre, or if Lilith had given it to her with the purpose of overwhelming her.

  Well, it would take more than a bed to intimidate her, Juliana promised herself, her chin jutting out unconsciously. She sat up and looked around the room, taking in all the features she had been too tired to notice when she first came in.

  It was a large bedchamber, with a row of pleasant south-facing windows, and it was furnished and decorated lavishly, even if somewhat overdone. A comfortable looking green velvet chaise longue with gold pillows arranged on it repeated the color scheme of the bed, and the heavy draperies beside each window were green velvet, as well. A large wardrobe and high, narrow lingerie chest with shallow drawers, as well as a dresser and another tall highboy, all in the same dark walnut, provided more than enough storage for her clothes. There were also a vanity with mirror and chair, a small writing desk, and a little round table beside the bed, and still the room had ample space. It was a place of luxury that was almost overwhelming for a woman brought up to save each and every penny, and again Juliana could not help but wonder if that was precisely the reaction Aunt Lilith had hoped to evoke in her.

  There was a door set into one of the side walls of the room, and Juliana went over to it curiously. A key was inserted in the lock, and she turned it, opening the door to find herself looking into another room. Quickly, she eased the door shut. She could hear the sound of footsteps in the room beyond. Clearly her bedroom connected to another, which she supposed must be Nicholas’s bedchamber. It was a common enough arrangement between spouses of the aristocracy.

  She turned away, an involuntary flush staining her cheeks. She did not want to think about the possibilities that door raised.

  A few minutes later there was a knock at the door, and two footmen carried in Juliana’s trunks. They were followed by her new maid, a girl named Celia, who had been Eleanor’s personal maid since she had been in England. The girl had balked at the prospect of accompanying Eleanor to Italy, so Eleanor had suggested that Juliana hire her, and Juliana had been quick to do so. Celia was a wizard with hairstyles, and it was clear that with her new wardrobe and lifestyle, Juliana was going to need a maid to keep up with everything.

  Celia and Nicholas’s valet, Roberts, had also come from London this morning, leaving earlier and arriving later, because they had ridden in a wagon hauling the luggage. Celia bustled about, unpacking Juliana’s clothes, aided by one of the housemaids, and putting her things away. It was not long before the efficient woman had Juliana’s possessions stored away and began busying herself with getting one of the elegant formal gowns, much-creased from its trip in a trunk, ready for dinner that evening.

  Juliana chose her dress carefully. At this first dinner with Nicholas’s family, she wanted there to be no room for criticism of her appearance. An unmarried girl had to wear a white dress, and even though Juliana felt that her age no longer put her in the category of young maiden, she felt it was best to adhere to the letter of the law. She donned a white silk evening dress, simple in design, yet elegant. Its only decoration was a wide ribbon in a deep blue hue that sashed it beneath her breasts, and Celia would wind a ribbon of the same color artfully through her curls. It had only the barest suggestion of a train and but one deep ruffle in front. Yet anyone who knew clothes would recognize it immediately as the work of a top modiste, and it showed Juliana’s willowy figure off to advantage.

  By the time Celia finished with Juliana’s hair and handed her her fan, Juliana had the confidence of knowing she looked her best. She stepped out into the hall and glanced involuntarily toward the door of the next bedroom. At that very moment Nicholas stepped out, carrying a small flat box in his hands.

  He looked up and saw Juliana, and a smile flickered across his face. “Juliana. I was just coming to see you.” He stopped in front of her. “How lovely you look.”

  His eyes were warm as he gazed at her, and Juliana felt an answering warmth stealing through her. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “I wanted to look worthy of—of being your wife.”

  “It is I who am not worthy of you, I assure you,” he told her. “Nor are any of those vultures who wait for us downstairs.”

  Juliana let out a little giggle at his description of his relatives. “You are most unkind.”

  “I am honest, and you know it. And I hope you know, as well, how very beautiful you are.” His voice was low and a little husky, and the sound of it sent a ripple of awareness across her skin, as if he had brushed his fingers over her arm.

  Juliana scarcely knew where to look. She wondered if Nicholas had any idea of the effect he had upon her. Did she cause any of the same sort of sensations in him?

  Nicholas extended the flat box to her. “I have brought you something.”

  “What is it?” Juliana reached out to take it, looking up into his face questioningly.

  “Open it and see.” He nodded toward the box.

  Juliana turned up the lid. Inside lay a string of pearls, perfectly matched. Juliana drew in her breath.

  “Nicholas! They are lovely.”

  “Then they will match you. Here, put them on.” He took the necklace from its velvet display and opened the clasp.

  “But such a gift…I cannot accept it.”

  “Of course you can. You are my fiancée. It’s perfectly natural. And they are pearls. Eleanor assured me they were the proper gift. Pearls until you are a married lady. Then I think…um…sapphires would be in order, don’t you? At least for this dress.”

  “Nicholas…” Juliana looked up into his face. He was right, of course. Pearls were proper for an unmarried woman, and a bridal gift was acceptable—indeed, expected from the groom to his bride. Was she foolish for wishing that the gift had been prompted by something other than what was proper and expected?

  He held up the necklace, moving a half step nearer to her. His closeness stopped the breath in her throat. Juliana was tinglingly aware of him and only him. Nicholas reached out, around her, to fasten the clasp behind her neck. The pearls lay against her bare skin, cool and smooth. She felt the brush of his fingers against her neck as he worked, and she could not disguise the shiver that ran down her back at the contact.

  The clasp closed with a snick, and Nicholas’s hands slid away, his fingers lingering over her shoulders. His eyes were intent upon hers. Juliana felt as if she could lose herself in their dark depths, simply let go and…

  She swayed a little toward him. He leaned down, his face looming closer. Her stomach tightened in anticipation, and her eyes closed.

  There was a loud crack as a door opened down the hall, and Juliana jumped, her eyes flying open. Nicholas stepped back at the same moment, turning, as Juliana did, toward the noise. Sir Herbert stepped out into the hallway and turned down the hall. He nodded, giving them a smile.

  “Hullo. Going down to dinner, are you?” he said jovially and stopped beside them. “Seraphina will be a while, I’m afraid.” He gave Nicholas a smile of conspiratorial understanding and added, “You’ll find out soon enough, old fellow.”

  Juliana mustered up a smile, even though her feelings toward the man were less than friendly at the moment. There was nothing for it now but to join Sir Herbert and walk with him down to the dining room.

  The others were gathered in the small anteroom to the dining room. It was separated by sliding pocket doors from the larger room. The heavy walnut doors could be o
pened to make the formal dining room longer for large dinner parties, but most of the time the small room was used only for the predinner social hour.

  Lilith was already there, along with Crandall and his wife. Lilith was sitting, stiff-backed, sipping a glass of sherry. Winifred was in a chair nearby, also with a glass of sherry in her hand, but she was clutching it so tightly that Juliana thought it was a wonder the fragile stem did not shatter. She was eyeing her husband nervously. Crandall was standing beside the liquor cabinet, and from the looks of him, his position there must have been constant this evening.

  As the three of them entered the room, Crandall turned toward them, his movements unsteady, and regarded them belligerently. Juliana’s hand tightened on Nicholas’s arm.

  “Well, well,” Crandall said, bitterness scoring his voice. “If it isn’t the prodigal son.”

  “Crandall,” Nicholas replied evenly.

  Crandall regarded him for a moment, his face stamped with its familiar arrogance. Then he turned toward Juliana.

  “And little Juliana,” he said, sweeping her a formal bow. The bow was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he staggered and had to brace his hand on the liquor cabinet. “Looks like you’ve gotten what you were after all these years.”

  “I can see that you have not changed, Crandall,” Juliana remarked dryly.

  Her statement was true as far as his personality went, but his looks had greatly declined in the nine years since she had last seen him. His personality had always shown in his face too much for Juliana ever to like his looks, but she knew that at one time Seraphina’s friends had considered him quite handsome. He was lighter in coloring than Nicholas—his hair brown and his eyes a hazel color—but he was tall like both Nicholas and his father, and he had the same sort of angular face, with fierce black slashes of eyebrows. However, the years—and, if tonight was typical, much imbibing of alcohol—had added pounds to his frame and covered the sharp-boned face with doughy flesh. He was stuffed into a formal jacket and knee breeches, and his jowls and face puffed out, toadlike, above his ascot.

  Looking at him, Juliana felt her skin crawl. She could not keep from remembering the last time she had been at Lychwood Hall. Crandall had trapped her in the library alone, backing her up against the shelves. She could still recall the hard shelves digging into her back as she pressed herself as far away from him as she could. He had been drinking then, too, and she remembered the smell of whiskey on his breath, hot against her skin. The weight of his body pressing into her, his hands gripping her arms to hold her still. She remembered, too, with more satisfaction, bringing her knee up hard in a most unladylike fashion, an action that had sent Crandall staggering back, clutching at the injured area and cursing her vividly. The next day she had pressed Lilith into writing her a letter of recommendation and had left for London.

  “I cannot say the same for you, my dear,” Crandall said, his eyes crawling down her body. “You look even more lovely.”

  Juliana felt Nicholas stiffen beside her, and she dug her fingers into his arm, casting a glance at Lilith for help. She was somewhat surprised to see the woman regarding her son with a glacial expression. She wondered if Lilith had finally begun to see Crandall for what he was.

  When Lilith made no move in response to Juliana’s look, Crandall’s wife jumped up and went to him, laying her hand upon his arm. “Crandall, dear, why don’t you come sit down with me?”

  He looked at her scornfully. “And be bored out of my skull?”

  Winifred ducked her head, a flush spreading painfully across her face. Juliana felt a surge of sympathy for the girl.

  It was Sir Herbert who broke the awkward moment. He walked over to Crandall and Winifred, saying, “Don’t be such a boor, Crandall. Pour me a whiskey, why don’t you? Lord Barre?” He turned in question to Nicholas and Juliana. “Sherry, Miss Holcott?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Juliana replied, and went to Winifred. “Come, sit down with me, Mrs. Barre, and let us get acquainted.”

  The girl cast her a grateful glance. “Please, call me Winnie. ‘Mrs. Barre’ sounds so old. I mean…” She blushed again, casting a glance toward Lilith, realizing that her words were scarcely flattering to the other Mrs. Barre in the room.

  “So adult,” Juliana said smoothly. “I know just what you mean. Now, you must tell me how you and Crandall met. You are not from here, are you?”

  “Oh, no. I’m from Yorkshire. Crandall came to visit at Brackenmore, you see. He was friends with one of the Earl’s sons. I hadn’t even come out, really. But my mother let me go to the ball at Brackenmore.” She smiled, her eyes glowing a little with remembered excitement. “Crandall asked me to dance, and, well…”

  She shrugged. Juliana could have told the rest of the story. Winifred, young and naive, had been dazzled by the ball and the attention of what she perceived as a fashionable London blade. She had tumbled head-over-heels in love with Crandall.

  Now, a few years later, Juliana suspected that much of the glitter had worn off her vision of Crandall Barre. She felt sorry for the girl, coming as a bride to this cold house, with Crandall for a husband and the cold and disdainful Lilith for a mother-in-law. As the girl artlessly—and somewhat wistfully—described her family in Yorkshire, Juliana quickly got the picture of a girl from a respectable family, but not one of particular stature or great wealth. No doubt her parents had been as dazzled as she was by the match. And no doubt Lilith considered her a social inferior.

  It was less clear to her why Crandall had wanted to marry such a sweet, naive girl. No doubt she had been quite pretty, and perhaps she had been livelier before four years of living with Crandall and Lilith had ground it out of her. But it was hard to picture Crandall falling madly in love, even if the girl was pretty. Perhaps he had responded instinctively to the opportunity to marry someone whom he could make miserable for years without any retaliation. Or, knowing Crandall’s proclivities, probably the most likely reason had been that he had been discovered trying to seduce the girl and forced by a livid father or brother to marry her.

  “Oh, dear!” Seraphina’s voice at the doorway drew all eyes to her. She swept in, flashing them all a smile. “Am I the last to arrive again?”

  “Of course you are,” Crandall remarked.

  “But well worth the wait, as always,” Sir Herbert countered gallantly, stepping forward to take his wife’s hand and raise it to his lips.

  “Yes, you look quite nice,” Lilith responded. “I shall tell Rundell that we are ready.”

  She rose and tugged at the bellpull. Crandall knocked back the rest of his drink in one gulp, apparently afraid to leave any of it behind as they went in to dinner. Lilith looked at her son, her lips tightening.

  Crandall strolled over to his sister. “Nice earbobs, Ser,” he commented, idly tapping one of the dangling rubies in question. “Are those new?”

  There was a taunting quality to his voice, and his eyes danced as he looked at his sister, as if he were in on a joke that no one else knew.

  Seraphina shot him a fulminating glance. “Of course not, Crandall, don’t be a fool. They’ve been in Sir Herbert’s family for years.”

  At that moment Rundell arrived in the doorway to announce that dinner was served, and they removed themselves to the dining room. Juliana hoped the food might sober Crandall up, but she soon saw that her hope was in vain. Crandall immediately gestured to one of the servants to fill his wineglass, and he continued to drink heavily all through the meal, so the food he consumed had little chance of counteracting the liquor.

  He also continued to behave in the same obnoxious manner, making disagreeable comments to everyone at the table and cursing at the footman, who was not quick enough in refilling his wineglass.

  Even his mother was moved to crisply tell him to mind his manners. When she did so, Crandall looked at her with a sneer.

  “My manners? Oh, yes, that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Appearances. We must pretend that we are polite and civilized, no mat
ter what filth is lying beneath our feet, mustn’t we?” He gave her a cold, hard smile.

  “Crandall, really…”

  “We all have to sit here and act as if we’re just delighted that Nicholas has come home to take it all away from us.” Crandall made a vague sweeping gesture that encompassed the room.

  Juliana glanced around the table. Winnie, beside her husband, was looking down at her plate. Sir Herbert was regarding Crandall with an expression of disgust, and Seraphina was doing her best to avoid looking at her brother at all. Lilith’s mouth was clamped into a thin line, and she, too, glanced away from her son. Nicholas’s expression was one of resignation.

  “Crandall…” Nicholas began in a warning tone. “I suggest you stop before you make a statement you will regret in the morning.”

  “Regret?” Crandall repeated, his voice thick with drink and fury. “The only thing I will regret is that you are here, taking the place that should be mine.”

  “Yours?” Nicholas responded, one eyebrow going up.

  “Yes, mine!” Crandall thrust his head forward pugnaciously. “Who stayed here and took care of the land all these years? Not you. Not your father, who waltzed off to Cornwall to live so he could spend his years sailing. No, it was my father who stayed here and took care of the estate. It was he who managed it, and after him, me. I was the one who rode the land by his side. I was the one he taught to manage the estate. I should have inherited Lychwood Hall, not some upstart like you!”

  Nicholas’s expression did not change as he said calmly, “Clearly your father wronged you in raising you as if you would be the heir to the estate, when you obviously could not be as long as I was alive.”

  “It’s just damnable luck that you are alive,” Crandall growled.

  “No.” Nicholas smiled coldly. “’Twasn’t luck that saved me, but good reflexes.”