Between dances, Juliana could not ignore Harry. Standing slightly to one side, he eavesdropped on her light conversations with the young men. His expression was one of tolerant amusement, which was decidedly irksome. Why did he insist on being interested in her personal business? She wished he would leave her be.
He had solicited her hand for the supper dance, which she could hardly refuse—indeed, it could perhaps be deemed an insult if he had not danced with her, as she was a guest of his family and part of his party. She was surprised to find he danced well, without flamboyance, and that she quite enjoyed dancing with him. He also refrained from saying anything to vex her during their dance, which was a relief. Guiltily, she admitted dancing with Harry was much more entertaining than dancing with any of her other partners—including the worthy Mr Attwood. Afterwards, Harry escorted her into the supper room.
‘Oh, dear,’ exclaimed Juliana, looking at the paltry array of food. ‘Olivia will be sorely unimpressed!’
Harry grimaced. ‘Almack’s prides itself on offering a meagre supper. The Patronesses want us to remember we are here on their sufferance, rather than by desire.’
‘Captain Fanton?’ A female voice intruded on their conversation. ‘Oh, it is you! I am so happy to see you again!’
Juliana turned. A young lady stood there—a beautiful young lady with deep-auburn hair, warm brown eyes and creamy skin. She looked similar in age to Juliana and wore a stunning evening gown of rose silk, trimmed with dark-pink rosettes.
‘Miss Etherington!’ Harry, all smiles, lifted the lady’s hand to kiss it. Juliana slipped her hand out of the crook of Harry’s arm, where it had been resting. ‘How wonderful to see you. You look delightful, my dear! What a charming gown—the exact colour of your beautiful lips.’
Miss Etherington blushed and stammered, and was flattered. ‘Please tell me,’ Harry continued, his full attention on the newcomer, ‘you still have a place on your dance card for me? Do not break my heart!’
‘Well... I do have a country dance free, later,’ said Miss Etherington coquettishly, her eyes dancing.
‘I cannot conceive how that has occurred, with so many men here tonight and you looking like an angel! Yet, their error is welcome and I will take my opportunity with delight.’
‘Oh, Captain Fanton! You flatter me!’
‘Not at all—every word is true!’
Juliana opened her fan and wafted it smartly. Harry, sensing it, turned towards her. ‘Miss Milford, may I present Miss Etherington.’ The two ladies smiled insincerely at each other and curtsied politely.
‘Delighted!’ said Miss Etherington civilly, casting an assessing eye over Juliana’s gown, before turning her attention back to Harry. ‘Captain Fanton, I have often remembered our drive together, during my stay at Chadcombe. You did promise to take me driving in London...’
‘But of course! And I mean to keep my promise. May I call on you tomorrow?’
‘Please do—we shall be at home between two and four. And I must call on dear Lady Shalford—it has been too long since I have seen my dear friend Charlotte!’
That was enough for Juliana. Catching a glimpse of Olivia at the far side of the supper room, she said quickly, ‘Excuse me—I see my friend calls me.’
Harry made a brief acknowledgement, but seemed to barely notice when Juliana slipped away, embarrassment and anger reddening her face. Making her way through the crowds, she eventually reached Charlotte and Olivia.
‘Oh, Juliana—there you are! Look—for supper, there is only dry cake, and bread and butter!’ Olivia indicated her plate. ‘Why, any hostess should be ashamed to offer such scanty fare to her guests! I declare it is all a take-in!’
Charlotte was studying Juliana’s face. ‘Are you well, Juliana?’
‘I am quite well,’ lied Juliana, ‘though I confess it is warm in here.’
‘You are right—this supper room is such a crush!’ Charlotte indicated the nearest door. ‘If you don’t mind doing without the bread and butter, we can go back to the ballroom where it is quieter.’
‘Yes, let us do that,’ agreed Juliana. As they left, her gaze found Harry, who was still with Miss Etherington. As she watched, Harry bent closer to speak into the young lady’s ear, causing her to blush charmingly and slap him playfully with her fan. Juliana gritted her teeth, lifted her chin and walked on.
* * *
Harry was feeling deeply uncomfortable. Having spent so much time with Juliana recently, he was in danger of becoming too focused on her. Yet no matter how he tried, he could not seem to divert his attention elsewhere. When that dull dog Attwood seemed to be making headway in attracting Juliana’s interest earlier, he could have cheerfully throttled him!
It would not do. He must behave as he always had—enjoying the company of many ladies, without becoming attached to any one in particular. Yet there were moments when he felt a real sense of peril—as if he was not in control of his own emotions. Fencing with her in the barn, walking with her at Chadcombe, enjoying a gallop through a London park—she exhilarated him and it would not do! In the carriage, after the trip to Glenbrook Hall, Juliana had gripped his hand briefly and it had shaken him to his core. He barely understood what was happening to him, but he felt bewitched—as if he was not in control of his own mind. He must master this!
Only he knew how flawed he was, how unworthy of love. The thought that someone might wish to know him better was terrifying. Why, she might discover his true nature! He needed to keep everyone at a safe distance.
The appearance of Miss Etherington tonight was a relief. He knew her to be on the catch for a husband, yet willing to flirt outrageously with him—and others—in the meantime. He enjoyed the game, yet always forgot her instantly when she was out of sight. She had appeared at exactly the right moment tonight, because he had been aware of a strange feeling of lightness—euphoria, almost—while dancing with Juliana. Having Juliana’s hand on his arm as they moved to the supper room had filled him with unexpected feelings of pride, possessiveness and longing. There was nothing he had needed more in that moment than to escape from himself, and from the unwelcome feelings coursing through him.
Juliana’s departure had been abrupt. Had he hurt her feelings? He reviewed his actions. He had been perfectly polite, had even introduced the two young ladies. He knew Juliana did not take his flirting seriously, so there was no reason to think she had been upset by his compliments to Miss Etherington.
Steeling himself to get through the rest of the evening, he quickly developed a plan. He would focus on Miss Etherington and put Juliana out of his head completely. Juliana wasn’t upset—of course she wasn’t. What strange notions he took, sometimes! He reflected again on the conversation in the supper room. On reflection, he thought, Juliana might be simply annoyed with him again—seeing the whole situation as evidence that he was nothing but a shallow flirt, made of ‘all mirth and no matter’. Good, he thought grimly. Better that than the chance she might genuinely feel something for him. He must at all costs remain remote. Love and marriage were for other men, never for him. He had faced many enemies in battle, but the one adversary he had never slain lived within him.
Chapter Eight
Juliana sighed. After the incident at supper, the whole evening now seemed flat. Faced with this new evidence of Harry’s empty insincerity, she should have been feeling triumphant and vindicated. Instead, she was struggling to identify anything in herself other than anger. She went through the conventions of the ball, dancing with different partners and engaging in light, witty conversations with people she could not afterwards remember. How dared he be so rude! He had completely ignored her when Miss Etherington appeared. And as for the compliments he had been paying the other young lady—why, he had said almost identical things to her!
During the second-last dance of the evening, Juliana was doubly unfortunate. Firstly, she had the felicity of dan
cing with the portly Mr Ryan, who trod on her foot three times, and, secondly, she was in the same set as Harry and Miss Etherington. As they wove through the figures, Juliana tried to maintain an air of elegant disinterestedness, which survived only as long as her unbruised toes.
‘Ouch!’ She could not prevent the expletive.
‘Oh, my dear Miss Milford! I apologise!’ Mr Ryan blushed and stammered.
Juliana tried her best to reassure him, while desperately trying to ignore Harry’s devilish grin.
A moment later, during an intricate step, her unfortunate partner did it again. This time, Juliana was forearmed and did not cry out. However, she could not prevent a small stumble. As the dance continued, Harry swept around her as part of the figure. ‘I do hope nothing is bruised, Miss Milford?’ he said silkily.
Juliana awaited the return figure. ‘Only my pride, sir.’
He circled back. ‘Such a pity you could not have only accomplished dancers to partner with.’
‘I prefer a clumsy, honest man to a fork-tongued snake!’
He laughed mechanically, then looked slightly startled as a new thought occurred to him. ‘You cannot possibly be referring to me!’
She arched her eyebrows. ‘It is interesting you should immediately think so!’
The dance took them apart again, he returning to his beautiful partner and she to Mr Ryan, who was becoming, it was clear, increasingly anxious. His conversation had petered out and he was now focused fully on his steps, to such an extent that his tongue was protruding and his face frowning in concentration.
At the far end of their set, Harry sent her a wicked glance. Juliana sighed.
The next figure brought them together again. ‘Now,’ said Harry, his eyes dancing, ‘you must tell me what I have done to offend you.’
‘I have not said that you have offended me,’ she replied haughtily.
‘I am no green boy, Miss Milford. My reading of women is usually accurate. Now, tell me. Or shall I guess?’
His ‘reading of women’! Such arrogance! ‘I have nothing to say to you. Please do not bother me with your conversation.’
‘Ah, is that why you and your...er...light-footed partner are not on speaking terms? Are you taking a silent vow?’
In her head, she uttered a silent vow which would have shocked him, but managed to say evenly, ‘Please save your dialogue for Miss Etherington. I am sure she will appreciate it.’
‘Miss Etherington?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Jealous, Juliana?’
Before she could respond, he swept away from her, to the next lady in the set.
Juliana felt ready to explode—like the famous fire mountain in the East Indies. She felt the anger build within her. How dared he? Jealous? Of him fawning over the insipid Miss Etherington? She did not care who he practised his lies on! She only wished he would leave her alone.
How she got through the remainder of the dance, she did not know. But thankfully, the music finally came to an end. She was then forced to endure a full two minutes of heartfelt apology from Mr Ryan, who was mortified at his clumsiness. Making up for his reticence during the dance, he held her with a litany of apologies, followed by advice on how to best treat her bruised feet. She was just beginning to wonder if she would ever escape, when a male voice intruded.
‘Ah, Mr Ryan!’ It was him. ‘I fear I must claim your delightful partner, as she I believe she is promised to me for the last dance.’ Juliana glared at Harry, paralysed by indecision. If she denied him, exposing his lie, she would be stuck with the frankly tiresome Mr Ryan for goodness knew how long, yet Captain Fanton was the last person she wanted to spend time with.
He forced her to choose, offering his arm and waiting. To refuse him now would be the height of rudeness and he knew it.
Murmuring a goodbye to Mr Ryan, she rested her fingers lightly on Harry’s arm—making sure there was minimal touch involved. After just a few steps, she removed her hand and stepped slightly in front of him, relieved that the crowd of people in this part of the room meant there was no space for them both to pass at once. Neither of them spoke, but she could feel his amusement.
The dancing area was still thronged with people taking the opportunity to talk in the break between dances. As they picked their way through to its edges, a tall man in front of Juliana was suddenly jostled by a rather drunk youth. The man took a step back, almost treading on Juliana’s foot. What was it with Almack’s and clumsy men! Taking evasive action, she stepped slightly to the side, where she and the tall man half-collided.
He turned and apologised. He was older than she’d realised—probably nearly seventy, judging by his lined face and silvering hair. He was lean and sprightly, and moved with an ease belying his advanced years. His eyes were a pale, faded blue and were filled with polite apology. Glad she hadn’t knocked him over—or suffered the embarrassment of falling over herself—she murmured something appropriate and was about to walk on when the tall man spotted Harry.
‘Fanton! Captain Fanton!’
‘General!’ Harry smiled. The two shook hands warmly. ‘It is good to see you again, sir.’
‘Badajoz, wasn’t it?’
Harry looked grave. ‘It was. I am surprised you remember me.’
‘I remember you well, Fanton.’ They looked at each other solemnly, piquing Juliana’s curiosity. What was happening here?
Harry swallowed, then squared his shoulders. ‘Sir, may I present Miss Milford, who is a house guest with us at present? Miss Milford, this is General Hunter.’ Juliana curtsied, noticing as she did so that the General was looking at her intently.
‘Milford, eh?’ said the General sharply. He frowned. ‘It is a common enough name...’ He stood, lost in thought for a moment, before turning back to Harry ‘What is your direction in London, Captain?’
Harry gave it. The General nodded curtly, bowed and walked on.
‘Well!’ said Juliana. ‘What a strange man!’
‘The General is eccentric, to be sure,’ said Harry, ‘But a first-rate leader, with excellent qualities. I fought under him in Spain.’
Juliana looked at him curiously. There was a strange expression on his face—sadness, strength and something else, a shadow that she could not quite name. Something to do with the General and Badajoz.
She of course had heard about the battle there, during the Peninsular Campaign, and the rumours that it had been particularly harrowing. And now she knew Harry had been there. She felt a pang of compassion.
He saw her intent regard and his demeanour immediately changed. ‘Now, Miss Milford, am I to enjoy the next dance with you, or are you promised to another?’ He smiled charmingly. ‘I do hope your card is free, especially after such an invigorating country dance. I’m sure your enjoyment of Mr Ryan’s company has made you hungry for more.’
Juliana felt disorientated. Harry’s moods could change so quickly, from sunshine to storm and back again. This time, she did not react angrily to his flirtatious tone, instead tilting her head to one side and enquiring seriously, ‘Captain Fanton, are you quite well?’
He stilled and her eyes caught his. Briefly, something flashed there before he laughed lightly, saying, ‘I was never better! For here I am, in the company of the Incomparable Miss Milford, and all Almack’s is envious of me! Now, let me see your card.’
Juliana showed it and half-listened as he bemoaned cruel fate, which had placed Mr Attwood’s name there for the final dance of the evening. As Mr Attwood appeared and Harry relinquished her into the young man’s company, Harry continued with his usual light banter, but Juliana only half-heard it. She had much to think about.
* * *
Juliana picked up her embroidery tambour with a sigh. Much as she tried, she could not pretend she was good at needlework. She turned the frame over. As usual, all of the threads were completely tangled. Why was it that other women were so good at thes
e traditional tasks, while she just saw them as pointless?
‘Can I help you with that, Juliana?’ Great-Aunt Clara, bless her, was looking at the tangle with barely concealed horror.
‘Please do! For I do not know where to begin with it!’ Taking the tambour, Juliana moved to sit with Clara.
The ladies were all seated in the main parlour, awaiting guests who might call. They had just said goodbye to Mr Nightingale—Mr Alfred Nightingale—whose first name had proved to be just as romantic as his surname, according to Olivia.
He had brought a Poem for Miss Fanton. She had listened and blushed, and stammered her thanks after he had recited his poem, which celebrated her beauty and innocence in a wordy, flowery manner. He had delivered his verse with confidence because, he said, he knew himself to have a Talent for his Art—a lucky chance denied to other, more limited souls. Juliana and Charlotte had exchanged amused glances, but Olivia and the older ladies seemed impressed by Alfred’s recital.
Mr Attwood had also called, which Juliana was pleased about. She liked his quiet solemnity and plain-spokenness—no flirtatious games with him, though she believed he admired her. He had been a regular caller since their first night at Almack’s and Juliana quite looked forward to his visits. She was always comfortable with him; here was a man who was straightforward, consistent and respectful—in short, everything she admired. Sensible. Yes, that is what she liked about him. He was sensible.
Losing interest in her embroidery as Clara separated the threads, Juliana looked around the parlour. Charlotte was writing a letter, Olivia was flicking through the fashion plates in Ackermann’s, a dreamy half-smile on her lips, and Mama was reading a book. The ticking of the clock on the mantel was the loudest sound in the room, as they all focused in companionable silence on their tasks.
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