The door opened. ‘Mrs Etherington, Miss Etherington!’ intoned the footman, stepping to the side to allow the ladies to enter.
They all rose and curtsied, and the introductions were made. Miss Etherington—she of the auburn hair and creamy skin—looked stunning in a day dress of green crape. Juliana, whose pretty sprig muslin had seemed perfectly adequate until just now, noted the other girl’s stylish coiffure, modest jewellery and soft kid gloves with antipathy. She had a certain fashionable air which Juliana found decidedly off-putting. Her mother was similarly elegant, and they were clearly well known to Charlotte, Olivia and Clara.
The guests were invited to sit, tea was ordered and silence once more settled on them all.
‘Lady Shalford, I am so happy to see you again!’ Mrs Etherington, a delicate widow whose sloped shoulders and harassed visage indicated unspoken Trials in her life, spoke softly. ‘We so enjoyed our trip to Chadcombe last summer. Miss Langley, you were a most excellent hostess!’
‘We were happy to have you there,’ said Clara graciously. ‘Such a busy time at Chadcombe, with you and Charlotte, and Charlotte’s cousins!’ She turned to address Juliana and Mrs Milford. ‘Charlotte’s cousin Henrietta is married to Mrs Etherington’s son. The match was made at Chadcombe—as was dear Adam’s marriage to darling Charlotte!’ She reached out and took Charlotte’s hand as she spoke. Miss Etherington did not look pleased, which Juliana wondered at.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Etherington, ‘my dear Hubert and his wife will return to town next week.’ She leaned forward and added confidentially, ‘Henrietta is increasing, you know—my first grandchild!’
‘I did know,’ confirmed Charlotte. ‘She wrote to me last week. I am looking forward to seeing her again.’
‘Oh, but she may not be well enough for house calls,’ proclaimed Mrs Etherington. ‘I remember how ill I was when I was in the family way. Why, when I was confined with Millicent—’ she indicated her daughter ‘—I kept to my room for an age! My poor husband was distracted with worry!’ She sighed sadly, pulled a lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed gently at the corner of her eye. Juliana watched, fascinated.
The door opened again, this time admitting Harry and Adam. Immediately, Charlotte looked more relaxed, while Miss Etherington sat up straighter and smiled warmly in Harry’s direction. Harry and Adam greeted their guests with the ease of long acquaintance. Adam sat with his wife on the red sofa, while Harry chose a chair next to Miss Millicent Etherington. She flashed a brief, triumphant glance in Juliana’s direction—as if Juliana cared where he sat! The anger Juliana had felt at Almack’s returned immediately and with full force. Harry and Miss Millicent were a good pair, it seemed—equally preoccupied with games of flirtation. They deserved each other.
The refreshments arrived and the next few minutes passed with Charlotte pouring tea and ensuring everyone had been served with their preferred pastries and sweetmeats. Mama helped, as she usually did. Harry and Millicent talked convivially of mutual acquaintances, while Clara and Mrs Etherington chatted about the weather and the impact of damp on old bones and joints. Juliana, not wishing to appear discomfited by Harry and Millicent, asked Olivia to show her some of the fashion plates. Olivia moved to sit with her and they put their heads together to peruse bonnets, gloves and the latest fashions in sleeves.
Mrs Etherington turned her attention to Juliana’s mother. ‘Mrs Milford,’ she said, ‘I understand you are guests here. How long do you stay in London?’
Mrs Milford’s eyes opened wide. ‘Our plans are not yet fixed,’ she mumbled.
Mrs Etherington was not satisfied. ‘Where is your home?’
A slight frown appeared on Mama’s brow. ‘We normally reside in Brussels.’
‘Brussels? That is in France, is it not? Where that monster Napoleon hides? I declare I shudder at the very thought of Brussels!’
‘Oh, but, it is not so bad,’ said Mama, fidgeting with the book on her lap. ‘That is, we have always lived there peacefully.’
‘I have heard,’ asserted Mrs Etherington, ‘that these places are full of Disease.’
‘Oh, no!’ said Mrs Milford helplessly. ‘No more than any other place.’
Harry spoke up. ‘I have been to Brussels many times, Mrs Etherington, and I can assure you I have never had so much as a stomach ache!’ He smiled winningly at the older lady. It seemed to work.
‘Fie, Captain Fanton! That means only that you have been blessed with a strong constitution—unlike my poor son Hubert! He was a most delicate child, you know.’
No one knew how to respond to this.
Millicent spoke, breaking the awkward silence. ‘Captain Fanton, at Almack’s I saw you conversing with General Hunter. He lives near us in Kent. Are you well acquainted with the General?’
‘I fought with him in Spain,’ Harry affirmed. Then, as if to temper his tone, he added, ‘But I would much prefer to speak about you, Miss Etherington. When shall we drive out together?’
As they made arrangements to meet, Juliana became aware something was ailing Mama. She was pale, and her hands trembled where they held her book. Meeting Juliana’s eyes, she immediately glanced away, as if to hide from her daughter. Was she unwell? Juliana kept observing until her mother looked up again. She was clearly distressed, but she shook her head slightly, clearly signalling she did not want Juliana to say anything.
Thankfully, the Etheringtons rose to leave a few moments later, having stayed the required twenty minutes. Juliana said everything that was proper, aware that she must seem very dull to their guests—certainly Miss Etherington seemed to have dismissed her as being of no consequence.
Juliana watched with annoyance as Harry kissed Millicent’s hand and reminded her of their driving arrangements. The irritation she felt towards Millicent and her tedious mother was nothing in comparison to her exasperation with Harry. Now the Season had started, she knew she would frequently see him in the company of young ladies, flirting and playing games. It would provide constant reminders of why she should be on her guard with him.
Her prime concern just now, however, was Mama. As soon as the Etheringtons had left, she moved to sit beside her.
‘Mama! What ails you?’ She took her mother’s hand.
‘Oh, Juliana! It is just as I feared! I knew how it would be if we came to England.’ Her hand trembled in Juliana’s and her voice wavered. ‘We must return to Brussels immediately!’
‘My dear Mrs Milford!’ Harry was first to react. The others were all looking at her, their faces a mix of shock and anxiety. ‘Why should you return to Brussels? Have we done something to upset you?’ He looked genuinely concerned, Juliana noticed.
‘Oh, no, dear Harry, of course not!’ said Mrs Milford tremulously. ‘I cannot speak of it! Juliana, please take me to my room!’
Juliana stood immediately and supported Mama as she walked slowly to the door. She seemed truly indisposed. As they walked, Juliana’s eyes met Harry’s. As well as worry and concern, there was a clear question in his gaze. Juliana shrugged slightly, indicating she had no idea what troubled her parent.
Reaching the safety of her mother’s room—a pretty chamber overlooking the street—Juliana saw Mama settled in the comfortable armchair beside the small fireplace, before enquiring gently, ‘Mama, please tell me what troubles you.’
Mama looked at her sorrowfully for a moment, before covering her face with her hands, muttering distractedly, ‘I can’t! Oh, I can’t! I thought maybe, after all these years, I would be safe, but I will never be safe! My wickedness will haunt me for ever!’ She burst into noisy tears, still mumbling incoherently.
Juliana, distressed, crouched beside her, offering what comfort she could. ‘Hush, Mama, please, tell me the whole.’ She was met with an anguished refusal. Juliana could not recall ever seeing her mother so unhappy. ‘Would you like a tisane? Some laudanum?’
‘No, no, I do not want anything! Please do not ask me!’
Eventually, her mother quietened, her tears eased and she agreed to lie down upon the bed and rest. Juliana closed the curtains, then sat in the armchair until the sound of Mama’s breathing indicated that she slept.
Moving silently, she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Chapter Nine
Harry paced up and down the hallway. What on earth was wrong with Mrs Milford? She had seemed so happy, so contented recently. Knowing how much she and Juliana relied on each other, he had been pleased to see Juliana gradually relax into life in London, as her concerns about her mother eased. Having watched his own mama decline and slowly die of a wasting illness a few years earlier, he understood a little of Juliana’s anxiety. No one could replace one’s mother.
Mrs Milford was not ill, but she was vulnerable. She was clearly a woman who had always relied on others—albeit in a gentle, loving way. Juliana and her mama had come to depend on each other and there was a closeness between them that was heart-warming to see. However, Harry did wonder at times, although Juliana never complained, if she felt the burden of carrying the sole responsibility for her mother. At times it seemed as though Mrs Milford was the helpless child, while Juliana stood in the role of mother, father and guardian. Right now, while Harry was fretting about Mrs Milford, more importantly, he was worrying about how her incapacitation was impacting on Juliana. Despite his vow to keep Juliana at an emotional distance, seeing her carry her burdens alone was proving too much for him.
It never occurred to him to question why he should care. If someone had asked him, he would have said it was a combination of factors—they were guests in his home and, as such, deserved his care and attention, and, as a responsible army officer, he was used to taking charge and sorting out problems. The fact that it was his brother’s home, not his, and that neither Juliana nor her mother were under his care as an officer, was, evidently, of no possible relevance.
* * *
Juliana glided down the staircase, surprised to see Harry waiting for her. ‘Juliana!’ He took both her hands, concern etched on his face. ‘How is she?’
‘Sleeping.’ He led her to a chaise longue in the hallway and sat with her.
‘What has happened to upset her so?’
‘She would not tell me.’ Juliana’s shoulders slumped. ‘I know not what to do. I have never seen her like this.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘How can I help you?’
Moved, she squeezed his hands, which remained locked in hers. ‘Thank you for your concern. You are already helping.’ This was true, if surprising. It was remarkably comforting to see his compassion, which looked genuine. His demeanour had changed from his usual, light emptiness. He seemed serious, thoughtful, as if he actually cared. She did not know what to make of it but, in her current state, could only be grateful.
‘You look so pale, Juliana.’ Letting go, he reached up to smooth a stray tendril of hair that had escaped from her Grecian knot. His eyes met hers and her heart began to race. The intensity of his regard was creating strange flutterings in her stomach. His gaze dropped to her mouth and instantly Juliana felt it—as if he had actually kissed her! She held her breath. What was he going to do? Their eyes met again. Neither spoke.
Juliana heard the clock tick in the hallway, the beating of her heart, the sound of her own breathing. Time stood still.
Harry exhaled, shook himself slightly, then spoke lightly. ‘You are much too quiet. Where is the lively Miss Milford, who would never normally allow me to be this close to her?’
His words recalled Juliana to the moment. He was right—she could not afford to be weak, least of all with him! She must be strong and look after her mother. She sat up straighter and schooled her features to impassivity.
‘I thank you, Captain Fanton, for your kindness. But this is none of your concern.’
He looked uncertain. ‘Please do not disappear on me again, when finally we were almost friends.’
She regarded him mildly, safe in her self-containment. ‘I am sure I do not know what you mean,’ she said primly. ‘I have not disappeared. I am still here.’
‘No, you are gone again,’ he muttered. ‘And it is my concern,’ he insisted. ‘You both are.’ He stared into space. ‘You are too much my concern.’
Abruptly, he stood, bowed and walked away, leaving Juliana feeling confused, disappointed and more than a little deflated. He was so mercurial! One moment, all concern, the next, distant and grim. Yet another indication that he could not be relied upon. She straightened her shoulders. She must not be distracted. Mama was her priority. Nothing else mattered.
* * *
Harry spurred his horse to a gallop. He was a fool! Despite all his self-discipline, the control he thought he had established over his emotions, he had gravely erred. Juliana had managed to get through his defences. He galloped at full speed through the park, glad there were not many other riders around at this hour. He was not in the right temper to be polite.
He was forced to admit it: he was beginning to care for Juliana. He wanted to ensure her happiness, to take away her worries, to ease her pain. The thought of her distress over her mother filled him with compassion, worry and the need to act. He pictured her beautiful face, creased with concern, as she had accompanied Mrs Milford out of the drawing room. He then recalled that moment later, in the hall, when he had spoken softly to her and time had stood still...
How had this happened? How could he have been so foolish? He had been drawn to her from the first, and, as he had come to know her better, he discovered every day new things to admire about her.
The fact that she was a guest in their home had not helped matters, of course. They had naturally spent time together and he could not help but get to know her. Mrs Milford, too. His heart sank as he thought of Juliana’s mama. What on earth ailed her? She was so emotionally frail that nothing should be allowed to vex her. He genuinely cared about her, as if she were a long-lost aunt or a lifelong family friend.
Perhaps that explained it. Perhaps he saw Juliana as a member of his family, or a close friend. He developed the thought, seeing a possible escape from his turbulent emotions. Yes! He would naturally worry about Olivia, or Charlotte, if something ailed them. He thought about others in his life. Great-Aunt Clara. His aunt, Lady Annesley. Adam, of course. Without a doubt, he would help any one of them, if they were in a fix.
He turned his thoughts to his Army colleagues. If Evans needed support, Harry would do all he could—within the constraints of his own vile, cowardly nature. And, since that terrible incident at Badajoz three years ago, he had ensured he always considered the needs of ordinary citizens he had encountered while on duty.
Badajoz. Seeing General Hunter again had stirred up the old memories—of what Harry had seen and done, and how he had failed.
He brought his thoughts back to the dilemma at hand. Perhaps that was his solution. It was perfectly acceptable to care about people. Everyone else treated Juliana and her mother as part of the family, so why should he not? Pulling up his horse, he turned and began trotting back the way he had come. The difficulty, he decided, was that he was so attracted to her. She was in his home. He saw her every day. It was only natural that two unattached young people would notice each other. It did not mean he had to act on it, or attach a deeper meaning to it than was necessary. He ignored the small voice that reminded him of Miss Etherington’s visit to Chadcombe last year and how he had found it an easy matter to resist her charms.
Reassured by his own logic, he continued on, past the lake, through the copse. All he had to do, then, was to stand Juliana’s friend, without taking advantage of her. He was the experienced one, having played games of flirtation—as well as having had encounters with courtesans—for years. Juliana, an innocent, if tempestuous, young lady, needed him to behave with propriety
at all times.
He must forgive himself this one lapse. It would not happen again.
* * *
The Etheringtons were regular visitors after that, and were sometimes joined by Millicent’s brother, Mr Hubert Etherington, who fancied himself a leader of fashion. Today, his coat was a glaring yellow and he had paired it with an appalling puce-and-green waistcoat and salmon-pink breeches. He described it as being ‘all the crack’ and delighted in reporting that he had been followed all the way down St James’s Street by a group of street urchins.
Mr Etherington’s wife, Henrietta, was now in town and came to visit with the others. She appeared not to notice her husband’s startling attire and, indeed, matched his eye for discordant colour. Today she wore a reddish-purple satin gown trimmed with rows of cream lace. She looked a little like the sugary confections Juliana remembered from the Brussels bakeries. Henrietta, who was Charlotte’s cousin, was engaging in what her mother-in-law stated was a shocking level of social intercourse for a woman in her ‘condition’.
‘Oh, fiddle!’ said Henrietta, as they all sat in civil conversation in the drawing room. ‘I never felt better! After the dreary tiredness left me, I felt cooped up at home, so I persuaded my dear husband to take me to London. I missed the company and the excitement, you see.’
Juliana thought she did see. Henrietta was a stunning blonde, with deep-blue eyes and a sullen pout, and—interestingly—was not, it seemed, well liked by Millicent. This was hardly surprising, since, in the half-hour since they had all been conversing, Henrietta had twice referred to Millicent’s unmarried state and in a manner guaranteed to rouse her sister-in-law’s ire.
‘But, my dear Henrietta, you must think of your child,’ insisted Mrs Etherington.
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