The potent liquid swirled sweetly round Juliana’s mouth and down her throat. She spluttered.
‘...is too much! That awful woman! It is lies, Juliana, do not fret over this!’ Charlotte’s words began to seep into Juliana’s ear. ‘Harry, call the carriage—we are going home!’
Harry hesitated. ‘That will add credence to their story, Charlotte. Best to brazen it out.’
Juliana could not think. While her instincts were to run, away from the gaze of the Wakelys, the Etheringtons and everyone in the theatre—for surely they would all be looking at her—she did not know if she could sit through the final play. She lifted her eyes to Harry’s in mute appeal.
‘Juliana!’ His handsome face was creased with anxiety. ‘I know this is difficult, but we must not give authority to their lies. Can you stay? Can you bear it?’
No! she thought. I cannot stay here for one minute more! But his earnest, concerned expression gave her pause. Charlotte’s reputation, not just hers, was at stake here.
‘I will stay.’ Her voice was little more than a croak.
He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I knew you would. You are the strongest woman I know.’
His tender gaze sent warmth through her, but still her mind remained sluggish with shock.
‘If you are sure, Juliana?’ Charlotte still looked dubious.
‘I am sure.’ Juliana’s voice sounded a little firmer. I must do this.
Behind them, the door to the box opened. It was Millicent, along with Hubert and Henrietta, who were bickering over something. Immediately, Harry’s mask returned. Stepping away from Juliana and Charlotte, he made an effusive bow.
‘Ah!’ he said dramatically, drawing all eyes to him. ‘We begin to gather together again! I was sadly lost without you! Our little party was diminished by your absence, for friends—true friends—will always add to society!’
Juliana had never before felt gratitude for Harry’s ability to dissemble. Skilfully, he kept everyone’s attention, ushering them to their seats and ensuring Juliana was placed among them with little ceremony. Olivia and Alfred arrived next, soon followed by Adam, and Harry engaged them all in meaningless prattle, asking Millicent and Henrietta what they thought of the rosebud as a flower. Had the poet the right of it? Could a flower become the symbol of a person?
Mr Attwood was last to rejoin them. Slipping quietly into his chair, he seemed slightly irritated by Harry’s performance. Juliana, on the other hand, had never been more appreciative of it.
As the final play progressed, she sat in mute shock, unable to think clearly. General Hunter—her father! Her mind recoiled from the idea. He had treated Mama dreadfully. He must be a monster! He had banished Mama abroad and assuaged his conscience by sending an allowance and paying for Juliana’s education. Such behaviour was not uncommon, Juliana knew. It was considered honourable among gentlemen to provide for their by-blows, those unwanted consequences of their lechery.
Honour! Honour would be resisting their lecherous, bestial urges in the first place! Juliana’s hands hurt. Looking down, she saw she had clenched her fists so tightly that the fingernails had dug into her skin. Oh, how I wish the General was before me right now! I would rake his face with those same fingernails! I would punch his stomach! If I had a sword, or a pistol, I would surely murder him!
How could he? Mama was so naïve—she would have stood no chance against an older man like the General. Had he violated her with force, or with seductive words? Oh, Mama! Poor, vulnerable Mama! Now Juliana knew why they had never been to England before. Why Mama was so anxious. Why she had reacted to General Hunter with such terror.
And how dared the evil General comment on Juliana’s spirited behaviour? He had been almost admiring, Juliana recalled. As if she was livestock that he was distantly responsible for. A filly, bred from his stallion.
Juliana’s thoughts swirled around and around, fuelled by hot anger. Outwardly, she remained calm, aware of the need to protect Charlotte and her family. Mr Attwood’s comments on the play were met with short answers and he eventually subsided into silence.
* * *
As the final play mercifully came to an end, she apologised briefly to him, claiming a slight headache.
‘It is the stultifying air in the theatre, Miss Milford,’ he said soberly. ‘I feel a little the same.’
Grateful for his lack of perception, Juliana murmured a suitable response. As the ladies busied themselves with cloaks and the men took possession of their hats and canes, Juliana yawned theatrically, to cover her silence. It was late and the other ladies were also claiming tiredness—particularly Henrietta, who was demanding that Hubert forge a path for her through the departing crowds.
Despite everything, Juliana still noticed Millicent’s flirtatious glances towards Harry as she asked him when they would drive out again. His reply was curt and non-committal, citing commitments at Horse Guards, and she gave him an arch look, clearly put out. Seeing it, he immediately set out to charm her again. Juliana, watching, could tell his attention was not fully engaged. Millicent, who responded with enthusiasm, seemed not to notice.
It was all too much. The headache she had invented to satisfy Mr Attwood now began to pound at her temples. Hiding towards the rear of the group, she moved with the others along the crowded corridor. In the crush, someone took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. She turned her head and met Harry’s eyes. His expression spoke of concern, and reassurance, and something more intense.
The crowd moved on, and he let go of her hand before they were discovered. She could still feel his warmth though. She felt it in her mind, and it lasted all the way home.
* * *
Juliana could not settle. She had woken frequently during the night, her thoughts disordered and her heart pounding. She had imagined conversations with the General—what she would say, how she could best express her outrage and disdain for him. She had imagined his response—everything from anger to arrogant disregard—and planned how she would react. Her ideas went nowhere, crowding on top of each other as every scenario was imagined and re-imagined. As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, she finally fell into an exhausted, but unsatisfying sleep.
* * *
She breakfasted in her chamber, leaving the food mostly untouched. Though her thoughts were less feverish than they had been in the depths of night, nevertheless she was unsure what to do. Her first thoughts were for Mama and how best to protect her. She would be distressed if she knew Juliana had discovered the truth about her parentage and would be slain by the thought that people in society were gossiping about them both. No, Juliana could not speak to Mama of this.
In addition, she was no longer sure of her own place in the world. Despite the show of loyalty from Charlotte and Harry last night, Juliana knew it would not be appropriate for Lady Shalford to be intimate with a bastard—someone with no legitimate family and lineage. England—London in particular—was the strictest, most rigid society in Europe. Juliana knew enough of the ton—the aristocratic part of society—to understand this.
Pacing the floor, filled with pent-up energy and frustration, Juliana tried to think. Nothing worked. Her brain was weakened by the anger which threatened to overwhelm her. The room was too small to contain her. She felt like a lit firework just before it spewed out its starry explosion.
There was a timid scratching on the door. ‘Enter!’
‘Miss.’ It was Lily, the first housemaid. ‘Milady says please to accompany her walking in the park.’
Good! thought Juliana. ‘Tell Lady Shalford I shall accompany her. Then return and assist me to dress, please.’
‘Yes, miss.’
* * *
As the maid buttoned her into an elegant day dress of mauve cotton and silk, Juliana reflected on Charlotte. Her friend was so kind-hearted it was likely she would try to persuade Juliana to make little
of the news. She must do the right thing—once she had worked out what that was—and not be swayed by Charlotte’s tender heart.
And so it proved. They were barely away from the house before Charlotte, with an anxious tone, asked Juliana how she did.
‘Well, I can hardly say I am well, Charlotte. This was evil news. But it explains so much, so I must be grateful to know who I am at last.’
‘Oh, my dear Juliana. You are exactly the same wonderful girl you were yesterday. Nothing has changed!’
‘Everything has changed, Charlotte,’ Juliana said flatly. ‘We cannot pretend otherwise.’
‘But Mr and Mrs Wakely are merely repeating vicious gossip. You know how people are—always ready to consider the worst, always looking for a new drama. They are surely mistaken.’
‘You heard Mr Wakely. He has proof that General Hunter—’ she almost choked on the hated name ‘—has been paying for my schooling, as well as providing an allowance for Mama. It must be so.’
‘But you always said your mama’s income came from her own family and from the Army. After all, your true father died a soldier.’
‘I know not who John Milford is, or whether in fact he even exists,’ said Juliana, with some bitterness. ‘He may be a phantom created by Mama to cover her shame. A dead husband is a useful creature.’
‘Juliana! You know full well, as I do, your mama would not be capable of sustaining such a ruse. Nor indeed—and I mean this kindly—would she be able to make up such a thing!’
Juliana’s shoulders slumped. ‘It is true that Mama is guileless and not good at dissembling. I grant you that.’ She considered for a moment. ‘In that case, I contend that it was General Hunter himself who came up with the conveniently dead husband. And Mama has struggled with the falsehood for over twenty years. I told you how she wept and spoke of her shame and her wickedness.’
‘She may have meant something else entirely.’
‘Charlotte, you are so good that you wish to see only good in others. Mama is a good person, but she has been grievously wronged by that man. Oh, I wish I were a man—I would call him out!’
‘And as I told you before, I am glad you are not a man,’ said a familiar voice behind them. They turned. Harry caught up with them. ‘Did you not hear me call you?’ he asked. ‘I have been trying to catch you since you turned yon corner. Adam is still in Westminster, but I am returned earlier than I expected from Horse Guards.’
‘We did not hear you,’ said Charlotte, ‘for we have been deep in conversation.’
‘I can see that,’ he said soberly. ‘Juliana, how do you do? You look troubled.’
She looked directly at him. About to deny it, she saw the sincerity in his blue eyes and relented. ‘I am distressed, naturally.’
‘I do not doubt it. Those Wakelys, spouting nonsense—dangerous nonsense! How dare they attack the reputation of two ladies they barely know, as well as that of a long-serving general?’
Juliana gave an unladylike snort. ‘The General,’ she said scathingly, ‘has wronged my mama! Although I must acknowledge the evidence that he is my father, I cannot think well of him.’
Harry shook his head. ‘Something is not right here. General Hunter is autocratic, and at times overbearing and arrogant, but I swear he has always been honourable in all my dealings with him.’
‘Male notions of honour seem restricted to their behaviour in male company. Are you certain you know about his dealings with women?’
Harry frowned. ‘I know he had no dealings with the—with the women who followed the army. He was not one who sought opportunities for female company, though I believe he was married and widowed many years ago. I do know some men who have had children with...er...with women they were not married to, but such men would have had a reputation for enjoying the companionship of women. Occasionally such relationships were almost like marriages, but without the benefit of church.’
‘I am one-and-twenty,’ said Juliana bluntly. ‘Can you really know what General Hunter was, and whom he seduced, twenty-two years ago?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Of course not.’
‘Well then! Besides, I am here. I exist. That is proof enough of his predilections.’
Charlotte intervened, her expression anguished. ‘Oh, Juliana! Do not say so! It may yet all turn out to be a mistake.’
Juliana eyed her cynically. ‘And that butcher’s boy may suddenly sprout wings and fly over the rooftops. I am sorry, Charlotte, I see no miracle here.’
‘At least let us check the veracity of the Wakelys’ so-called evidence.’
‘How should we do that?’ Juliana pondered for a second. ‘I could seek out the General and ask him face to face if he is my father.’
Charlotte paled. ‘Oh, no! Please do not! Only imagine if it should turn out to be untrue! To make a false accusation of that nature...!’
‘I have a better suggestion.’ Harry’s brow was creased in thought. ‘I could do what Wakely did and pay someone at the bank for details of General Hunter’s account.’ He looked at Juliana. ‘Or your mother’s.’
‘Very well,’ said Juliana. ‘But I know it is true. Why would the Wakelys make up such a malicious falsehood? They barely know me and have nothing to gain. And it fits with the mystery of my past and my mother’s behaviour towards the General. It must be true.’
She saw the uncertainty on Charlotte’s face, the doubt in Harry’s expression. They did not wish it to be true. Nor did she, but she must be realistic. She explained to Harry that her mother’s bank was in Brussels, so he could seek information only through General Hunter’s transactions. He undertook to make discreet enquiries.
For the rest of their walk, Harry made light conversation, endeavouring to ease the heavy mood that had settled over them all.
He did not succeed.
Chapter Thirteen
Harry was, in fact, desperately trying to find a way in which he could relieve Juliana’s pain. Were it not for the assertion about the money sent to Brussels, he would have dismissed the Wakelys’ accusation as vindictive tittle-tattle. They were exactly the sort of people to do such a thing, he thought, though how they believed bringing bad news would help ingratiate themselves with Lady Shalford was unclear.
He had barely slept last night, haunted by the stricken shock on Juliana’s beautiful face. It had not lasted long, for she had been in fighting spirit by the end of the night. He expected no less from his tempestuous beauty! How was he to stop her acting in haste, in ways which might prove damaging to her or her mother? He knew, from the incident in Dover, how impulsive and stubborn she could be, especially when fuelled by righteous anger. But he could not yet say what was to be done about it. He would investigate the financial question and pray the answer that came back was the right one.
On returning to the town house, the maids came scurrying out to assist the ladies with their boots, while Harry gave his hat and cane to the footman. That young man, who had worked in the household for many years, gave Harry a speaking look. Seeing it, Juliana’s heart sank. What was amiss?
Mounting the stairs with the others, Juliana heard raised voices coming from the drawing room. A man’s voice. Exchanging worried glances with Harry and Charlotte, Juliana hurried faster up the stairs.
As they got closer, they made out some of the man’s words.
‘...this stupid! To foist an illegitimate girl on polite society! How could you? Answer me, Elizabeth!’
Harry opened the door with a crash, Juliana following on his heels. There was General Hunter, wagging an irate finger at Mrs Milford. She was weeping softly, her hands wringing a small handkerchief.
‘But, no!’ she was saying. ‘Please listen to me!’
Hearing the door open, they both turned to see Harry and Juliana in the doorway, Charlotte just behind. Harry reacted immediately.
‘General Hunter, how kin
d of you to visit us again!’ He swept forward, bowing to the General. ‘However, you may not be aware Mrs Milford is unwell, so I am afraid I must ask you to leave us.’
‘Must you, eh?’ snapped the General. ‘Young hothead! You have no idea what you are about.’
‘I know Mrs Milford is upset, sir.’
‘Bah! When was she ever sensible? Greatest watering pot I ever knew!’
Juliana had heard enough. ‘General Hunter,’ she said, ‘go out of this house and do not return!’
Charlotte gasped. ‘Juliana!’
The General gave a short bark of amusement. ‘Spirited, like before. She did not get that from you, Elizabeth.’
‘Please,’ begged Mama. ‘Juliana, please do not—’
‘Do not? Do not?’ cried Juliana. ‘I cannot bear to see him abuse you, Mama.’
‘But you are not aware—you do not know who he is!’
‘I know what I see. I know what I hear. I can judge a man as well as any.’ Juliana looked scathingly at the General.
‘You would judge me, eh?’ Approaching, he touched her chin with his knuckle. Her eyes flashed fire at him. He chuckled. ‘Very well, child, I will go. But you would do better to return to Brussels.’
‘Mama and I are perfectly capable of making our own decisions. We need no advice from you!’
‘Nevertheless, you have it. It is kindly meant—I have your best interests at heart, no matter what you think you know.’
Turning back to her mother, he said, in a tone that was almost kindly, ‘Goodbye, Elizabeth. I hope you will see sense.’
He strode towards the door, where Juliana stood aside to let him pass, her face set with suppressed rage. He nodded to her, bowed to Harry and to Charlotte, and was gone.
* * *
‘Mama!’
Juliana dashed forward, too late to catch her mother, who had slumped to the floor in a dead faint. Harry swept her up and laid her on the nearest couch. Charlotte, who was still beside the open door, directed the servants to bring hartshorn and laudanum. The two housemaids and the footman who had found reason to be within earshot of the Interesting Event dispersed quickly.
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