They had nearly caught up with Adam and Charlotte when they suddenly spied a horseman coming towards them from the left. Harry squeezed Juliana’s hand in warning as they realised who it was.
The rider reined in and touched his hat to them.
‘Afternoon, Captain. Miss Milford.’
‘General Hunter.’ Harry’s tone was polite, but held no warmth. Juliana remained silent, but inclined her head in the shallowest of acknowledgements.
‘It occurred to me,’ said the General, addressing Juliana, ‘that you may be anxious about my difference of opinion with your mother. I did not wish to cause her further distress by calling on her again, so I determined to seek you out directly—your footman indicated I would find you here.’
Juliana found her tongue. ‘You did right not to call upon my mother.’ Her tone was curt. ‘Indeed, I advise you not to approach her again. She has been seriously affected by your last visit.’
‘Taken to her bed, eh?’ The General shook his head. ‘She was always weak-willed.’
Juliana forced herself to maintain control. ‘She is not weak-willed. And she has not taken to her bed. Why, we shared nuncheon not two hours ago.’ Juliana decided not to mention that Mama was, at this very moment, in bed. ‘She is a strong woman, who has raised me by herself in a foreign country, with no assistance from anyone.’
‘I give her credit for that. She has done well in raising you, despite your bitter tongue and opinionated conduct.’ There was a glint of humour in his eye. Seeing it, Juliana’s rage boiled further. About to unleash it, she paused when Harry placed his other hand over hers.
‘Was there something in particular you wished to say to Miss Milford?’ he enquired.
The General gave a bark of laughter. ‘Young puppy! Think you stand as her guard dog, eh?’ He turned back to Juliana. ‘I wish you to know I will continue to send money to your mother. I am displeased she has come to England and brought you with her, and I have told her so. However, it will not deter me from what I know to be my duty. Should you need additional funds to cover your journey back to Brussels, you should let me know. Here is my card.’
Immobilised by rage, Juliana did not immediately respond, so Harry took the card and pressed it into her hand. After a brief glance at Juliana, he addressed the General again. ‘Did you pay for Miss Milford’s education?’
‘Permit me to tell you, Captain Fanton, it is none of your business—though I confess you are providing me with some rare entertainment this day! You are not related to Juliana and should not ask impertinent questions.’
‘Then I shall ask.’ Juliana glared up at him. ‘Did you, General Hunter, pay for my education?’
‘Every penny of it. I have provided a generous allowance for Elizabeth and for you for over twenty years.’
‘Generous? You dare to describe yourself as generous? When my poor mama has been exiled for those twenty years, ashamed to return home, because of you! And you have the conceit to call it duty!’ Anger boiled through Juliana.
‘You go too far, miss!’ All humour left him. His eyes flashed. ‘Elizabeth’s shame was her own doing and she did right to stay in Brussels all those years. It is a pity you cannot have what should have been rightfully yours, but Elizabeth’s foolishness has condemned you both. I have already indulged you enough. You will keep a civil tongue in your head when you address me. I shall wish you good day.’
Then he was gone, in a thunder of hooves and arrogance.
‘Ooooh! He—that he can say such things!’ Juliana dropped her hand from Harry’s arm and watched the General fade into the distance. She began to pace up and down in barely articulate rage. ‘I hate him! I actually hate him. To speak to me so—to say such things of Mama! And I must stand helplessly and allow it!’ She paced for a moment, before forcing herself to stop. She looked at Harry. His handsome face was creased with concern. ‘Thank you for standing my friend.’
He shook his head. ‘I am sorry I could not do more. He is correct, though, I have no right to speak for you. Only a close relative can do so—because the matter is so personal. Damn!’ He glanced at her. ‘My apologies for the profanity.’
Juliana was only half-listening. She stood, pale and unyielding, her hands clenched into small fists. ‘Is this how it feels, when you want to kill an enemy?’
Charlotte and Adam, who had belatedly realised what was unfolding, hurried over to them.
‘Juliana!’ cried Charlotte. ‘Are you well? What did he say?’
Juliana could not even speak to Charlotte. Focusing intently on Harry, she asked again, ‘Do you hate your enemies?’
Harry, looking rather pale, let out a breath. ‘No. I do not.’
‘Then how can you kill them?’
‘Because I must. I am a soldier. Those who hate do not survive long.’ His eyes held hers—his expression calm, testing and concerned all at once.
‘Oh, Juliana!’ Charlotte made as if to embrace her, but Juliana stood rigid. There was no softness in her. She was only anger, and hatred, and rage. Something in what Harry had said was important, though. There had been a challenge in it.
‘I am well, Charlotte,’ she said shortly. Charlotte bit her lip, but subsided. She had seen Juliana like this before. Throughout her school years, Juliana had worked to master her emotions, to control them rather than allowing them to control her. She had made progress in working out which battles were the important ones and how to apply rationality to fury. Since arriving in England, she had been sorely tested, and the challenges were becoming tougher by the day.
Juliana looked at Harry again. Though she had not asked another question, he said, as if answering her, ‘To survive, one must be calm enough to see things clearly and to make the right choices. There is—’ He frowned. ‘There is a killing rage which comes over some men. They go berserk and lose all sense of danger. They forget about the safety of their comrades. To kill is more important than to live. Sometimes, they lose their honour. Such men die quickly.’ A pulse beat rapidly in his neck. ‘Others spill their rage on the innocent, knowing them to be helpless.’ His voice was measured, his gaze intent. It gave her pause.
They were all looking at her expectantly. She needed to say something. Her head was spinning. ‘May we turn back? I wish to return to the house.’ Her voice sounded even. Good.
They all turned and walked in silence through the park. Harry’s words reverberated through her, like the striking of a gong. Despite the darkness that had briefly threatened to overpower her, she was an innocent child in comparison to those who had been through the horrors of war.
Gradually, Juliana became aware of her surroundings—the chirp and chatter of birds, the susurration of the breeze in the branches. Harry’s solid presence by her side. Yellow primroses and nodding bluebells punctuating the green landscape all around. Adam and Charlotte, walking together behind her and Harry. Beauty, warmth, friendship, love. These were stronger than anger and hate.
Her rage slowly, steadily subsided. Recognising, finally, the concerns of her friends, she stopped to make them a frank apology.
‘I am the vilest creature!’ she said. ‘I do not lose my temper often, but when I do it is not safe to be near me.’
Charlotte, with a muffled exclamation, enfolded her in a tight hug. This time, Juliana leaned into it.
‘Nonsense!’ said Harry gruffly. ‘You were severely provoked. You managed the situation well in the circumstances. I believe you really did want to run him through—if you’d had a sword.’ He grinned. ‘I did wonder if you would try to seize mine.’
‘I did—but only for a moment. It was a thought, but acting on it did not occur to me.’ She frowned, recognising that for all her intemperate words, she had no notion of actually killing anyone. Even General Hunter, her enemy.
She gave Harry a rueful grimace. ‘I cannot imagine actually doing it. For all my bravado, I could not, I
think, be a soldier. I wonder at those who can kill, yet keep their humanity.’
The smile faded from his face. ‘It is not so easily achieved. The killing is hard.’ He added softly, his gaze focused on a distant point, ‘Keeping hold of one’s soul is much, much harder.’
Adam and Charlotte exchanged glances, but said nothing. Juliana recognised this was not the best moment to ask more questions, but her hunger to know more of Harry would take her back to this. She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed gently. Coming back to the present, he placed his other hand on hers. They walked on.
Juliana still had much to think about. General Hunter’s words gave the worst confirmation about her identity, and the anger she felt towards him remained sharp. How dared he blame Mama for the scandal? Why was it always the woman who was condemned by society? Never the man.
Much more importantly, though, she needed to think about Harry. As they walked along the well-trodden path, Harry’s steps in rhythm with hers, everything suddenly seemed as though it was not real, as though the events of the past half-hour were a play she had watched or a book she had read. She searched for the elation she had felt after Harry had kissed her, and she could not find it. General Hunter had stolen it away with his untimely arrival. Love and hate had come to her, and she was all perplexity.
* * *
Harry, too, walked through the park with a sense of confusion. Momentous things had happened—were happening—and, despite his calm exterior, his mind and heart were awhirl. He loved her! Of course he did, for who could fail to love her? She was magnificent, beautiful, fiery, quick-witted... What seemed entirely wonderful to him, though, was that she seemed to return his regard. His heart quickened. He had felt it in her passionate response to his kiss.
Or had he? He frowned. He had kissed many women, yet he had never before had the notion that any of them loved him. Indeed, he always tried to ensure they did not. He had shared passionate kisses—and more—with his chères-amies, and never wondered if they held warm feelings for him. This time had felt different, but he must not be too hasty to make assumptions. The only distinction he could be sure of was that he loved Juliana. It did not follow that she also loved him.
He stole a glance at her. She remained lost in thought, frowning slightly—she was probably still reflecting on her angry encounter with General Hunter. Oh, why had the damned General come along at that precise moment, before Harry had had the chance to properly read Juliana’s reaction to his kiss, his mutterings of love? Juliana might assume he said such things to all the women he kissed! Indeed, it would not be unreasonable of her to make such a judgement, he admitted, for had he not worked hard to display himself to her as a flirtatious fribble?
He berated himself. Undone by your own frivolity, Fanton!
Perhaps, to Juliana, this was nothing more than a little light romance, like many others being kindled in Almack’s and elsewhere this Season. She certainly did not seem to be disturbed by what had occurred between them. He knew Juliana’s feelings about General Hunter—she had engaged heartily in the skirmish with the General, her emotions plain to read in the line of her body, the tone in her voice and the range of expressions flitting across her face.
Should he not, then, have seen signs of loving feelings for him, if they existed? There had been no coyness, maidenly shyness or any of the usual signs that maidens were expected to display to signal their interest in or feelings for a man. She had simply kissed him with passionate abandon, then continued their walk as though unmoved. He knew she valued his friendship. Charlotte loved him as a friend, too—and neither he nor Charlotte had ever had a thought of a different sort of relationship. Harry had never thought of Charlotte in that way and, from very early on, Charlotte had had eyes only for Adam. Yes, Juliana’s friendship was assured—and he valued it tremendously. But it was not enough. It would never be enough.
General Hunter’s words had wounded him, though not as much as they must have hurt Juliana. Confirmation that the General had indeed been funding Mrs Milford, and that she had stayed away from England because of past scandal, provided yet more evidence that Juliana’s origins were dishonourable in some way and that the General was likely her father. Not that Harry cared. It made no difference whatsoever to his feelings for Juliana—though, as he had previously concluded, to marry her would affect his career and his social standing. A small price to pay, if she actually wanted him.
General Hunter’s words had hurt simply because of the blunt reminder that Harry had no status in Juliana’s life, no right to stand with her and fight with her. She did not need him—she had handled the encounter with credit—but, as he well knew, having strong friends and family to take your part made difficult situations easier to bear. She was fiercely independent—one of the many things he loved about her—but some of his most precious memories since he’d known her were the brief moments when she had allowed him to see her vulnerability.
He looked at her again. Her beautiful face was creased with concentration, as she worked through the thoughts in her lively mind. Should he say something?
He could not.
The truth was he had no clue what to say or, indeed, whether to speak at all. His usual instincts were letting him down. He shook himself internally. This was a new experience, this uncertainty. He was Captain Harry Fanton, dazzler of women, leader of men! He always knew what to say...until today.
Chapter Sixteen
Juliana’s recovery continued as they walked together without speaking. Her pulse had calmed, her breathing eased and she knew it was safe for her to be in company again. It was important to protect Mama from the General and from his harsh words and opinions of her. Juliana’s mother knew her better than anyone and might figure out that something had upset her.
Juliana also wanted to hide her newly discovered feelings for Harry from everyone. She barely understood what was happening to her, never having been in love before, and the sensations he aroused in her were as confusing as they were pleasant. She wanted to hug it all to herself, until she understood it better.
They left the park and ambled through the noisy streets towards St James’s Square. Coaches and carts rumbled past, horses toiling in the spring warmth. A young street-sweeper jumped out in front of them to brush away the dung. Harry threw him a coin.
As they strolled up the street towards the Fanton town house, the front door opened and two figures emerged. First, a man—a small, slight man, who moved with the care of age. His clothes were black, neat and sober and signalled his membership of the professional classes. He carried a leather folder of the type that usually held papers.
He paused on the top step to await his companion—a woman, dressed in charcoal-grey. Her hair was a lighter grey and secured in a neat bun. Juliana was too far away to see either of their faces and when they descended the steps they turned away, walking east along the Square. Some people of business, perhaps, visiting Adam’s steward. Strange to think everyday life continued and that, for everyone else, things were more or less the same as they had been this morning. When she left the house around an hour ago, Juliana had not known that Harry loved her, or that she loved him. Now that the ill effects of General Hunter’s interruption were fading, the glow of happiness which had surrounded her earlier was beginning to return. She resolved to simply enjoy the feeling for a little while.
They entered the house and Juliana readily allowed the housemaid to help replace her walking boots with soft slippers. Harry and Adam were still being assisted out of their coats and boots by the footmen, so Charlotte and Juliana went ahead to the drawing room. Juliana could not resist one last look towards Harry. He was ready for it and, as their eyes met, a tingle ran down her spine.
‘Mama!’ Juliana could not keep the surprise from her voice. Her mother was in the drawing room, seated at the writing desk, and not sleeping still. Taken to her bed, indeed! It just showed that General Hunter knew nothing of M
ama now. ‘Did you have a good rest earlier?’
‘Oh, Juliana! Charlotte! No. Yes. I—what?’
Juliana seated herself in one of the upholstered chairs by the fireplace. She shook out her skirts, checking that the only stains she had picked up in the park were along the hemline of her petticoat, where it had brushed the longer grasses and picked up pollen and a small trace of dried mud. The delicate fabric of her printed muslin was perfectly clean. Thank goodness the style was for slightly shorter dresses over long petticoats!
Charlotte picked up her darning from a side table and brought it to the sofa.
‘Earlier?’ Mama seemed finally to take in what Juliana had said. ‘Oh, yes, it was—quite...quite...yes.’ She sat down her pen, but her mind was evidently elsewhere. Juliana’s heart melted. This was such a trial for dear Mama and she was coping so well—much better than Juliana had hoped.
‘Are you writing letters, Mama?’ Juliana looked carefully at her mother. She seemed a little more agitated than she had been, but there was also something different about her. Juliana could not quite work out what it was.
‘No, not yet—though I will need to write some later. There will be work in it, but it must be done, for the possibilities...’ Mama’s voice tailed off and she gazed into space. Juliana and Charlotte exchanged glances.
‘Juliana!’ Mama’s voice was suddenly strong, decided. Juliana looked back at her in surprise. That was a tone she had not heard in a very long time. ‘I must speak with you!’
‘Of course.’ Juliana glanced at Charlotte, who shrugged slightly.
‘I need to speak to Cook anyway, so I shall leave you alone,’ said Charlotte, rising and setting her darning back on the table.
Her mother waited until Charlotte had closed the door behind her, then rose and paced the room in some agitation. Juliana waited, a little bewildered by her mama’s unusual behaviour. Finally she turned, stood straighter and spoke.
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