‘Aye, will you raise arms against your Captain?’ he had asked. His disgust had been profound. This was one of his own men—one he had trained and supped with on many occasions. ‘Get back to camp! Now!’
The man had slunk off, shuffling guiltily towards the main thoroughfare.
‘Woo-hoo! The hunt is after you, my fine fox!’
Three redcoats had crossed in front of him, whooping and calling, in pursuit of an attractive young mother, her babe clasped in her arms, who had fled down an alleyway to his right.
‘Stop right there!’ Harry had roared.
They’d ignored him, intent on their chase. Harry had taken off after them and eventually succeeded in catching them in a small plaza. Thankfully, he had been assisted by two of his officer colleagues and they had managed to disarm the trio, who had been in a state of drunken bloodlust.
The woman had hidden under a farm cart at the edge of the plaza and, Harry had noticed, been beckoned into one of the buildings by an elderly lady, who had closed and locked her door again immediately. Shameful that the townspeople had needed to hide in fear of British soldiers!
Together, Harry and his colleagues had eventually gained control of the situation, though the sight of so many dead women, children and elderly had been sickening. And it still was. Three of his fellow officers had lost their lives, attacked by the rabid British soldiers.
As the clean-up and the floggings had begun Harry, exhausted, had found himself back in the same street.
Catching sight of a flash of blue, he had moved towards the dead mother. She’d lain where she had fallen, her pretty blue dress stained with blood. So much blood!
The soldier’s body had lain prone on the ground beside her, the kitchen knife still protruding from his back. Harry had used his foot to move the man. There, beneath him, had lain the body of the child. His skin had been mottled with purpling and his eyes bloodshot and staring. He had suffocated from the weight of his dead attacker and his murdered mother.
Harry would never forget those eyes. Why did you not save me? they asked. Why did you not even try?
‘I am sorry,’ said Harry now, for the thousandth time. ‘I am sorry.’
There was no escape from despair. Harry was as culpable as his men—more so, for had it not been his task, as their Captain, to control them? He might not have been able to save them all, but he certainly could have saved the boy. Why had he not checked on him?
He could pretend no longer. He did not belong here with civilised people. The evil in him was too much to bear. They—all of them—would be better if he were gone from their lives. And with the upcoming battle against the might of Napoleon’s army, he was unlikely to survive anyway. At least if he were to die in battle, his life might have been worth something.
A small voice tried to persuade him. They love you. They would want you to live. Oh, but he was weak! When he thought of Juliana, of Adam, of Olivia, he did not think his heart could bear the pain. They thought him honourable and good. They had no idea of his true nature.
* * *
By morning, he had made his decision. As the darkness turned to grey and the first birds ventured a tentative chirp, he knew what he must do. With only a few days remaining until he left England, he must begin immediately. The evil that lived within him must be purged and the only atonement he could offer was his life. He must break with Juliana. He did not deserve such innocence in his life, and if he stayed with her he would taint her purity and corrupt her fierce, passionate heart.
Leaving her would take every ounce of strength he had and he was also conscious of her keen mind. If she suspected the truth she would, he knew, never accept his decision. As well as strength, he would need all the guile and play-acting he could call on.
So he prayed, as he had never prayed before. He prayed he would be strong enough to do what must be done. He prayed her feelings were not so engaged as his after the short time as they had been together. She had not yet even said that she loved him.
Most of all, though, he prayed he would not break down and beg her to marry him.
* * *
Juliana swallowed hard. Now she was on her way, doubts assailed her. Was she doing the wrong thing? She clung to the safety strap as the cab rounded a corner at speed, the jarvey hurling abuse at a stray dog that had dared cross his path.
It’s just because you’re alone, she told herself. Have courage.
It was strange, when she came to think of it, how infrequently she was alone. Apart from in her chamber and on those odd occasions when Charlotte was called away and Juliana was left undisturbed in the morning room, her whole existence was in the company of others. Certainly she had never ventured out in London by herself before this.
Cavendish Square was an elegant, well-tended plaza, with tall, imposing houses glowering over a pretty circular park. The cab came to a halt outside the house and the driver jumped down to open the door and lower the step for Juliana.
She bade him wait for her and mounted the steps to the mansion. A young footman opened the door, then froze when he saw her.
Taking advantage of his surprise, Juliana swept past him.
‘You may inform General Hunter that Miss Milford wishes to speak to him,’ she said imperiously, as if it was perfectly normal for a young unmarried woman to pay a social call on a man.
‘Yes, miss.’ The footman, recovering, bowed and led her to a small, beautifully furnished parlour. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’
Comfortable? Juliana felt anything but comfortable. She paced around the room, unable to sit or even think clearly. She was determined, indignant, angry and frightened all at once. Oh, how she wished she’d been able to speak to Harry about this! But he had spent all of yesterday at the War Office, so she hadn’t seen him since the trip to Vauxhall the day before. She paused, smiling inwardly as she remembered Vauxhall. After their idyll in St James’s Park she and Harry had travelled on to meet the others in perfect understanding, and Juliana had spent the day in a glow of happiness. Harry had been so attentive, his every look and gesture telling how much he cared for her. They had talked and walked together, and enjoyed the company of Mama, Charlotte and the others, but with eyes and hearts only for each other.
That was not the day to mention her plan to question General Hunter. It would have been too daunting a topic to consider in the middle of picnics and fireworks, and friendly, light-hearted conversation.
With only a few days left until their departure for France, Juliana knew she might never again have the chance to confront the corrupt General. Desperation had brought her to Cavendish Square.
‘So it is true, then! I see you are every bit as foolhardy and impulsive as your mother!’ The General stalked into the room, closing the door carefully behind him. ‘What the devil do you mean, calling on me like this? Do you wish for tongues to wag?’
Bristling at the criticism of her mother, Juliana found her voice. ‘I care not! I wish only to have the truth of my parentage confirmed and to tell you my opinion of you!’
Surprisingly, that drew a wry smile. He paused, eyeing her keenly. ‘Pray, sit! I should be exceedingly interested to hear your opinion of me!’
She sat, then inwardly berated herself for obeying him. Something in his tone had compelled her, just when she needed to stand strong. Ah, well. Her feelings would become apparent through her words. He took a seat opposite her, resting his elbows on the arms of the gilded chair and steepling his fingers together.
She drew a deep breath.
‘My opinion of you could not be lower! You behave as though you are honourable, and respectable, yet your actions have shown that the opposite is true. You have shown a cruelty and disregard for my mother that is unforgivable!’
He looked a little shocked. Good.
‘Miss Milford—Juliana—I am not sure what you would have had me do. Abandon Elizabeth?
Leave her to starve on the streets of Brussels? Yes, and you along with her? You owe your very life to me and I confess I am shocked by your ingratitude.’
‘Ingratitude? Ingratitude?’ She could barely contain herself. ‘You seduced my mother, a woman many years younger than yourself, then you forced her into exile, far from friends and family, and you think I ought to be grateful because you spent a fraction of your wealth—’ she gestured to their opulent surroundings ‘—assuaging your guilt? How dare you?’
His hands were gripping the arms of the chair. She looked at the white knuckles, feeling a frisson of fear for the first time. His face was grey, his expression stormy. Then, abruptly and unexpectedly, he threw back his head and laughed.
She sat in bewilderment. Why would he laugh at such a moment?
A thought struck her—maybe he was insane!
He stood and she had to steel herself not to flinch as he approached. He walked past her chair, opening the door to hail the footman. ‘Refreshments, please. Port. And tea for the lady.’
Returning to his seat, he eyed her levelly. ‘I see Elizabeth has told you nothing of your origins—she always was chicken-hearted. It falls to me now to enlighten you.’ His hand moved to his chin, one finger tapping his cheek. He leaned back. ‘Permit me to tell you I am not in the habit of seducing girls who are young enough to be my daughter.’ His tone dripped with wry humour.
She looked at him blankly, totally confused. ‘I simply wish to know the truth.’ Her voice quivered, so she lifted her chin in an act of brave defiance.
‘Very well. I shall tell you the truth—though I am not sure you are ready to hear it.’
Chapter Nineteen
He paused, considering his words. ‘I am not your father, Juliana. You are illegitimate—that part is true. But I am your grandfather. Elizabeth is my daughter—my only child. Her mother—your grandmother—died when she was very young. I could have disowned Elizabeth when she ran away with a handsome, empty-headed soldier, but I did not. By the time I found her, she was living in straitened circumstances in Brussels with you and surviving on the generosity of her friends. I could not abandon her, no matter what she had done.’
Juliana could barely take it in. ‘What? My grandfather? But I thought—’
‘Yes, it is abundantly clear to me what you thought!’
Oh, Lord! She had offered him the most terrible insult. Her face flooded with heat. ‘I am so sorry, General Hunter! I made an assumption and I was wrong. I apologise for my words and for what I thought of you.’
He waved away her concerns. ‘I accept your apology.’ He chuckled. ‘It is a new experience for me, being accused of seducing innocent girls! And I thought my life was now settled into a humdrum nothingness.’
Juliana’s mind was afire. ‘So—who is my father? Was there a John Milford?’
‘Of course there was! That young puppy actually had the temerity to approach me, to ask if he could pay his addresses to Elizabeth. As if I would consider a minor title and a small estate adequate to compensate for the family’s shameful background.’
‘Wait—a title? I thought you said he was a soldier?’
‘Pffft! The Milfords were not the sort of family I had in mind when planning for Elizabeth’s marriage. And that boy—John Milford—full of fire and romance! He persuaded my weak daughter that a life following the Army was better than the safety of London. He had romantic notions of war and soldiering—many young fools do. They think of glory and heroism, and fail to realise their life will be filled with tedious waiting, muddy boots and moments of terror.’
‘But—he was a respectable young man?’
‘You might think so. His own parents forbade him from signing up and said he was too young to marry. It is the only thing we agreed on.’
‘Are they still alive? Do I have family connections among the Milfords?’
‘No. He was their only child and they are both dead now. The estate went to a distant cousin, I am told. It could have been yours, if Milford had actually married your mother!’
‘Why did they not marry? Did he—was he just playing with Mama?’
‘If it is any consolation, I believe he intended to marry her. The young fool had turned up at a church outside Dover, seeking marriage and without a special licence. Of course the priest sent him away with a flea in his ear! Idiot! From there, they went directly to France and he to battle, and he died soon after.’
‘Why did you disapprove of him?’
‘I knew little of him, but I certainly disapproved of his family—Papists, Jacobites and Whigs!’
She considered this. Her mind was whirling, trying to imagine Mama young and in love. ‘Where did they meet?’
‘Here, in London. Balls, and routs, and picnics—pah! My elderly cousin was supposed to be chaperoning Elizabeth, ensuring she would not be led astray. By the time I found out about her infatuation with Milford, it was too late. He had been wooing her, behind my back. A silly, weak girl, ready to fall for the first handsome buffoon who whispered love to her! She had her Season at twenty and rejected a perfectly suitable suitor.’
‘She mentioned an “old man” to me—someone that she was being pressed to marry...’
He snorted.
‘Old? He may have seemed so to her. He was but thirty-four—a man of property and sense, and willing to take on a vapourish chit with good breeding but no strength of character. Your mother should have accepted him.’
Juliana shook her head. ‘She was right not to allow herself to be browbeaten by you!’
He matched her defiance, the expression on his stormy face identical to her own. ‘Not so! I gave my opinion, certainly, and expressed the wish that, given time, she might reconsider. Of course I would not have forced her into marriage with someone she abhorred. What sort of father do you think me?’
‘One whom Mama could so little trust that elopement seemed the better option!’
He recoiled, then closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the anguish there made her flinch. He spoke softly.
‘I assumed they were bound for Gretna and travelled the Great North Road, where I could find no trace of them. I returned home, knowing her to be ruined.’ He swallowed. ‘Three weeks later, I received a letter from the priest who had been asked to marry them. He was known to young Milford, having served in their local parish two years before. The young chucklehead thought the priest would simply marry them, because Elizabeth had just turned twenty-one! That part of the Marriage Act which requires the reading of the banns, or a special licence, had escaped his notice. Of course the priest refused to do it—in fact, there was no legal way he could have done it!’
Juliana’s head was spinning. Mama—her dear, sweet, frightened mama—had actually eloped, against the wishes of a father as fierce as General Hunter?
The General leaned back in his armchair. ‘So, on they travelled, unmarried. Of course, when he died, it was I who had to take responsibility for Elizabeth and her infant. He had made no provision for them—selfish and foolish to the last. When I found her she was living in Brussels with a Dutch family who had befriended her. She did not wish to return to England—indeed, I also believed it was better for her to stay there.’
‘You didn’t exile her?’
‘No. It was her choice in the end.’ He pursed his lips. ‘So, yes, I paid for your schooling and provided Elizabeth with an income these past twenty years. I confess I was shocked when I discovered she had returned to England—with her daughter in tow and without informing me.’
Juliana nodded slowly. ‘I can understand that. You should know Mama did not wish to travel to England. That was my scheme, for my friend is now settled here.’
‘Nevertheless, Elizabeth should have informed me. I would have counselled her to avoid London, and it was a mistake to launch you into society. Has she no sense? When word of your background be
gins to circulate—as it surely will—then they will shun you. You will receive the cut direct from people who conversed with you and invited you to their homes. They will be angry because they will feel they were tricked into treating you as an equal.’
She bowed her head. ‘It is already happening.’ Haltingly, she told him about the Wakelys and her suspicion that the Etheringtons had been spreading gossip.
‘What! What! They think you are my illegitimate daughter?’ He stood, clearly agitated, and began to pace around the room. ‘Outrageous! No one shall impugn you so! How dare they behave like this towards my daughter and my granddaughter!’
‘Mama has decided we will return to Brussels in a few days.’
‘Leave the field of battle because of a minor reverse? Chicken-hearted, as I said!’
Juliana shook her head. ‘She is determined, not fearful. I have been unable to persuade her—indeed, I have no wish to. We will leave England on Wednesday as she wishes.’
He thought rapidly. ‘Very well. I am forced to adopt a new tactic. We must brazen it out, show them that we have nothing to hide! Before you leave, I will accompany you on some of your social engagements and make it known I am pleased to receive my daughter and granddaughter.’
‘But what of my illegitimacy?’
‘We shall gloss over the details of your parents’ marriage. Twenty years’ exile for an elopement is punishment enough. People may chatter and speculate in private, but as long as they only meet you in public situations, then the ton can have no complaints. You can never be fully part of society, but you should not be subject to such insults!’
The door opened, admitting a young housemaid carrying a tea tray. Behind her, an imposing butler bore a bottle of port and a large glass, with an air of disinterested authority. Juliana noticed, however, how they both surreptitiously glanced at her. The speculation among the staff must be marked.
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