The Captain's Disgraced Lady

by Catherine Tinley

  General Hunter noticed it, too. As Juliana took her first sip of tea and the servants made to leave, the General bade the butler remain.

  Waiting until the door had closed behind the housemaid, he murmured laconically. ‘Merson, no doubt you are wondering why I am entertaining a young lady in my parlour.’

  ‘I should not presume to hold an opinion on such matters, sir,’ Merson replied, though a gleam of speculation glinted in his eyes.

  ‘My granddaughter, Miss Milford, is in town for a short visit. She will no doubt require suitable transport back to St James’s Square.’

  Merson bowed impassively. ‘It is an honour, miss.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Juliana beamed. It was starting to sink in that she had an actual grandfather! ‘I shan’t need transport, though—I asked the jarvey to wait.’

  ‘A jarvey, eh?’ The General’s brows beetled together. ‘I think not.’ He nodded to Merson. ‘Pay the jarvey and tell the groom to bring round my coach, please—the new one, with my insignia.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ Bowing at each of them in turn, Merson withdrew.

  The General rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘I shall accompany you to St James’s myself—though, perhaps we should call in Gunther’s on the way. It is generally busy at this time of day. What do you think, eh? Shall we shock them all?’

  Juliana twinkled at him. ‘Oh, do let’s! I only wish we could delay revealing the truth—now I know I am not your illegitimate daughter, I shall quite enjoy the reactions of those who think I am!’

  He laughed and they sipped their drinks in perfect charity.

  * * *

  The day had finally come. Juliana gripped the rail. The sea wind whipped around her face and the creak and rush of the speedy packet mingled with the whoosh and susurration of the waves and the mournful calls of gulls. She licked her lips, tasting briny freshness which reflected the salty scent in the air.

  She could just make out a dark line on the distant horizon. France. They had made good time—thank goodness!

  The crossing to England, two months ago, had seen her distracted by her mother’s illness, but otherwise excited at the prospect of visiting Charlotte, and exploring the England of her origins. This return journey saw her anxious, pensive and feeling much, much older.

  She had answers to some of the questions that had plagued her—questions about who she was and the truth about her parentage. She had gained a grandfather—and already was feeling something like affection for the curmudgeonly old bully. She couldn’t forgive him for being unkind to her mother, of course, although the situation was much more complex than her initial assumptions.

  He had been as good as his word on Saturday and had squired her to Gunter’s, where they had enjoyed ice-creams and conversed like old friends, under the interested eye of dozens of people. The next day he had accompanied her for a ride in Green Park, and yesterday he had even walked with her along Gracechurch Street, tipping his hat to the speculative gazers and introducing Juliana to those bold enough to demand an introduction.

  The best moment of all had been when they’d bumped into Henrietta and Millicent outside a coffee house beside Bow Church. Henrietta, seeing them approach, had nudged Millicent hard in the ribs. Millicent, about to complain at this violent treatment, had instead belatedly spotted Juliana, her hand resting comfortably in the General’s arm, and her eyes widened. She looked Juliana up and down insolently, a sneer marring her pretty features.

  Ugly, thought Juliana. She looks really ugly when she does that.

  The General had seen them, too. Patting Juliana’s hand reassuringly, he stopped to address the two young ladies. They could hardly snub him, but pointedly ignored Juliana.

  After an exchange of good days and enquiries after each other’s health, General Hunter added, ‘My health is just about to become a good deal worse.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ asked Millicent. ‘Why so, General? For you look as fit and well as ever.’

  ‘In body, perhaps. But I have become acquainted with my dear Juliana—’ he threw her a warm look ‘—and now I am to lose her. She and Elizabeth are to travel home to Brussels before hostilities resume on the Continent.’

  Henrietta and Millicent exchanged arch glances. Why would the General force his acquaintance with his illegitimate daughter on them in broad daylight? their expressions seemed to say.

  Millicent scrunched her nose in disgust. ‘I really am not interested in your private affairs, General, so if you will excuse us—’

  ‘Of course you know my daughter, Elizabeth.’ He spoke across her. They looked blankly at him, while inside Juliana was dancing with glee. He continued, a hint of exasperation now apparent. ‘Mrs Milford? I believe you are acquainted with her?’

  ‘Your—d-daughter?’ Millicent was completely taken aback. Her mind slowly turned—Juliana could almost see its workings. ‘So, Miss Milford is then your—?’

  ‘My granddaughter, yes.’ He spoke slowly, as if to a child.

  ‘But—when you called in St James’s Square—you never—I mean, nobody knew—everybody thought—’ Millicent ground to a halt, the words drying up as her mind finally encompassed reality.

  ‘Yes? Everybody thought what, exactly? Do, pray, continue.’

  Ouch! thought Juliana. I have been on the receiving end of that glare, that tone.

  She tried to feel sorry for Millicent, but found herself incapable of it.

  Henrietta intervened, defiantly. ‘Why was this not well known?’

  ‘Sad to say my daughter and I were estranged.’ Henrietta raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘It does happen in families, you know. Why, I heard of one such case, a year or so ago.’ He adopted a thoughtful expression. ‘I cannot quite recall all of the details, but there was, I believe, a bride whose own parents did not attend her wedding, amid talk of an elopement.’

  Henrietta blushed fierily and practically dragged Millicent away, muttering about a pressing engagement. Millicent, clearly devastated by the General’s happy news, complied.

  ‘What was that about?’ asked Juliana. ‘An elopement?’

  ‘Yes. Mr and Mrs Etherington are rumoured to have run away together—had you not known this?’

  ‘No!’ Juliana could not resist laughing a little. ‘I am afraid I cannot imagine anyone agreeing to elope with Mr Etherington—or Henrietta, for that matter! Charlotte has been far too discreet—I will question her as soon as I am home.’ A thought struck her. ‘So, all the time Henrietta was judging me and Mama, she herself had—?’

  He chuckled. ‘Indeed. She can offer it, but she does not like to receive the same treatment.’

  Juliana grinned now, enjoying the memory of Henrietta and Millicent’s discomfort. General Hunter was a formidable man to have by one’s side. A pity that she did not have time to get to know him better. He was smart, and fiery, and opinionated—rather like me, she thought ruefully. And he is lonely, she added, thinking of his beautiful, perfect, empty home—plenty of servants but little companionship.

  She frowned. If only there’d been the opportunity to mend his relationship with his daughter. But her mother had resisted all attempts by Juliana even to discuss General Hunter. Mama knew, of course, that Juliana had been spending time with him in their last few days in London and surely she must suspect Juliana now knew the truth. But she had—cheerfully—refused to discuss the General and Juliana had eventually abandoned the attempt.

  And so to the journey. They had set off yesterday, both crying at the goodbyes—it had been so hard to leave Charlotte, Adam, Olivia and Clara. Her mother had been quiet in the coach and Juliana had let her be, lost in her own thoughts.

  On board, Mama had become ill again, inevitably. But this time, Juliana was ready for it. Harry had negotiated a tiny cabin, so her mother could suffer the indignities of seasickness in private, despite the demand for space amid the packed ra
nks of soldiers heading for war.

  Harry.

  Juliana frowned, finally acknowledging the gnawing worry inside her. Something was wrong.

  He had been as urbane as ever, smiling and jesting with her mother and his sister, and superficially all had seemed well. But when Juliana had caught his eye, there had been—nothing. No spark, no warmth, no sense of connection. It was as though they were strangers.

  She had thought she was imagining it at first. It was subtle, but marked—a strange coldness that was entirely perplexing. There were other changes, too. He had spent very little time at home since Vauxhall, being constantly at the War Office or at his club. Last night had been the first time he had dined with them in days, it being his last night in England, too. He had been at his best—or his worst—during dinner, gently teasing Olivia, being charming to all the ladies and speaking of nothing. When his eyes briefly rested on Juliana his gaze had been uninterested, absent. It made her shiver again now just to remember it.

  He had avoided her as much as possible on the journey, too. Instead of sharing the coach, he had decided to ride alongside them, and since they boarded he had spent his time in the company of the other officers.

  Juliana had felt this sick tightness in her stomach and chest for nigh on three days now. Oh, she had tried to deny it. He was focusing on the upcoming battles, she had told herself. He was worrying about the terrible events he must face. He was preoccupied with military preparations. She must be patient, and supportive, and loving...

  No. It would not do.

  If he had wanted to, he could have made time for her. Even a moment, here and there. He could have thrown her one of those warm looks—the ones that made her heart sing and her body tingle. The glances that let her know she was not alone, never alone.

  His evasiveness was subtle and masterfully done. Where once he had contrived to sit near her, to walk beside her and to seek her opinion, now all was changed. She was one of many, no longer favoured. She had told him of her visit to Cavendish Square, and her reunion with her grandfather, as soon as she had returned to the house. He had been properly astonished, asking her questions and exclaiming at her revelations. Even then, though, he had used his astonishment as a shield against true intimacy. He was all amazement—he could not stay, being promised to a prior engagement, but he would think about it all day, for sure.

  Then he was gone, leaving Juliana with a mix of puzzlement and disappointment. Later, the news, revealed by his valet to Priddy. He was out driving Miss Millicent Etherington in the phaeton.

  Pain in her right hand brought Juliana back to the present. Her knuckles were white where she was clasping the rail too tightly. She let go, her hand briefly a frozen claw, paralysed by the intensity of her grip. Opening her fingers carefully, she gazed down at her hand in abstraction.

  She could no longer deny it. Harry had changed his mind. He no longer loved her. Fear, swirling through her body, froze her thoughts. No! It could not be! Harry was true. Was loving. Loved her. As she loved him. They shared a special bond. Something unique.

  The doubts persisted. Was she deluding herself?

  She must know!

  She turned. As ever, having made her mind up, she was determined to act immediately. With Mama safely below deck, this might be her last opportunity to question him. She stalked confidently aft, her gait adapting to the sway and pitch of the ship. She had spotted Harry’s new aide-de-camp earlier, sitting with a group of junior officers on a pile of gnarled ropes.

  ‘Jem?’

  He jumped up, eager to please. ‘Miss Milford! How may I be of assistance?’

  She looked at him, his innocent trusting face, and saw herself. Was she also too trusting?

  ‘I need to speak with Captain Fanton.’

  ‘Of course! I shall inform him this instant!’

  She waited, trying to calm her tumultuous thoughts. When Harry came, she could suggest they walk forward—there was a gap amidships where they might converse without being overheard. With this wind, and the increasing numbers of gulls mewing above them, it should not be difficult.

  ‘Miss Milford!’ It was Jem. ‘I regret...er... Captain Fanton is...is unable to speak with you at present.’ His gaze dropped away under Juliana’s shocked reaction. ‘He bids me tell you he, that is to say—Major Cooke has need of him at the present time.’

  Juliana swallowed. Jem was clearly lying and feeling uncomfortable about it. Harry did not wish to speak to her! She could barely think, but murmured something appropriate to Jem, who disappeared gratefully.

  She walked slowly towards the bow as the shock began to sink in. Harry had sent Jem to lie to her, in order to avoid a conversation with her. As though she was nothing to him.

  Her fears were all confirmed. Pain, as if from a needle in her chest, pierced her. He was determined to avoid her. Why? her heart made the cry. What had changed?

  It must be his worries about the coming war. Soldiers had to act with courage despite their inner qualms. Did he seek to spare her from grief if he died? Was he acting from some perverse sense of honour?

  Her gut twisted. She was already feeling that grief. The loss of him—the very notion of it—had her reeling. She already knew he might die. But he was not yet in battle. Why should he take away these last days from them?

  She must speak with him, make him see sense.

  Moving swiftly, she made her way through the narrow doorway and down the steep steps to the cabins below decks, making her way down the dimly lit corridor to the large cabin reserved for Major Cooke’s continuous meetings.

  Scratching lightly at the door, she waited until the Major bade her enter. He was alone, as expected.

  ‘Miss Milford! A pleasure to see you, my dear! Do, please, be seated. May I offer you refreshments?’

  She sat, but declined his hospitality, explaining she was seeking Captain Fanton.

  ‘Ah, yes, Fanton has been assisting you and your mother with your travel arrangements, has he not? Well, he is not here, as you see. I will summon him for you, though.’

  Before she could stop him, he had rung one of the bell ropes on the wall of the cabin. Juliana bit her lip. She had wanted to discover Harry’s whereabouts, rather than have him summoned to her!

  ‘How is your dear mother? I understand the sea does not agree with her?’

  ‘She is sleeping, thankfully. But we will be in port soon and I wish to ensure she can go directly to an inn to rest.’ This was true, but she was more than capable of finding an inn herself, without Harry’s help.

  The Major sat and they conversed politely for some minutes. Then, finally, the knock came. Juliana’s stomach turned over. ‘Enter!’ bade Major Cooke. The door opened and Harry stepped inside.

  Chapter Twenty

  He saw her immediately, of course. For an instant, his eyes blazed—with what emotion, she could not tell. Then the mask reasserted itself and he stepped forward, all smiles and charm.

  ‘Miss Milford! I had just been seeking you.’

  No, you hadn’t, she thought.

  ‘Oh, had you?’ she asked innocently, her head tilted to one side. ‘I understood from Jem that you were here, with Major Cooke.’

  ‘And here I am! Perhaps Jem misunderstood before.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She smiled frozenly at him, trying to mask her inner turmoil. They both knew what was really happening here. She turned to the Major. ‘Major Cooke, thank you for finding Captain Fanton for me. We shall leave you now, as I know you will have much to do.’

  ‘Oh, no! Pray, Miss Milford, make use of this cabin for your discussion. I wish to have a walk on deck before we berth.’

  Harry looked nonplussed. ‘Sir—never say we have evicted you from your own cabin! Miss Milford can have nothing to say to me that you cannot also hear!’

  Coward! thought Juliana. Her eyes flashed fire at him. He clea
rly took her meaning, but was defeated by the Major’s determination. ‘No, no, I insist, Captain! And I also charge you to chaperon Mrs Milford and her daughter to Brussels. You must accompany them all the way there—for I should not like it to be on my conscience if anything were to befall them.’

  ‘But, sir, I assumed my place would be with you on the journey—we still have much planning to do!’

  ‘I will include you in my daily dispatches. You will likely move faster than us anyway and I shall need you to update Wellington as soon as you get to Brussels.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Harry looked resigned, Juliana noted, but a muscle twitched along his jaw.

  The Major bustled out, asking Juliana to pass all good wishes to Mrs Milford and bidding Harry again to do all he could to ensure the comfort and safety of the two ladies on their journey to Brussels.

  There was a strained silence for a few seconds. Then Juliana ventured, ‘Harry, I wished to be sure you are well.’

  ‘I am perfectly well,’ he confirmed courteously, ‘though it will be dashed inconvenient to leave Major Cooke and rely on dispatches—if you don’t mind my frankness.’ He fidgeted absent-mindedly with a button on his sleeve, frowning at it as if it offended him.

  That was Juliana’s cue. She was expected to reassure him politely. But she had often done the unexpected. Her heart melted as she studied his face, so familiar to her now. Then he looked up and directly at her, and the emptiness in his gaze chilled her to the bone.

  She had to reach him. ‘Harry, these past days, you have seemed...distant. I am sure you have been worrying about what lies ahead, but you do not need to be so cold towards me. I am here to support you, to make things easier for you in whatever way I can.’

  ‘You will make things easier if you end this conversation. Now.’ His tone was hard, implacable. She looked into his blue eyes—those eyes that had once softened with love for her. Now they were cold, hard and empty. He held himself rigid, as if on parade, his face emotionless and his expression ice cold. Desperate to reach him, Juliana placed a hand on his arm.