Juliana was once more secure in Harry’s love for her and misunderstandings were, she hoped, at an end. But she could not forget that, on the night before the battle, at the ball, he had told her that he could not marry her. He had said it was due to his own cowardice, but Juliana had seen no signs of self-loathing in him since Waterloo. She knew, though, more than most people, that Harry was a master at hiding his true feelings when he wished to.
She longed to be his wife—to call him ‘Husband’ and share his bed and his life. But, until he declared himself, she could not know if that would ever happen. And now she had a new worry. What if Harry had told Major Cooke that he intended to marry her and Major Cooke had advised against it?
Living in Brussels, in the aftermath of the greatest battle ever fought, it was easy to forget society’s rules. She was not a suitable wife for one who was brother to an earl and a rising star in the Army. That had not changed, no matter how much harmony now existed between her and Harry. He had tried to dismiss her fears, that night at the ball on the eve of battle, but now they had returned in full force.
She was excited that he was up and about, for it would hopefully allow them more opportunities for private speech. However, it also brought closer the time when he would, necessarily, leave them. If he was well enough to be up and about, he would soon move to a hotel or rented lodgings, and from there he would travel to Paris with the Army or home to England.
She hurried to her room and called Sandrine. For some reason, she wished to change her dress, now Harry was up. Sandrine helped her don her new gown—a beautiful muslin in a warm lemon, which seemed to make her skin glow with health. She was unaware that happiness was shining out of her and adding to her natural beauty. Sandrine complimented her as she tidied her hair, but Juliana could not listen properly. She knew only that Harry would admire her in this dress and with her hair well dressed and glossy. She almost skipped her way to the parlour.
He was already there, conversing with her mama, and looking stunning in his regimentals. His handsome face was still slightly tanned from the sunburn of Waterloo, though it had faded significantly during his time indoors. He looked up when she entered, with a gaze of such warmth that her breath caught in her throat.
‘Well!’ murmured Mama, with a twinkle. ‘I find myself definitely de trop, so I shall go and speak to Jem.’ She nodded significantly at Harry, who gave her a speaking look in return. What was this? What had they been discussing?
She was soon to find out. As soon as the door closed behind Mama, Harry turned to her and enfolded her in his arms, and they kissed with all the ferocity of the forced abstinence of the past weeks.
Eventually, they paused for breath. Juliana was seated in his lap—a novel and not unpleasant experience—but, disappointingly, he lifted her and placed her beside him on the sofa.
‘No,’ he said firmly when she protested, ‘I understand, my love. Believe me, I feel the same frustration, but I must speak with you, and I cannot do that when your...er...anatomy is pressing on my lap.’ She gurgled at his description and blushed at the same time.
‘Very well.’ She folded her hands together in her lap and adopted a demure expression. He groaned and she looked at him innocently. ‘What?’
With a visible effort, he restrained himself from embracing her again. His demeanour grew serious.
‘When I spoke to you before the battle, I told you I could not marry you. That you deserved better than a weak coward for a husband.’
‘And I told you,’ she interrupted, ‘it was not your choice.’
He shook his head. ‘It was amazing to me then, and is still impossible for me to understand, why you should be so strong, so brave and so dashed stubborn to want to take me regardless!’
‘You know already I am stubborn,’ she said pertly. ‘Occasionally that will work to your advantage.’ He looked startled, then threw his head back and laughed.
‘You are a diamond!’ he declared. ‘A rare find—and I know you will test me.’
‘We shall test each other,’ she agreed, ‘when we are married.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘It is customary,’ he drawled, ‘for a lady to wait for a proposal from a gentleman.’
‘Well, do get on with it, then! For I have been waiting since Waterloo!’
He smiled at the twinkle in her eyes, then stood. What was he about? Her heart missed a beat when he knelt before her, his demeanour intent.
‘Juliana.’ He took her hands in his and his eyes locked with hers. ‘I have been a coward, a deceiver and a weakling. In my foolishness, I have hurt you. I have little to offer you, save a heart filled with love for you. It seems impossible to think that you might have me, but I will ask nevertheless. Will you marry me?’
‘Gladly! With all my heart!’
His eyes blazed, reflecting the fire in her own soul. They did not kiss—the moment was too intense even for kissing—but instead they clasped each other close, revelling in the sensation of two heartbeats and a shared future. After a long moment they separated enough to look, and smile, then, finally, to enjoy a long, slow kiss.
‘I love you, Juliana.’ It sounded like a vow.
‘And I love you, Harry.’
Finally, she thought, things are how they should be. Finally.
Chapter Twenty-Four
They talked then of his dream at Waterloo, and how he felt healed of the wound to his spirit he had carried since Badajoz. Juliana had never felt closer to him than she did in that moment.
After a while she knew she must speak. She had to know if he was sure about the wisdom of marrying her. ‘Harry, there is something I must ask you.’
He brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, and followed it with a feather-light kiss on her cheek. Resisting the urge to touch the spot where his lips had rested, she instead steeled herself to ask about the thing that was worrying her.
‘Did Major Cooke caution you against marrying me?’
‘No! Of course not! Why would you even think such a thing?’
She explained what she had overheard. He frowned. ‘Yes, I do need to tell you about that conversation. You should know everything, before you finally decide if you will have me.’
‘But I have already decided!’
‘You may change your mind when you have heard this.’
‘Harry, I cannot imagine anything that would make me change my mind. You should trust me, you really should.’
He took a breath. ‘I am resigning from the Army.’
‘What—but why?’ She struggled to take it in. ‘I thought you loved being a soldier. And now you have laid the Badajoz demons to rest—’
‘That is exactly the point. In my dream, there was a part where the woman told me I have “another calling”. I’ve known since I woke up on the battlefield what it is.’ He gripped her hands again. ‘I am meant to be your husband. That is my calling. I am no longer a soldier. That ended at Waterloo. I am glad I played my part, but that part of my life is done. I am at peace with all of it.’
She nodded her head slowly. Yes. She understood.
‘So, will you mourn not being a soldier’s wife? You have the stomach for it—not too many gently bred ladies could do what you did and brave the battlefield.’
‘I had to do it. I had no choice in the matter. I was never going to leave it to chance whether you were found or not.’
He nodded grimly. ‘Now I have recovered it would be easy to forget the danger I was in. It was your voice that called me back. Who knows what might have happened if you had not come?’
She reached out and stroked his face. ‘I am just grateful to have you back with me. And I care not whether you are a soldier, or follow some other profession. Being together is all that matters.’
He was insistent. ‘People will no longer speak of Captain Fanton, but instead you will have to settle for plain The H
onourable Harry Fanton. I do hope he is enough for you.’
This time, she did not reply with words, but pulled him towards her and offered the reassurance of a passionate kiss.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Not far now.’ Her mother had an air of suppressed excitement. Juliana had been aware of it for the past few days—ever since they had arrived back in London—but it seemed to be more pronounced this morning. She had been receiving messages and letters over the past few days that she would tell no one about, and now this mysterious outing!
Mama looked out of the carriage window and Juliana took the opportunity to glance across at Harry, who was seated opposite. He shrugged slightly; he had no idea either. Her gaze lingered. She was now accustomed to seeing him out of uniform and instead clad in the tailored coats and tight-fitting breeches that society favoured; they certainly showed his form to advantage. Catching the direction of her gaze, he returned her look with one full of promise. Juliana squirmed slightly in her seat.
Outside, the streets of London were familiar to her, yet so different from Brussels. They had arrived on Saturday and everyone in the Fanton household had been delirious with happiness at Juliana and Harry’s news.
‘So, in the end, we are sisters!’ laughed Charlotte, hugging Juliana tightly. Juliana’s happiness was complete.
‘Here we are!’ The carriage stopped outside a nondescript building in Coleman Street—the sort of place where a lawyer or banker might have his offices. They all alighted from the Fanton carriage and Harry directed Joseph to walk the horses while they went inside.
Sure enough, the legend outside the door pronounced it to be the place of business of Messrs Mason, Mason and Lowen, Solicitors. Mama had insisted that Juliana and Harry accompany her today. It made a little more sense now. Perhaps she wanted them to advise her on a matter of business.
‘Good morning!’ A cheerful clerk welcomed them and took them directly through to an inner chamber. ‘Mr Mason the Younger is expecting you.’
The younger Mr Mason turned out to be a soberly clad gentleman in his late sixties, with white hair, a lined, amiable face and an air of elderly distraction. He was small and slight, and looked vaguely familiar. Juliana, with a humorous look at Harry, assumed the elder Mr Mason was no longer active in the business. The lawyer welcomed them stiffly and bade them take a seat.
‘What on earth are they doing here?’
Juliana turned towards the voice. There, in all her vulgar glory, was Mrs Wakely. She wore a garish satin gown in an unbecoming shade of puce, topped with a straw hat crowned with three large feathers and a still life of improbable fruit. Her lips and cheeks were rouged and her mouth was open in an expression of outrage.
Her husband sat beside her, as thin and weasel-like as ever, his quizzing glass raised to study them, as if trying to verify that his eyes were not deceiving him.
‘Yes, indeed—this is a private meeting! We did not invite these people and they have no right to be here!’ He was white with anger.
Juliana did not know quite what to make of it. Taking her cue from her mama, who had taken a seat seemingly unperturbed, Juliana also sat down. Harry pulled a chair up and sat beside her.
The Younger Mr Mason seated himself in a large leather chair behind his desk. Taking a set of eye-glasses from his pocket, he balanced them on his nose, then carefully slid a set of papers towards him.
Juliana watched him, fascinated. Seemingly satisfied, he raised his head and addressed them all. ‘Thank you for attending. I have invited you here today to settle the matter of the disposal of the estate of Clarence Milford, Baron Cowlam, including the house and lands in Surrey known as Glenbrook Hall, as well as assets valued at eighty thousand pounds and an income of approximately six thousand pounds per year.’
Juliana’s jaw dropped. What? Milford? Lord Cowlam was a Milford?
Suddenly it all made sense. Her grandfather’s cryptic comments. Her father, John Milford, must have been related to the Baron! Did that mean Mama was entitled to something? But—her thoughts faltered. Her parents had never married, so there could be no legal claim on anything. She stole a glance at her mama, who looked composed.
The lawyer continued. ‘There was one known claimant, Mrs Wakely, but there was also information that the Baron’s son had eloped in his youth, with a general’s daughter, and sired a child.’
Juliana and Harry exchanged glances. Mama remained expressionless.
‘On April the twelfth this year I received a letter from a Mrs Campbell, who is the housekeeper at Glenbrook Hall.’
There were gasps from the Wakelys. ‘Mrs Campbell!’ spluttered Mrs Wakely. ‘If she has betrayed us, she shall be our housekeeper no longer.’
The lawyer continued, inexorably. ‘She raised the question that the rumours of John Milford fathering a child might be true and that that child might be Miss Milford.’ He nodded at Juliana.
Mama spoke up. ‘My daughter is now Mrs Fanton.’
Mr Mason looked at Harry keenly. ‘A recent event, I take it?’
‘We were married in Brussels last week,’ confirmed Harry. Juliana felt a distinct tingle as he said the words and threw him an impish look. It was still such a thrill to know they were actually married!
‘Hrrmmph!’ opined the lawyer, dismissing this news as being of no consequence. ‘Following discreet enquiries, I was able to establish that Mrs Milford was likely the daughter of General Hunter.’
Harry and Juliana exchanged glances—the bank! The younger Mr Mason must have also paid the informant for details of General Hunter’s financial affairs!
The lawyer continued, his voice sure and calm. ‘I therefore contacted Mrs Milford—’
‘She is not entitled to use that name!’ snarled Mr Wakely. ‘Why, she was nothing more than Jack Milford’s ladybird!’
Harry was out of his seat and leaning into Mr Wakely’s face in an instant. ‘You will keep a civil tongue in your head, or you will answer to me!’ he enunciated menacingly. Wakely shrank back. ‘Now—apologise to Mrs Milford!’
Sullenly, Mr Wakely mumbled an insincere apology. Mama serenely waved a hand, as if the Wakelys barely intruded on her consciousness.
Quite as if the interruption had not occurred, the lawyer continued. ‘I contacted Mrs Milford, who informed me that John Milford, known as Jack, only son of Lord Cowlam, was indeed the father of her child—’ he indicated Juliana ‘—Mrs Fanton.’
Mr Wakely intervened. ‘We are willing to accept this possibility, given that...er... Mrs Fanton looks extremely like her—like John Milford. However, that means nothing, since she was simply his by-blow—Er... I mean she was his base-born side-slip, as it were.’
Juliana closed her eyes in anguish. The shame! Harry stirred beside her and she felt her hand enveloped in his large, reassuring one. She squeezed his hand gratefully. She knew he did not care that she was illegitimate, but it was still hurtful to be described using such distressing language.
‘So you acknowledge that Mrs Fanton is John Milford’s natural daughter?’ The lawyer looked intently at Mr Wakely, whose eyes narrowed.
‘We acknowledge nothing! Hush, my love.’ Mrs Wakely subsided. ‘However, we are generous people.’ He sent a sickly smile in Juliana’s direction. ‘We would be willing to gift a small sum on Mrs Fanton—say, a thousand pounds—as a full settlement against any claims she might make against the estate.’
Juliana was outraged. ‘I thank you, but I have no need of a gift from you!’ How dared he!
‘I then considered,’ uttered the lawyer, evenly, ‘the question of a marriage between John Milford and Mrs Milford.’
‘Stop calling her that!’ muttered Mrs Wakely, unable to hold her tongue.
He continued as if she had not spoken. ‘With Mrs Campbell, I visited Mrs Milford in the Fanton town house on the twenty-fourth of April. With Mrs Campbell’s assistance,
I confirmed her identity as Elizabeth Hunter—the woman who was believed to have eloped with John Milford in 1793.’
Juliana tightened her grip on Harry’s hand. Poor Mama!
‘Mrs Milford confirmed that, although John Milford had attempted to arrange a church wedding before leaving England, this had proved impossible. They therefore travelled to Brussels, where he again attempted to marry Mrs Milford.’
Juliana sat up straighter. She had not known this!
‘Mrs Milford informed me that, due to the actions of the French Republic in banning church weddings by non-juror priests, the couple had had to settle for a civil wedding in the Town Hall at Brussels.’
Juliana’s mother turned to her. ‘John always said we would be married properly, in a church, when he returned. But he died before we could organise it. I never felt truly married, because we had not made our vows before God.’
The lawyer continued, smoothly. ‘That’s as may be. But I am concerned about matters of law, not matters of religious faith.’
Harry, quick to the mark, saw the logic. ‘So are you saying the marriage was legally valid?’
The lawyer nodded. ‘I am, if it can be proved that such a marriage took place.’
Harry looked as astounded as Juliana felt.
The Wakelys exploded in an inarticulate protest, the gist of which was that a heathen foreign marriage could not possibly be held to be a true legal marriage and it was all a hum, and a plot to steal their inheritance. Mr Mason quieted them by raising a hand and enunciating clearly, ‘That is the law. You may seek the counsel of a hundred lawyers and they will all say the same. But—’ he eyed Mrs Milford keenly ‘—I have not yet had proof that this marriage took place.’
Mama opened her reticule and withdrew three documents, which she silently handed to the lawyer.
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