Juliana

by Bancroft, Blair

  “Thank you,” Juliana said with more emotion than she had intended to reveal. Although she had decided to take Hortense Dunholm’s advice to go on as if nothing had happened, augmented by Longmere’s calm insouciance in face of disaster, she had dreaded this moment, knowing just how condemning some holier-than-thou church ladies could be. Which was all the more reason she had to be here today. Yet beneath the stoic calm Geoffrey’s antics had forced her to perfect, her stomach churned, her heart fluttered. She sank into the chair before her weak knees could send her crumpling to the floor.

  “I believe you know everyone,” Mrs. Biddle said, but was interrupted by a soft cough. A well-dressed woman of middle years eyed her hostess with an imperious gaze. “Prunella, you have not met Lady Rivenhall?”

  “I am not at all certain I wish to meet Lady Rivenhall,” the woman declared. Gasps swept the room. This was plain-speaking indeed.

  Malvinia Biddle blinked, solving the awkwardness by acting as if her difficult guest had not spoken. “Lady Rivenhall, may I present Mrs. Prunella Saville? Prunella, Lady Juliana Rivenhall.” The women exchanged stiff nods.

  When everyone was seated, Portia Osgood spoke up. “I understand that if we are to assist climbing boys, we must perhaps dip our skirts into the dirt, but really, Malvinia, must we consort with someone whose reputation is as tainted as Lady Rivenhall’s?”

  “My dear Portia—”

  Juliana held up her hand, interrupting the vicar’s wife. “Please, Mrs. Biddle, allow me to explain. “Mrs. Osgood, Mrs. Saville . . .” She glanced at each of the other ladies in turn—Mrs. Biddle, Mrs. Dunholm, Mrs. Houghton. It is true I run a school which gives second chances to young women who have fallen on difficult times. It is a charity of which I am very proud. And I am exceedingly glad my husband left me more than ample funds for such a project. In fact, I am so pleased with the success of my academy that I am working on plans to create a different kind of school, one which will enhance the education of young people in service, a school open only on Sunday, giving them a chance to better themselves—”

  “You cannot be serious!” Mrs. Saville cried. “You wish to educate those in service.”

  “A school on Sunday,” Mrs. Biddle questioned. “Surely not. That is the Lord’s day.”

  “Who will serve us if our footmen become clerks, our maids set up as shopkeepers and . . . and schoolmistresses?” Mrs. Osgood demanded.

  Into this outcry, Hortense Dunholm boomed, “What a remarkable idea. You are to be congratulated, Lady Rivenhall.”

  Juliana raised her voice over the comments flying about the room. “Allow me to be blunt, ladies. I have a great deal of money, and I am willing to use it to support charitable causes, yours as well as mine. But any monies I may donate are dependent on my being treated as the widow of a baron should be treated, not as if I were the product of some vile fantasy created from whole cloth.” Dear God, forgive me this slight deviation from reality.

  Malvinia Biddle drew a deep breath, managed a smile that encompassed everyone, and pronounced, “I am certain we all welcome Lady Rivenhall to our midst. Now . . . shall we turn to our agenda for today?”

  With no more than a grumble from Mrs. Osgood and a sour look from Portia Saville, the women did exactly that. That night, Juliana found herself recounting the whole sorry tale to Longmere’s surprisingly sympathetic ear as they returned to Mount Street after a night at the opera. For a moment she basked in his assurance that if his reputation could survive his past, so could hers. And then reality struck.

  “But men are always forgiven!” she cried.

  He dipped his head, whispering in her ear, “To be crass, my dear, money works miracles. And you have far, far more of it than I. You never aspired to the homes of the highest sticklers, and I guarantee all others will forgive you. Besides,” he added, his lips trailing down her cheek, “You are much too beautiful to be shunned. Men control the purse strings, after all. I will drop a hint here and there that they do a better job controlling their wi—”

  “You most certainly will not! Do you know how that sounds? The very worst kind of male domination—”

  He pulled her tight against him, his lips meeting hers, his hands soon roaming over her at will. If the coach had not arrived that moment at Rivenhall House, Juliana could only wonder what might have happened. Clearly, the allegedly reformed Longmere was no tame pussy cat to be used and put aside. But Darius was lost to her, a marquess a high prize on the marriage mart.

  If she could bring herself to the point with Longmere . . .

  If Longmere was doing anything more than attempting to set her up as his mistress . . .

  Somehow Juliana held her dignity in tact, bidding him good-bye at the door. But as she crossed the hall’s marble tiles, the clicking of her heels marked time slipping away, moment by moment. Running out. Soon, very soon, she must make the decision she had avoided since the moment she became a widow. She must put aside her anguished memories, the tidal wave of guilt, and embrace the concept of a husband and children or settle for being nothing more than the role of “aunt” to her students’ children. Dwindling into the life of an spinster with only memories of those guilt-ridden moments with Darius to warm her in her old age.

  The choice should be obvious, but somehow, try as she would, her mind could not break the chains that bound her to the past.

  Could not.

  Could not.

  “Calling ’em ‘gossiping biddies’ is much too good for that lot,” Holly declared, her hard-won accent slipping. “‘Nasty bitches’ is more like.”

  “A-men!” Cecilia pronounced, promptly echoed by Belle and Juliana.

  “It takes but one,” the Baroness Rivenhall said in the voice of one resigned to her fate. “I pirouetted through the fringes of society when I knew the ice was thin beneath my feet. It’s a wonder I survived a full fortnight.”

  “I’ll wager it was that Charlbury cow,” Holly spat out.

  “She is much adored by the ton,” Juliana murmured, determined to be magnanimous.

  “She did it, I know she did it,” Holly reiterated, stubborn as ever.

  Belle, clearly making an effort to turn the topic, asked, “Is your captain still at home, Holly?”

  “He’s two days gone, but I’m smiling as I know this is the end. When he returns, he gets his precious Venturer, which Thomas Blount will captain, while Royce stays home and tends to starting his own shipping business, as well as keeping a close eye on his family.” Holly beamed at her three friends, well pleased with Nick Black’s manipulation of her life.

  “I suppose you’re increasing again,” Cecilia said, unable to hide a wistful look.

  “Dear Lord, I hope not! Time enough to add to the family when Royce returns. You cannot imagine what it’s like to have three babes under the age of two!”

  “The very thought gives me shivers,” Belle declared. “I swear I am going to wait five years for the next.”

  Juliana and Cecilia exchanged a glance which needed no interpretation. Never a word of complaint if they could but suffer from a similar problem.

  And then Cecy blushed, a scarlet flood straight up to the roots of her golden brown hair. And Juliana knew. Fighting the pain that consumed her, she managed to whisper, “You’re increasing. It’s happened at last.”

  Cecilia, green eyes anxious, said, “Truly, I’m not certain yet, but yes, I’ve begun to hope.”

  The other three rushed to her side, offering words of encouragement, wrapping her in hugs of joy. Only later, secure in her bedchamber, did Juliana dissolve into tears. She was the oldest by more than five years, yet . . .

  And when had she, hardened against tears long years ago, turned into a watering pot? Was she suffering from regret for sins that could not be undone? Fear of being alone? Or was her new tendency to tears due to the overwhelming pain of a broken heart, compounded by the knowledge she was solely to blame for her rift with Darius?

  Whatever the reason, tears continued to well up,
tumble down her cheeks. Her breath hitched. Silent grief became sobs, pouring out the pain of years. Horror at what she had done. Sorrow for the marriage that had been so different from what she expected. Sorrow for the children she never had.

  Sorrow for lost love . . .

  The next morning, however, was worse, as with her morning coffee she read of the betrothal of Natalia, Lady Charlbury to Mr. Darius Wolfe.

  Chapter Ten

  Darius. Betrothed. To someone else.

  In some deep pocket of her mind Juliana had known this could happen, but the agony was so acute it took her breath away. She staggered up from the table, ascending to her bedchamber only by clutching the banister, sometimes with both hands. How could he? After all they had been to each other?

  You sent him away. Time and time again, you sent him away.

  She had. But he’d always come back.

  Not this time.

  Not this time.

  Never again.

  Juliana sat motionless on the edge of her cream silk chaise longue, numb. Broken. In denial. Darius and that woman. Lovers, perhaps, but married. Settling to family life, producing children together . . .

  No-o-o!

  Thrice-damned fool, you had your chance.

  Chances. Multiple chances. There was no denying it.

  Juliana canceled her engagements, remaining closeted in her room for a full twenty-four hours, pleading indisposition. Penniman, her butler, ever mindful of her welfare, came to her door and was sent away, as was her housekeeper. And finally, unable to stand the constant hovering of her maid, Juliana barred her faithful servant from her room.

  The following morning, with rain pounding against the panes in what Juliana considered a suitable dirge, she rang for her maid, dressed with care, and even managed a meager breakfast before sitting down at the bureau de dame Geoffrey had bought for her so many years ago and penning a note to the house on Princes Street.

  My dear Cecilia,

  Would you be kind enough to ask Mr. Black if he might spare Fetch to me for an hour or two tomorrow afternoon? The time at his convenience. I plan to inspect three places Mr. Wolfe has suggested as a possible location for our “Sunday school,” and since it was Fetch’s idea, I consider it only right that he should accompany me.

  Your friend, as ever,

  Juliana

  Although Fetch’s company and the time was swiftly arranged, a surprise awaited when Juliana’s carriage pulled up before the house on Princes Street. “My lady,” Fetch said, standing tall beside the barouche, hat in hand, a young girl tucked into his side. “This is Cathy, who wants to learn more about the world. Miz Holly’s given her the time off so she could join us, if you’ll allow?”

  For a moment Juliana could only stare at the slight young girl with surprisingly delicate features, surrounded by long shining sandy brown hair only partially covered by her bonnet, and marked by a pair of wide cornflower blue eyes. that left Juliana with no doubt as to why Fetch had chosen the girl as his “dollymop.” The girl for whom he was responsible, the girl he protected when they lived in the dark alleys of London’s underbelly, before Nick Black discovered the highly intelligent, powerful young gang leader and made a bargain: Fetch to become his apprentice in return for a safe home for the rest of Fetch’s young followers, including his Cathy.

  A heart-wrenching story as Cecy told it, with touches of humor as she recounted the entire household’s efforts to polish a dynamic, fiercely defiant young bully boy into a gentleman fit for a house in Mayfair. It was, she admitted, an on-going effort, but no longer as strenuous as it had been when she first joined Nick Black’s entourage.

  Cathy had turned fifteen, Cecy added, but dear God, the girl looked not a day over twelve. Juliana had not thought there was any aspect of sexuality that could still shock her, but Fetch and Cathy together since . . .

  Surely . . . not that way.

  Whatever had happened in the past, Juliana suspected that with the stern Captain Royce Kincade on one side and the positively terrifying Nick Black on the other, Fetch had mended his ways. But nonetheless, was she aiding and abetting . . .?

  Suddenly aware that the pair of them were staring at her—Fetch’s face taking on an arrogant pride that might have done a duke proud but Cathy looking as if she were about to dissolve into tears—Juliana quickly welcomed them into the barouche. Fortunately, the previous day’s storm seemed to have cleared the air, and as they drove with the top down, Cathy soon lost her stiff formality and openly enjoyed the drive along the edges of the new Regent’s Park., even, it would seem, the areas still under construction. Clearly, the girl had a lively mind and a true interest in the world around her. Juliana began to understand Fetch’s wish to see her education continued beyond basic reading and writing.

  “My man of business has chosen three sites for us to look at,” she explained. “He suggests we begin quietly with just a few students and hope that interest spreads. So naturally, for Cathy’s sake, he has chosen houses in St. John’s Woods. The new canal, I understand, would make it difficult for students to walk beyond the edge of the new park.”

  “True enough,” Fetch agreed. “The only crossings are at Park Road and Lisson Grove.”

  “It’s a grand canal, it is,” Cathy offered. “Sometimes Miz Cecy’d let me use the pony cart to take the twins to watch it being built. A real treat for keepin’ ’em quiet, it was.”

  Juliana laughed. After being so sure she’d never laugh again. But when the coachman pulled up before the first cottage on Darius’s list, the fragility of their scheme rose up to haunt her. “There is something I must tell you,” she said. “We hoped the charitable nature and unique idea of this school would help smooth my path back into society . . .” She paused, vainly searching for words that were not too hurtful. “It has, however, been made clear to me that some employers may oppose this school, that they are actually appalled at the idea of their servants acquiring greater knowledge.”

  Fetch nodded, his face grave. “Nick warned me, my lady. Said I mustn’t expect too much. The nobs want to keep learnin’ to themselves. They fear us becomin’ too uppity, maybe loppin’ off a head or two.”

  “I have to admit it never occurred to me,” Juliana returned quietly. “It seemed such a good idea. No! It is such a good idea. Except . . .” Solemnly, she fixed her gaze on Fetch’s young companion. “Cathy, I need to know if you truly wish to do this, or is this something Fetch wants and you wish to please him?”

  “Oh no, my lady! I mean, I wish to please him, ’course I do, but he’s taken me to a place where the walls are covered in pictures, walls as tall as three or four of me, with paintings from top to bottom and side to side ’til it seems like there’s no end to it. Pretty they all wuz too, but it made me feel small cuz I didn’t know one from t’other. Fetch, he’s throwin’ names at me, and hit don’t mean nuthin’. Just a jumble of sounds. And then he talks about ‘landscape, portrait, old masters, Eye-talian, Dutch’, and that’s near as bad.”

  Cathy gulped a breath and charged on, a waterfall of words tumbling from her mouth. “Went to a big museum too, we did. Saw all them nekkid statues. Fetch says it’s art. Well, mebbe, I thinks, it’s art if the Greeks did it, but you don’t see nuthin’ like that in Hyde Park or Regent’s Park, now do you? Nekkid is nekkid, I say, but Fetch says I gotta learn, and I reckon I do. Like mebbe ’bout Egypt. Fetch says they built up rocks higher than I c’n climb, and all so’s they could bury their kings. Seems a mortal waste to me but shows I need to learn, now don’t it?”

  Cathy clasped her hands tightly in her lap, fixed her big blue eyes on Juliana, and added, “So, yes, my lady. I do want to learn. I want to learn about the places Captain Kincade sails, not just this time but when he was on the China run. I want to learn ’bout oceans and mountains and red Indians and far Japan. I don’t want to spend my life ignorant, my lady. And I thank you ever so kindly for ’elp— Helping me,” she corrected, carefully huffing the h.

  “Then we will
do this,” Juliana said, thrusting back the rush of emotion Cathy’s words incited. “I can see that we must find a way.”

  “Oh, thank you, my lady!” Cathy cried, though her face clouded over a moment later. “I expect there’ll some object to school on Sunday,” she offered after a soft sigh. “Captain Kincade’s granny and aunt have visited a time or two. True evangelicals, they be. Don’t know how Miz Holly puts up with ’em. I reckon they’ll both fly mighty high in the boughs when they hear about a school on Sunday.”

  “All the more reason to start quietly,” Juliana said. “My man of business and I do not always agree, but on this I think he has the right of it. We will select a location, hire a teacher, and see how we go on.” She smiled at the two pairs of anxious blue eyes regarding her from the opposite seat. “Such an excellent idea deserves to be acted upon, do you not agree.”

  “Oh yes, my lady,” Cathy burbled, eyes shining.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Fetch added. Juliana turned away to hide a smile at his valiant attempt to disguise his relief with the blasé look of a wise old man.

  “Would you like to take a turn through Hyde Park before we go home?” Juliana asked. “I daresay there is way across the canal without returning to Regent’s Park?”

  “Lisson Grove will take us there,” Fetch said. “I sometimes go back that way after I’ve been to visit Cathy. A grand sight the nobs are, all fancied up and showing themselves off. The ladies sporting bright colors against the green and the gents all starched and stiff. I’m thinking I’ll catch one of ’em forced to chase his tophat the wind whipped off, but somehow . . .” Fetch caught himself up, shrugged, cool formality slipping in place like a mask as he said, “Yes, my lady, tell your coachman to take Lisson Grove. That’ll take us across the canal with no never mind.”