Later, he lay sleepless for a long time while he thought of Juliana’s charms, and of all he must accomplish for her.
Once, Juliana had asked him, “After you slay my dragons will you not claim your reward?”
During the hour after midnight, he fell asleep with a smile of hopeful anticipation curving his lips.
Chapter Fourteen
Gervaise stood patiently in Symonds, Supplier of Superior Hose, as Barbara, Juliana, and Aphra ransacked the selection of stockings. A lackey held their purchases, his face unmoved as Aphra reached for a pair in vivid scarlet.
To Juliana’s amusement, Barbara immediately went into battle. “Scarlet stockings! They are more suitable for a married lady than a modest maid.”
Aphra pouted before tugging Gervaise’s arm. He looked away from the gentlemen’s stockings, piled on the counter before him, to eye his little sister, who had reached London on the day after Juliana’s arrival.
“Gervaise, you told me to purchase whatever catches my fancy,” Aphra protested.
Barbara frowned. “If you said that, Gervaise, you never said a more foolish thing.”
Gervaise put down a pair of gentleman’s stockings in finest cream silk. He shook his head at Aphra. “You must be guided by Barbara.”
His younger sister opened her mouth to protest, but before she could do so, her older sister held up her hand. “Enough! I wish to hear no more about either scarlet stockings or a pet monkey.” She frowned. “Why any Christian lady should want such a muck-making creature for a pet, I know not. As for the gaudy necklace you wanted, Aphra, ’pon my word, have you no sense? I am certain Gervaise does not want to see you tricked out in paste jewellery when he can afford pearls, coral, and turquoise—all of which are suitable for a young girl.”
Aware of Gervaise’s twitching lips, Juliana restrained a chuckle, while Barbara, as conscious as ever of her appearance, adjusted her long under-sleeves into place. Yet, in spite of Barbara’s frivolity, Juliana appreciated not only her excellent taste but also that she fulfilled her duties as a chaperone to perfection.
Barbara cocked her head. “Stop pouting, Aphra!”
Juliana smiled at the girl. Aphra jerked her head like a restive filly. When she was launched in society, Gervaise and Barbara would not find her easy to steer through various pitfalls.
“Aphra,” Juliana began, “please come and help me to choose the dolls for Isabella and Margaret. Isabella told me she wants ‘a baby’ with a feather head dress and Margaret piped up, saying she would like one with a fan and a necklace.”
“How kind you are,” Barbara said.
“To the contrary,” Juliana demurred, conscious of Gervaise smiling at her with obvious approval, “it is you who are all kindness. Have you not agreed to chaperone me? Now, as I was about to say, I must not neglect James. Do you think he would like this wooden horse to play with in the park? Look, its mane is of real horse-hair.” She sighed, wondering what she should buy for Henrietta to keep for her until the happy day when they were reunited.
More often than not, she felt as though she took part in a play, responding to cues mechanically, while she constantly scanned her surroundings in the hope of glimpsing her sister, her anxiety and sorrow an unwanted burden.
Several hours later, the church bells pealed the hour of three. Well-pleased with their purchases, her hand on Gervaise’s arm, Juliana and his sisters made their way through the crowds back to their coach.
Outside a draper’s booth, Juliana saw a child with a stout woman. Soft brown curls, dainty hands, the right height, perhaps the little girl was Henrietta. Juliana removed her hand from Gervaise’s arm and gathered her skirts in her hands to raise them above her ankles. The woman and child turned and then walked away from her. Oh no, she must not lose sight of them. Followed by Gervaise, Juliana ran as fast as she could, hampered by horsehair pads, her gown, and petticoat. The child pointed at something. She was not Henrietta. Juliana came to an abrupt halt.
“My poor girl,” Gervaise said. “Did you think the child was your sister?”
She nodded, her sorrow making it impossible to speak.
“Come,” Gervaise said, “Barbara and Aphra are waiting for us.”
“Juliana,” Barbara scolded when they rejoined her. “Making a spectacle of yourself like that. What were you thinking of?”
“I beg your pardon, I thought I saw someone I know,” Juliana apologised, unable to look at anyone for fear tears would spill from her eyes.
“Come,” Gervaise repeated, “it is time to return home,” he concluded and escorted them to his coach.
* * * *
“Juliana, Aphra, do not forget my mantua maker will call on us after dinner,” Barbara reminded them once they were seated inside the coach. “To be sure, I would prefer to walk in The Mall at that hour, but until both of you are suitably gowned, I will forgo the pleasure. By the way, Juliana, I hope your lilac-coloured silk gown and petticoat are ready. Lud, how elegant you will look in Honiton lace and pearls. I can scarce wait for Gervaise to see you wearing them.”
Unexpectedly shy at the thought of him seeing her dressed in her new clothes, Juliana looked down at her lap.
“I have no doubt Gervaise will approve of your new clothes, Juliana,” Aphra said with laughter in her voice.
Bewildered, Juliana looked up. “What do you mean?”
Aphra grinned, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Whether my brother knows it or not, even the servants can see he is besotted with you.”
Juliana saw nothing of the ardent lover in Gervaise, but she hoped desperately that Aphra was right. She frowned. Once or twice, had she merely imagined he desired her as passionately as she desired him? Puzzled, she shook her head. Of what use was it to speculate? Pointless to say, she did not know how to repay him if they could not prove she was the rightful mistress of Riverside. Anyway, Barbara knew naught about their suspicions concerning William.
* * * *
A week after her visit to the New Exchange with Aphra and Juliana, Barbara cornered her husband in the book room where he sat enjoying a glass of wine with Gervaise.
“Juliana and my sister still need many more clothes as well as other accoutrements. For the moment, they have sufficient to take their place in fashionable society. So I have accepted an invitation to the Duchess of Plimpton’s musical evening, to which I expect you and Gervaise will escort us.”
Ralph rolled his eyes. “Gad, I have no taste for music.”
“My lord, you are monstrous unkind.” Barbara dabbed her eyes with a wisp of a handkerchief. She frowned at her brother. “Gervaise, do not dare say you will disoblige me.”
Gervaise smiled. “It will be my pleasure to accompany you.”
Ralph stroked his scar with his forefinger. “Traitor,” he murmured to Gervaise.
Primrose yellow ribbons and dainty lace frills fluttering, Barbara swooped on Ralph to kiss his cheek. “You shall wear your suit of figured silver silk. It will complement my new grey and white striped gown edged with the silver lace.”
* * * *
When Juliana entered the elegant red and gold salon at Plimpton House, she caught her breath when she saw William and Sophia with Ravenstock.
Her half-brother and his wife sat in front of the wooden dais, where fashionably dressed musicians with neat, white powdered wigs waited in readiness to play the first piece.
At the precise moment when Lord Ravenstock bowed and kissed Sophia’s hand, Juliana clutched Gervaise’s sleeve. He glanced at her, his narrow nostrils flaring. She knew him well enough to know it signified his extreme displeasure. She waited for him to speak. “Ah, the Lords Kemp and Ravenstock with, one presumes, Lady Kemp,” he said. “Juliana, please release your grip on my coat sleeve. I fear you will crease it and then that bold young valet of mine will scold me without mercy.”
She clutched his sleeve tighter.
Gervaise patted her hand. “No need to be afraid, Ralph and I are here to protect you,” he said quiet
ly.
Anger threatened to consume Juliana. For the first time, she understood rage seated itself, not in the heart or mind, but in the gut. “Frightened!” she exclaimed. “I am no longer scared of those contemptible— Oh, I cannot think of words bad enough to describe them. I am so furious that I want them removed from the face of the earth.”
Gervaise tapped her hand with his forefinger. “Your spirit is magnificent, but I beg you to control yourself. It would not become you to make a scene worthy of an actress at the Theatre Royal.”
He was right. She vented her fury by tapping her foot.
“Odsbodikins, Mistress Kemp,” said a plump young man, whose corsets creaked when he bowed, “how pleasing it is to see you back in town. You outshine even the most brilliant star in the firmament.”
Juliana curtsied and smiled. She was glad of the chance to pretend to be riveted by compliments. Yet of what real significance were her pearls—those small treasures from Neptune’s kingdom—when compared to her grief? While she dimpled at her old friend, her heart bled for Henrietta. “Mr Palmer, how kind you are,” she said to the fop, who had a kind heart and devoted his attentions to her precisely because, she suspected, there was no danger of her returning them.
In accordance with the fashion when greeting a lady, Mr Palmer kissed the air between their mouths. Thanks to providence, unlike some gentlemen, he was not impertinent enough to kiss her lips.
Gervaise stared fixedly at Mr Palmer through his eyeglass. “Shall we take our seats?” he asked.
As though the fresh-faced young dandy was an unpleasant specimen amongst an apothecary’s collection of curiosities, Gervaise stared fixedly at Mr Palmer through the eyeglass he affected. The unfortunate young gentleman blenched.
“Shall we take our seats?” Gervaise repeated.
Later, she could not remember which pieces the orchestra played. All her thoughts were of Henrietta, with whom she yearned to be reunited.
“Sink me, Juliana,” Gervaise said when the entertainment ended, “judging by the way you closed your eyes throughout each recital, it seems you love music, though I must say it is shabby of Her Grace not to provide card tables for those of us who do not share your appreciation.”
She opened her eyes and would have spoken if Gervaise had not continued in an unaccountably sharp tone. “Come and partake of a glass of wine.” They followed Ralph, who tugged the curls of his wig down over his scar while strolling with Barbara and Aphra into the adjoining salon.
Mr Palmer minced up to Juliana. He flourished his handkerchief in the prescribed manner and then executed a deep bow. After Mr Palmer straightened, he smiled. “Mistress Kemp, may I have the honour of partaking refreshments with you?”
“The lady, sir, is with me,” Gervaise said, forestalling her intended refusal.
“On another occasion, if you permit me the pleasure, Mistress Kemp,” Mr Palmer said and hastily withdrew from their vicinity.
“Well, Juliana,” Gervaise began, “I suppose I cannot blame any of your beaux for being anxious to speak to you.”
She glanced at him sideways. Could Gervaise seriously be jealous of Mr Palmer, a plump young man whom she had once seen tricked out in Hyde Park, with a large fur muff hanging to his knees from a ribbon. She suppressed a grin. Most likely Mr Palmer was the type of man to take pleasure in raucous accusations of “you French dog,” an insult which implied a dandy of the highest merit; for in spite of the war, French fashion was still considered to be superior to any other.
“You are uncommon quiet,” Gervaise observed.
“’Tis true I had many suitors, though I know not which one of them Father favoured,” she replied, deliberately demure.
To her amusement, Gervaise could not have looked more surprised if a playful puppy nipped him and drew blood.
“Juliana, I trust you are not a flirt,” he snapped, his voice louder than necessary for her to hear it above the noise of polite society’s conversation.
Her satisfaction increased. “Gervaise, I hope you do not intend to stand at my side glowering while we partake of refreshments,” she replied, unable to resist the temptation to tease him.
“Glower! I never glower.” He scowled and abandoned her to Barbara’s care before turning to an attractive lady with a diamond tiara on her head and gowned in flag iris blue satin.
Mr Palmer, who had apparently been waiting for such an opportunity, hurried to her side. “Some wine, Mistress Kemp?”
“Thank you, sir.”
Juliana wondered who “Mistress Flag Iris” was. If only Gervaise was not standing with his back to her. She wanted to see his face while he conversed with the fair-haired lady. Indeed, she thought, with unchristian but unrepentant waspishness, the lady should have better sense than to wear that colour, which neither suited her hair or complexion.
Before Mr Palmer returned with a glass of wine, William approached with Sophia and Lord Ravenstock. “Viscount, I have the pleasure to present you to my sister, Mistress Kemp,” William said without preamble, and without her permission.
“Half-sister,” Juliana snapped, looking at Barbara who stood at a little distance. “And there is no need to introduce us. As you well know, unless your memory is failing you, his lordship and I met at Riverside House after Father’s death.” Aware of curious eyes watching them and observant of the etiquette drilled into her since childhood, Juliana curtsied to Ravenstock. When she rose, she assessed his lordship. Could she bring herself to marry him for Henrietta’s sake? She shivered. Once more, she reassured herself with the thought that not even William would carry out his implied threat to murder a child.
She gazed at the Viscount, who not only towered above most people in the room but also presented an angelic appearance in cream and gold.
Instead of greeting her by planting a kiss on her reluctant mouth, his lordship raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back of it.
As though they were poisonous insects, she wanted to dash aside the flaxen curls of his wig which brushed her arm.
Ravenstock clasped her hand tighter. “Indeed, it has long been m’desire to encounter you again,” he said in his deep, melodic voice.
The buzz of conversation ceased. Conscious of everyone looking at them, she could not help gazing at the viscount, whose cheeks were delicately tinted blush-rose pink, giving colour to his milk white complexion. Perhaps marriage to him would not be as bad as she imagined. To be successful, a womaniser must know how to please her sex, and more than likely, Ravenstock was gentleman enough to treat his wife with respect.
The silence became embarrassing. Had William—who should protect her instead of introducing her to the reprobate—shocked the other guests? Under no circumstances could she imagine Gervaise introducing Aphra to such a man.
Gervaise came to her side. He stood so close that his arm touched hers. She exhaled, confident of his support.
“Now you have met the lady, Ravenstock, I trust your desire is satisfied,” Gervaise said, his tone as hostile as the expression in his eyes.
Ravenstock raised a pencilled eyebrow. Twin flames burned in the depths of his aquamarine eyes. “M’ lord earl, methinks ’twould be hard to be content with such a brief encounter with so great a beauty.”
Juliana noted his full pink lips which pouted like a sulky cherub’s. Every feature of the earl’s heavenly countenance conspired to belie his shocking reputation.
She glanced at Gervaise, whose eyes had darkened.
Barbara tapped Juliana’s arm with her fan. “Forgive me, my love, an old friend kept me from you.” Her expression deliberately haughty, she glanced at Ravenstock before turning her back to him. “Juliana, the duchess wishes to speak with you.” Barbara smoothed the lace at her sister’s neckline. “Follow us, Aphra. I shall introduce you to Her Grace.”
Again, conversation hummed through the salon. Juliana narrowed her eyes. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to give rein to her fury. She would derive the uttermost satisfaction
from raging at William, telling him he should be ashamed of not only introducing her to Ravenstock but also of his odious expectations that she should marry the man. Unfortunately, both the time and place were inappropriate to loose her fury.
“Lady Barbara, you cannot be cruel enough to deny us the pleasure of Juliana’s company,” said Sophia, who stood as firm as a sharp rock at William’s side.
Barbara’s pretty laugh rang out. “Her Grace’s wish is tantamount to Royalty’s. It must be obeyed. Come Juliana, come Aphra,” she urged before she addressed William and Sophia again. “My dear Lady Kemp, your sister-by-law has been kind enough to join my household. Please permit me to say it is fortunate. If you had the dressing of my protégée, she would be a sorry spectacle.”
Sophia gasped. Scarlet flooded her cheeks.
“Your mantua maker should advise you that your face is too sallow for bright yellow, my lady,” Barbara said, lowering her voice. “The palest apricot would suit you and maybe pale green.” Barbara paused for a moment’s intense inspection of her quarry. “No, with your yellow-tinged complexion, any shade of green might make you look bilious. And, while we speak of fashion, may I remark that a false bosom would greatly improve your appearance? My dear, Lady Kemp, you look quite ill, positively jaundiced. Perhaps the apricot would not flatter your complexion. You should eat more, and your husband should eat less. Oh, please forgive me if you think I am impertinent. I assure you I have your welfare at heart.”
In lieu of a parting shot at Sophia, Barbara tapped William’s arm with her ivory fan. “As for you, my lord, pray be good enough to allow me to say puce is not a suitable colour for a gentleman with a blotched complexion.”
“A moment, Lady Barbara,” Viscount Ravenstock said with an appreciative gleam in his eyes, “I trust you approve of my clothes.”
Barbara fluttered her fan. “It is not for me to question your lordship’s taste.”
Far Beyond Rubies Page 19
