Juliana had been determined to stand up to her own fears. When she felt anxious about something, her immediate reaction was to meet it directly, to face it down and to defeat it. She knew it led her on occasion to do something others would see as foolhardy or unnecessary. It mattered not. To let fear win, even once, would set her on the wrong path.
Harry challenged her in different ways. With him, she felt irritated, sometimes angry, and occasionally she felt that intense fire for him which had threatened to overwhelm her that day in the parlour. It was an entirely new sensation and she was still not entirely sure what to make of it.
Yes, spending time with Mr Attwood was much less challenging.
Alfred was currently sending glowing looks in Olivia’s direction and had brought a pink flower for her. ‘A rosebud,’ he said, ‘the only flower you should ever wear.’
Olivia blushed and thanked him, while Juliana mused silently that, if someone had told her she should only wear rosebuds, then she would make a point of wearing everything except rosebuds afterwards.
Not to be outdone by the poet, Hubert announced dramatically, ‘Ladies, permit me to tell you that you outshine all the angels in the skies tonight!’
Millicent grimaced at her brother’s extravagance, while Juliana and Charlotte suppressed small smiles. Henrietta responded with exasperation, curtly asking her husband to secure some lemonade for her.
He duly did so and what might have been a difficult display of disharmony was averted. Juliana, determined to enjoy herself, kept her eyes on the actors as the play began. There was no hush in the brightly lit theatre and the assembled guests conversed and commented and laughed throughout the performance.
Juliana’s enjoyment was a little dimmed by Harry, who pulled his chair forward to easier converse with her, and with Millicent, who was to her right. Mr Attwood had taken the seat behind Juliana, next to Harry, and so Juliana pointedly concentrated on him, leaving Harry to focus on Miss Etherington.
The more Millicent simpered and tittered, and told Harry how much she admired his wit, the quieter Juliana became. Mr Attwood diverted her with a string of rational questions and comments, and they maintained a polite discourse during the first interval, while Adam and Alfred sourced refreshments for the ladies.
Lord! thought Juliana. How am I to get through two more hours of this? She pursed her lips and steeled herself for what would surely be the most tedious evening of her life.
Chapter Eleven
Their box was in a prominent position and Juliana took the opportunity during the break to scan around the theatre, enjoying the spectacle of the revellers in the pit—some of whom were using quizzing glasses and opera glasses to better ogle the ladies. Juliana lifted her gaze to the patrons in the boxes opposite. Suddenly she stiffened. ‘Charlotte!’
Charlotte turned towards her. ‘What is it?’
‘Look there! Someone is waving at you!’ Juliana indicated the largest box to the left of the stage. In it was a couple, the lady portly and dripping with jewels. Behind her stood a man, rake-thin and slightly hunched, giving instructions to one of the theatre staff. ‘I think it might be your friends from Glenbrook Hall!’
Charlotte gasped. ‘It is, though they are no friends of mine! Lord, I hope they do not intend to renew the acquaintance!’ She lifted her hand slightly, the smallest of movements, to acknowledge Mrs Wakely’s frantic waving, which was already attracting curious stares from other patrons. It had the desired effect. Mrs Wakely beamed broadly and stopped waving.
A moment later, she signalled to her husband. He looked across to where they sat, before performing an obsequious bow in Charlotte’s general direction. Juliana shuddered, while Charlotte moaned slightly in mortification.
Thankfully, the footmen signalled that the interval was now at an end and Juliana averted her eyes from the Wakelys.
The second show—a farce which was shockingly ribald at times—eventually came to a close and soon the curtains were closed for the second interval. This was the longest break and, throughout the well-lit theatre, people were up and moving, visiting acquaintances in other parts of the building. Mr Attwood excused himself, having discovered an old schoolfriend signalling to him from the upper circle, while Millicent and Hubert, with Henrietta, went to visit one of Mrs Etherington’s friends, to report on their mother’s health. Olivia agreed to walk with Alfred, who looked pleased when she took his arm. Adam and Charlotte sat talking quietly, which left only Juliana and Harry.
He invited her to walk with him to order refreshments and she, reluctantly, complied. She did not expect to enjoy the experience. She had noted before that social settings such as this brought out the worst of his behaviour. He played to his audience, and was particularly frivolous with young ladies. Listening to his flirting with Millicent had set her teeth on edge and she was in no mood to be charitable towards him.
‘Are you enjoying the plays?’ he ventured, as they walked along the flagged corridor behind the boxes.
She eyed him balefully. ‘I would enjoy them more if you were not constantly chattering about nothing!’
‘Oh, come now—not “nothing”, surely! I have been entertaining Miss Etherington with my thoughts on the play and the actors.’
‘I dare say your wit has been most entertaining to Miss Etherington,’ she retorted scathingly, ‘but some people wish to see and hear the plays without such commentary!’
‘I must confess,’ he ventured, ‘I was trying to ensure you could also hear my remarks. I feared you would die of boredom otherwise.’
‘There was no danger of that—I was being most ably entertained by Mr Attwood.’
‘Exactly.’ She glanced at him. Gone was the light-hearted look. Now he was most definitely glowering. She wondered about his sudden change in mood.
‘And what do you mean by that?’
He raised a quizzical eyebrow, all lightness gone from his tone. ‘You are surely not serious about Mr Attwood?’
‘I am sure I do not know what you mean.’
‘A beef-witted clodpole like him would bore you within a week. You would rule him easily and hate him for allowing it.’ His eyes pinned hers. He was not jesting. He was actually daring to comment on her character, her choices and Mr Attwood’s disposition.
‘And what gives you the right to comment on my wishes, or my choice of friends? Mr Attwood seems to me to behave just as he ought.’
‘Precisely—he is much too staid for someone with your passion.’ There was a charged air between them. His expression remained stormy.
Juliana was outraged. How dared he speak so frankly to her! She stopped walking and removed her hand from Harry’s arm. ‘I shall thank you to keep your opinions to yourself!’ she snapped.
‘Then thank me, if that ever should happen,’ he replied, turning to face her. ‘For now, though, you can thank me for this!’
Without any further warning, he bent his head and kissed her.
Shocked, Juliana could only feel the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, the brief scent of his breath, before he was gone again. Not a moment too soon, as some guests appeared round the arc in the corridor. He had timed the kiss to perfection, in the brief instant when they were alone. In that split second, Juliana’s senses swam, her stomach flipped and her nerve endings tingled.
Her heart was pounding with what must be outrage. ‘Thank you? I should thank you for kissing me without my permission?’ Her voice squeaked a little. She cleared her throat. ‘Why on earth would I wish to do such a thing?’
‘Because, my darling Juliana, I wished you to know yourself. The passion within you. A passion that would be smothered by the wrong man. You would end up half-alive.’
‘You have no right to make such remarks—or to kiss me!’ Surprisingly, Juliana felt close to tears. What was happening to her?
He looked closely at her and his gaze softene
d. With a rueful half-smile, he murmured, ‘You must believe me when I tell you I have only your interests at heart.’
They had reached the refreshments area and a footman approached to offer them lemonade, wine or ratafia. With an urbane smile, Harry ordered drinks and asked for them to be delivered to their box.
Juliana was seething and more than a little shaken. Harry had no right to pass comment on her friendships, or her temperament. He had certainly no right to kiss her, uninvited, or to speak to her with such familiarity. My darling Juliana, indeed! Mr Attwood would never do such things, she was certain. Mr Attwood was worth ten of him! He had all the sincerity, the constancy and the integrity that Harry lacked.
No. That was too much. She did not truly question Harry’s integrity. Indeed, she knew he could be as generous and as upright a person as his brother. It was his behaviour that frustrated her. He pretended to be shallow, trivial and vacuous, and lessened himself by doing so. Kissing her fitted with the shallow flirt that he pretended to be—though he should reconsider his seduction technique, she thought wryly, suddenly seeing humour in the situation. Insulting young ladies was not, she concluded, a technique likely to lead to his getting many kisses. She stole a glance at him. He was still glowering, and she fought back a sudden urge to giggle.
She remained resolutely silent as they returned to the box, her heart rate slowly returning to a more normal rhythm. Perhaps, she mused, she was the one who was mistaken about him. Everyone else—including Harry’s family—accepted his behaviour with tolerant amusement. Harry the wit. Harry the flirt. Harry the lively artiste. Was she wrong to believe it was all a trick? Like the actors on the stage, he was playing a part. The role of the happy entertainer. But she had seen another side to him. Knew there was more below the surface, that he cared deeply about certain things. Certain people.
She had seen evidence of his compassionate and caring nature, more than once. At Glenbrook. When Mama was upset. When he put himself out to support others. The shallow charmer that he pretended to be would not do that. She had seen more in him. There was depth there, and integrity. The thought was strangely unsettling and sent strange ripples whirling through her mind and her heart. Resolutely, she stopped her train of thought. She had no more right to assess his character than he had to assess hers. Though at least she had never spoken about her suspicions to anyone. It was not her place.
That kiss, though! Her heart skipped a beat at the memory. As a young lady of quality, she had had only a few opportunities for kissing. Never had a kiss affected her as this one had.
Perhaps it was because it was so unexpected. The other kisses had been shared with her permission, with young men who were respectfully adoring, not argumentative and passionate! She was surprised to find it made a decided difference. If she wasn’t so angry with Harry, she would admit that she would quite like to experience it again.
* * *
Harry was berating himself in his head. He had kissed her, after all his promises to himself. And what a kiss! Never had he needed to kiss a woman so much, and never before had the simple, brief touch of a woman’s lips left him feeling so elated, uncertain and confused at once.
He had been doing so well, allowing their friendship to develop at its own pace, while resisting becoming emotionally involved. In truth, he genuinely enjoyed and valued her company. Yet it was more, so much more than friendship. His mind, heart and body were consumed by her. She terrified him. He had known it would be a mistake to kiss her and had resolved to resist. Until just now, he had been successful in avoiding all temptations to get near her—and there had been many.
Tonight, though, there had been extreme provocation. Her attentions towards Attwood had finally broken his self-control. It had been, he thought grimly, a choice between kissing Juliana, or challenging her dull beau to a duel. On reflection, he thought perhaps, after all, his choice had been the right one.
As they reached the box, Juliana’s heart sank. There, just in front of them, were the Wakelys, approaching the door to their box and entering. She glanced at Harry, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. They reached the door. Harry opened it and motioned for Juliana to enter before him. As she passed, he muttered in her ear, ‘I do hope Mr Attwood has thought of some new witticisms with which to entertain you.’ She glared at him, but said nothing.
They were only a few steps behind the Wakelys, stepping into the box in time to see them go straight to Charlotte, who was seated by herself. Adam had disappeared—he must have left the box while they were out.
Keen to assist her friend, Juliana hurried forward—and heard Mrs Wakely’s opening words.
‘Oh, my dear Lady Shalford! I am so glad to find you without Miss Milford, for I have something to tell you—terrible news about your friend that will shock you!’
Juliana stopped walking. What? Had the Wakelys, somehow, seen Harry kiss her? But, no, that was not possible, as they had come from the opposite direction. She was aware that Harry had followed and was also listening. He laid a hand lightly on her arm. Juliana stood stock still, transfixed by her view of Mr Wakely’s back and Mrs Wakely’s half-profile. Neither were aware of her presence. Charlotte, too, was focused completely on Mrs Wakely and had not yet noticed Juliana and Harry.
Juliana knew she should alert them to the fact she was there, knew she should not be eavesdropping, but somehow, her mind could not function.
‘I regret to be the one to bring you such bad news, but, my dear Lady Shalford, I know you would not wish to support a cuckoo in your nest.’
‘Mrs Wakely, please do not say anything further!’ Charlotte sounded distressed. ‘Juliana is my dear friend and there is nothing you can say that would ever change that!’
‘Ah, you are loyal, my lady, and that is to be admired. But—forgive me—you only know the young woman from school, is that not correct?’
Young woman? thought Juliana. Why does she not say young lady?
Juliana did not hear Charlotte’s response. Mrs Wakely went on. ‘You must brace yourself for bad news, my lady. We have reason to believe that Miss Milford—and I knew the name could not be correct—that Miss Milford is the illegitimate by-blow of some general or other! There! Now what do you think of that?’
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte drew herself up and haughtily replied, ‘I should think it a great deal of nonsense and I am surprised you should repeat it to me.’
Mr Wakely coughed. ‘Permit me,’ he said politely, ‘but I’m afraid there is proof.’
‘What do you mean? What proof?’ Charlotte’s voice trembled a little.
Juliana became aware of Harry’s strong hand clasping her elbow. She glanced towards him. His gaze seared into hers. In that moment, she wanted no one else beside her.
‘As you know, we are not without financial resources. While one does not wish to boast about one’s wealth, at times it can be an asset. An asset indeed.’
Charlotte’s tone became even sharper. ‘I do not understand you, sir. And I do not wish to continue this conversation.’
‘You must hear this, my lady. My investigations have confirmed the General in question has been sending money to Brussels for many years. He has also been sending money to a certain school for young ladies.’ He named the school—the one which Juliana had attended, and where she had met Charlotte.
‘No!’ Juliana was unaware she had spoken out loud until Mr and Mrs Wakely, and Charlotte, turned towards her.
‘Juliana! Oh, my dear!’ Charlotte stood. ‘Mr and Mrs Wakely, please leave us.’
‘Of course, of course!’ Mrs Wakely was all agitation. ‘Only trying to help—thought you should know—wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed...’
‘Mrs Wakely!’ Harry’s tone was forceful. Both Wakelys looked at him, more than a hint of anxiety in Mrs Wakely’s face. ‘There has clearly been some mistake. Miss Milford’s character and family are unassailab
le. You will speak to no one of this.’
‘Of course not!’ said Mrs Wakely. ‘We should not dream of adding to poor Lady Shalford’s pain.’
Mr Wakely agreed, ‘We shall be as silent as the grave, Captain Fanton. After all, rumours are evil things, are they not?’
Harry fixed him with a steely glare. ‘Indeed! And I shall ensure that anyone spreading false rumours about my family—and those close to my family—will be suitably dealt with!’
Mrs Wakely looked severely daunted. ‘Yes, Captain Fanton. Why, we wouldn’t dream of—’
‘Just go!’ he told them.
If it could be accurately said that a thin gentleman and a plump lady could scurry, then Mr and Mrs Wakely scurried out of the box, avoiding Juliana’s eyes.
Juliana was in a daze. Her world—everything she had thought, known and believed about herself—was crashing down around her.
It all made sense! General Hunter’s cryptic comments, Mama’s distress, the way she had avoided coming to England—everything was clear now. Her mother—poor, dear, innocent Mama—had somehow been impregnated by that man. Had he attacked her? Or seduced her? Either way, she was sure General Hunter was to blame for all the ills in Mama’s life.
It had to be true.
Everything she believed, or thought she knew, had changed in an instant. This news was significant—and confirmed Juliana’s worst fears. It meant Juliana herself was a fraud. As a bastard, she should not be socialising in polite society. Should not be on easy terms with a family such as the Fantons. Should not be friends with a lady such as Charlotte. Her mother’s reticence had given Juliana a false sense of who she was, the wrong idea about her place in society.
She became aware that Charlotte, her face pale as paper, was speaking to her. Juliana could not hear the words, could not understand anything. Someone—Harry—brought a chair and gently pressed her to sit. Charlotte placed a cup of ratafia into Juliana’s hands and made her drink.
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