With sudden forwardness, she pulled Rodney from the dance floor to the opposite end of the ballroom where she became abruptly conscious of more curious glances in their direction. Around the edge of the dance floor, hushed conversations were hidden behind feather fans that opened and closed and swished like so many birds.
With a jolt, Juliette realized they were gossiping about her, criticizing her, no doubt, for appearing, and for dancing with a man she hardly knew for an entire evening. She felt as if they had turned a spotlight on her, and cut with embarrassment and wanting to escape, she said to Rodney, "Let's not stand here. It's very hot. Walk me out into the garden."
Rodney's eyebrows raised subtly in question. Was she actually flirting with him? Was she even aware of the indiscretion she was inviting by going into the moonlit garden alone?
He studied her wide eyes, finding them guileless, but strained.
He took one of her hands closely in his then, and Juliette walked at his side through the wide-flung doors into the carefully manicured gardens and down a path until they were beyond the illumination of the ballroom. They paused there, and raising her hand, he kissed it.
"Juliette," he said, caressing each syllable. "I've always liked the name. But you are more lovely than any name could fully describe."
Automatically, Juliette's eyes darted back to the doors, expecting Lady Pottersbee's condemning countenance to appear. Taking what Rodney said as a gallantry, she replied politely, "You are so nice to think so."
Rodney squeezed her hand again, an impetuous emotion captivating him, Usually he found girls lacking any qualities to attract him. Blondes in particular had always seemed too washed out, too pale for his taste. But Juliette was as brilliant as a jewel-her complexion glowed with the warmth of ripe peaches . . . and her eyes, touched by violet in the deep blue pansy-soft centers, seemed enormous, and full of a certain innocence that made him feel manly and more protective than ever before. He leaned nearer.
"You must let me kiss you," he whispered.
The word "kiss" brought Juliette sharply to earth, making her worries concerning Lady Pottersbee and the others dissolve before a wave of apprehension.
She stepped backward. Tonight had been a fairy tale, a dream, but suddenly she felt like Cinderella, and the clock had just struck twelve.
I never should have come; she thought silently shaking her head and backing away-never should have borrowed Millie's dress. I don't belong here, I've never belonged here!
Suddenly, she imagined everyone laughing at her and suppressed an urge to pick up her dress and run out the garden gates and so far away she would never have to face any of them again. But of course that was impossible. She had come and must somehow endure what remained of the evening and do nothing to disgrace herself further.
"I didn't mean to frighten you with my boldness, Miss Clayton," Rodney said noticing her agitation.
"I don't feel frightened of you. It's that. . . . Look!" she began in Millie's forthright way. "I'm not what you think I am. I'm a Fayton girl, but only because my father, who was a soldier, wrote in his will that I should attend here. He left everything he owned to pay for it. But it's not enough, and now I work in the kitchen to make up for what I can't pay. If I weren't wearing these gloves," she waved a hand in his face, "you could see for yourself I'm not a lady. I have absolutely no business being at this party. It's for girls with lots of money whose families want them to marry men with titles, and not for girls like me!"
Juliette dropped her head, reminding Rodney of a flower beaten down by rain. "Now I'm sure you're sorry you asked if I liked champagne in the first place." Her hands fidgeted uncontrollably.
And when he didn't answer, she turned to flee.
Immediately his hand enclosed her arm. "Don't go!"
"No! Don't you see!" she said. But Rodney's hand was insistent as he pulled her back.
So it was true! He thought. She was just as unspoiled as she seemed. Impossible to think of her in a kitchen. No, her hands were never made for scouring pans and serving meals. It couldn't be. No one, not even the infamous Lady Pottersbee, could be so heartless. Yet Juliette's eyes, like clear stars, told him it was exactly as she said.
She raised her chin. "And don't you dare feel sorry for me," she commanded. "I can see that you do, and I loathe pity. My father may not have been titled, but he was a wonderful man. I only wish he were alive and I could be with him rather than in this horrible place. Now, please! I must got"
Rodney's hand did not give way. "But I don't pity you. In fact I think you are, well . . . rather marvelous, so different from those stiff-necked girls. I could never abide any of them, no matter how much I'm supposed to marry for the family." He looked hard into her rare and wonderful face. "Juliette," he said aloud. And feeling suddenly overcome by the nearness of her, by the sculptured line of her throat, her warm sweet smell, the high rounded curve of her breasts, and squeezing her small hand again, he whispered, "Marry me."
Chapter 17
"Marry you!" Juliette repeated incredulously. "But that's impossible. You must listen to me." Her voice trailed off in a whisper as another couple, arm in arm, strolled past. The dancing had stopped and the garden filled with chatting, laughing couples. "I have no parents," Juliette continued low and urgent. "In fact, no one at all. I'm an orphan without a dowry . . . without anything! If you married me your parents would disinherit you."
"I don't care." Rodney's voice was determined. "We would be together and you would be my wife! I know eventually they would accept you. Anyway, they can't disinherit me. Let's go tonight-right now. We can run away."
Juliette's violet eyes filled with a snapping light. "You're making fun of me," she said, trying to pull her hand out of his too-tight grasp. "One of the other girls told you to do this!"
He stared at her, letting a moment pass. "No. Can't you see I'm serious? Are you so naive that you don't realize how beautiful, how completely desirable you are? Would I be more convincing if I dropped to one knee? I believe it is traditional." He smiled, starting to lower himself. "Of course everyone will see me, and it will cause a scandal, and then you will have to marry me."
"No, please!" Juliette dipped to pull him up to his feet as she glanced warily behind her.
"It's impossible. Can't you understand? I don't want to get married, not to anyone. You've been very kind, but if you mention it again I'll ... I'll be forced to leave the ball."
Rodney could see by the steadiness of her eyes and the firm set of her delicate jaw that she meant it. His face lost its enthusiasm. He bowed gracefully as before. "Then please accept my apologies, Miss Clayton," he said in a solemn voice. "I'm sorry to upset you with my impetuosity. I won't be so bold again. If you could forgive me perhaps, you could accept me as your friend."
Rodney's politeness was winning, and Juliette couldn't help but be charmed. She nodded then with a laugh.
"It's a bargain, then?" Rodney asked.
"Of course. Truly I'm in need of friends and I think you are very kind to want to be mine:'
He smiled. "Then it's settled." And taking her hand, he kissed her slender gloved fingers again before taking her arm and leading her back to the glitter and light of the ballroom.
"Well, all I can tell you is that I wish it had been me," said Millie the next morning after Juliette confided the events of the previous night. "I'd be Lady Rodney Keiths this morning, and let the devil take his mother. She is said to be a terror. But if her son was already married, what could she do? He was right when he told you he wouldn't be disinherited. He's her only son. And married to him, everything would be settled and I wouldn't have the prospect of meeting the Duke of Hutchen next week, who everyone says is rotund, over forty, and drinks."
Juliette frowned, and turning back to the large copper kettle, began stirring the vegetable soup, the fragrant steam rising around her. "I thought of all people, Millie, you would understand. You have always been so independent. Don't you see? I couldn't bear to cause such a sca
ndal."
She looked down into the cauldron, at the vortex of the swirling broth. "Anyway, I don't love him."
Millie looked stunned. "Love? Love is a luxury. Haven't I been telling you? He is young, handsome, and titled, and he doesn't have any oddities-at least that people gossip about. Doesn't that satisfy you?"
"No! I simply won't be a source of humiliation for anyone. I won't marry at all. No, never! I'll get a position in a shop, and when I earn enough money, then ... well, then perhaps I'll leave London."
"Well, maybe there's no sense in discussing it now," Millie said, seeing it was useless to argue with Juliette, but determined to make her friend see reason before it was too late. "Just think about what I've said, and later we'll talk again."
As it turned out, Rodney Keiths was determined, too. Every week he came to see Juliette Clayton, and Juliette was relieved that after the first burst of gossip following the ball, everyone seemed to accept her relationship with the young lord, and Lady Pottersbee even unbent to whisper to her the advantages of such a match and no longer complained about her "lack of funds" and instead hinted that when she was a rich matron, she should not forget Miss Fayton's and all that had been done for her and how "in need" the school was of "support."
Although she always enjoyed Rodney's company, as the weeks went by, Juliette was aware of a subtle uncomfortableness growing between them. Her time was running out. Soon he would demand a decision, and she didn't know what to say. Certainly she was fond of him, but shouldn't she feel something else?
And as the weeks passed, she still felt confused, often tossing in her bed at night and wondering if she really was in love with Rodney, and if, perhaps, she should simply do as Millie kept insisting, and marry him.
"What are you going to do?" her friend would sometimes ask. "Do you really think you'll like working for a pittance in a ladies shop? And what matron would hire you to watch her children and have all your prettiness under her husband's nose? Nonsense. Of course it's impossible! Why won't you see you have no choice?"
To this Juliette turned a silent shoulder. Somehow it would work out, she just knew it. But every day graduation grew nearer, and Rodney became more persistent, his heart written on his face as he swore to love her forever and do anything to make her happy. And then one day he kissed her.
It had happened so quickly, so spontaneously, that it took them both by surprise. They were riding together one afternoon when Rodney told her in the tone of a national calamity that he would be going away for a few days to his family's estate at Elderwood. His mother was celebrating her birthday, and it would be several days before he could gracefully return.
They halted their horses and sat side by side. Then he reached and took both her hands in his, and abruptly, Juliette realized her time had run out even before he said, "And while I'm gone, Juliette, I want you to think about my proposal and see if . . . if you can find it in your heart to love me, even if just a little. I don't ask for more. They say first comes marriage and then love follows. I know we would be so happy."
Of its own violation his horse sidestepped, and suddenly Rodney found himself beside her, her riding skirt brushing his breeches, her fathomless eyes wide and innocent and looking into his. Her lips were close . . . so close . . . it seemed the most natural . . . the easiest thing to do, and he kissed her.
Juliette didn't know what to expect. As an orphan she had been given little affection, and had learned to do without it. Still, she let his lips touch hers, curious to find out what it was like. But the caress matched none of the wild, heart-throbbing sensations described by the other girls, and instead, it was a vague, overly wet, and somehow coldly stiff gesture that left her feeling embarrassed as she pulled away, hardly aware of his stammered apology.
There was a silence then that grew horribly long. She didn't know what to say and, apparently, he didn't either, since after that their eyes never met again as, in a strange state of agony, they rode wordlessly back to Miss Fayton's.
It was all so flat and disappointing, Juliette thought later. And she knew now that since she had allowed this intimacy, he would become even bolder and more persistent. Oh! If only she could make up her mind!
But then one day-less than a week afterward, and only hours before she was to see Rodney again, a letter was delivered for her.
At first she thought it must be some mistake. But the - long official-looking envelope was clearly addressed Miss Juliette Clayton, and so, with curious hands, she opened it and read.
May 2, 1891
Dear Miss Clayton:
I am writing to inform you of the death of your uncle, Sir Henry Thorpe, your mother's eldest brother.
It was Sir Henry's wish that you should inherit his full estate in the mount of £ 160,000 annually on the condition you change your surname from Clayton to Thorpe, your mother's maiden name.
I am prepared to effect this change for you legally upon receiving your permission. You may contact me at my office, 12 Dorchester Way, London, England
.
Your servant,
M. William Bond Solicitor
Chapter 18
The offices of Mr. William Bond were located near the Bank of London and Throgmorton Street
on the third floor of a gray stone building built in the fifteenth century by Henry VII. It was a gloomy building, but in spite of its exterior, Mr. Bond's- office was warm and tastefully paneled with oak and dotted by brown-toned carpets on shiny wooden floors.
Juliette had worn her best shirtwaist blouse with cuffed sleeves, and an ivory skirt that was belted at the waist, and she noticed that when Mr. Bond greeted her with a smile, his eyes made no secret of their scrutiny.
She exchanged formal pleasantries with him before allowing herself to be seated in one of the heavy leather chairs. From under the brim of her simple hat, she frankly studied him while he tapped a pencil against the wide oak desk several times before speaking.
"So! You are the fortunate Miss Clayton-or perhaps I should be addressing you now as Miss Thorpe. I must admit I've been somewhat curious about you. Sir Henry spoke at length about your mother. You are her image; it would seem-except for the eyes, of course. Hers were green. You have your father's eyes and my word, they are an unusual color, really a very deep blue, and yet, yes, decidedly violet shaded." Mr. Bond paused and smiled slightly. "You'll forgive me. I had to take an exact description so when we met I could be sure no one was attempting an impersonation. You must realize there are many who would want to be in your position."
Mr. Bond's round face became concentrated as he joined his hands to make a triangle with his forefingers. Even from the few words of greeting he had exchanged with this young woman he could discern she had learned her lessons at Miss Fayton's well and would not disgrace the name and fortune she was to inherit.
But there was something else, too, a natural innate grace about her that was born rather than taught-a certain regal way her head set upon her slender neck, and the manner she moved her hands. It was there, too, in her walk, and how she sat firmly upright in the chair that convinced him more than anything that she was indeed the daughter of Amelia Thorpe and the granddaughter of an earl.
"Tell me about your father, Miss Thorpe," he said at last. "My client told me very little about Captain Clayton."
Juliette cleared her throat lightly, her gaze looking directly into his. "I was quite young when my father died."
"Yes and how did it happen? Did anyone ever tell you?"
Juliette's face became grave. "When he returned from his duty in the Sahara he was wounded and he often would tell me about his fort being attacked. It was one of the Arabs that wounded him, a man who had been captured during the raid. He once told me his name, but now I no longer remember. The wound was serious and. ..:" Juliette paused, looking down at her hands that already were less red since she had been excused from her kitchen duties.
How well she remembered her father, how thin and white he had gradually become, as if a huge
leech was slowly sucking his life's blood from his veins. His description of the Arab had been so vivid she was still plagued by nightmares on occasion-horrible visions of a devilish creature, a cape falling from his shoulders, a black turban around his head. In her dreams he would thrust her father with his dagger again and again before galloping away, his mocking laughter echoing behind as he disappeared into starless black.
Juliette's fingers locked together in her lap as slowly she raised her eyes. "After that my father died," she continued. "He was the only one I had in the world other than our housekeeper, Matilda. I was sent to Miss Fayton's, in accordance with my father's wishes."
"And you have been there ever since?"
'Yes.”
"So you have learned to be a lady."
"Like the other girls, I've learned to act like one."
"And you hope to become a real one, no doubt. It is normal for Fayton girls to marry titled men, isn't it?"
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