Juliette's serious expression didn't change. "Usually they do, although I have no plans for marriage."
Mr. Bond thoughtfully nodded his head. "But you are still young. No doubt you will marry. But let it be perfectly understood now." Bond's eyebrows drew heavily together and dropped lower over his nose. "Until that time when you reach twenty-one or are married, your fortune will remain legally under my control." He leaned back. "Then control reverts to you, or, no doubt, your husband. And if you ask my advice," he continued, and Juliette noticed a curling black hair growing out the end of his nose, "you'd better choose a man competent at managing money." He raised a prophetic finger. "It's not uncommon for a spendthrift husband to ruin a woman's fortune."
Bond paused, and if he had not been-despite his fifty-seven years-so captivated by Juliette's full red mouth as she spoke, he might have noticed the firmness of her delicate jaw, and the faint straightening of her shoulders. Days ago she had decided to fight for her independence. Her voice did not change, but Mr. Bond found himself being pierced by those truly magnificent eyes.
"I would like to ask a few questions," she said.
Mr. Bond nodded.
"This income I am to inherit, is it based on property or stocks? I must be frank. I never met my uncle so I have no idea what he might have left me, or for that matter why he should will his fortune to me now when I haven't heard from him in all these years."
Mr. Bond cleared his throat. "Yes, you would wonder that of course. The reason is simple. Your uncle was a man who kept to himself most of the time. He had little use for anyone but he did feel a responsibility to carry on the family line. Unfortunately, his only son was killed in the same fire that took his life. He had no other children and Lady Thorpe was dead years before. Therefore it became necessary to activate a particular clause of his will that gave his fortune to his nearest relative, providing he or she was willing to carry the Thorpe name."
Mr. Bond leaned forward in his chair. "As to the exact extent of your good fortune," he said, opening his top drawer and pulling out an official looking document at which he glanced as he spoke, "first there is a house in London on Windbury Street
, a fashionable part of town near Hyde Park and not far from Buckingham Palace. Your uncle had not lived in it for some time though, so it is in need of some redecorating.
"Now, let's see," he returned to the document. "Yes, and seven polo ponies, which I doubt you'll be using although they are all fine stock and shouldn't be difficult to sell. And there is a yacht called Whimsy that is a small but lovely craft, and, of course, one hundred sixty thousand pounds a year as income from your properties and investments."
He handed her the document containing an itemized list of the contents of her house. Her eyes ran down the page, seeing in a blur the words twelve rose bushes, one hundred cases of wine, before she reached a series of company names.
Only a few of the companies were familiar to her; Clark Oil was an American company which Millie had mentioned. Then there was Rolls-Royce, Simon Aeronautics, Caledonian Railway, and many others before there were listings like Two acres-Passons County, or, 12 Rinley St.
-Warehouse.
Juliette looked up. "And who would you contact if you wanted to buy or sell any of these assets?" she asked.
Mr. Bond untended his fingers. "I am the manager of all funds and properties until, as I explained, you are married or you reach twenty-one."
"I see. And who decides how this money should be invested. I mean, I don't have any choice about this, or do I?"
"No, not until you assume control."
"I see," Juliette said. "I assure you, I have every confidence in your cleverness. But for so fine a 'guardian' as you, there must be some fee.'
"Indeed, I consider the amount stipulated in your uncle's will adequate."
"And that amount is?" 7uliette asked, her voice factual as when she began, though now Mr. Bond showed a squint of uneasiness about his eyes.
"Fifteen percent is what is standard." He retrieved the document from her and began rolling it up.
"And for you, is it fifteen percent?"
Mr. Bond's cheek twitched uneasily. "Your uncle was a generous man, and under my direction his investments prospered. I receive twenty percent."
"I see. Twenty percent of one hundred sixty thousand pounds a year is ... thirty-two thousand annually. What a large sum."
Again his cheek twitched. "You have learned your lessons at Miss Fayton's exceedingly well," he said tightly.
Juliette raised her chin to look the solicitor steadily in his eyes. "And I imagine these investments are in companies rendering the most profit for .., shall we say, all concerned?"
Mr. Bond sat back in his chair, his neck settling down between his shoulders like a wary bird. Suddenly he was seeing this slender girl in a new light.
"It would do no good to misrepresent myself, Miss Thorpe. It would be easy for you to find out that your money is invested in firms where I hold an interest. But I assure you they are all sound investments that will insure your future and the future of your children. You will profit by them greatly."
"I'm sure both of us will, Mr. Bond. It seems we both stand to gain-or perhaps lose. That is, you stand to lose should I decide to remove my money from these firms which are also profiting you."
William Bond frowned. He leaned forward again, his palms pressing on the desk top, his eyes narrowing as his body shifted uneasily. "Perhaps you didn't understand, Miss Thorpe. The law states quite clearly that I, the guardian of the estate, have full authority over the Thorpe fortune until you marry or come of age. It is not possible for you to have control over these funds."
He leaned back once more; bringing his fingers into a triangle beneath his chin as it doubled disapprovingly. "Not a shilling of these funds can be spent without my approval, and since you are an obviously rebellious young woman, we may as well understand one another at the onset. Bluntly put, Miss Thorpe, I control you!'
Juliette licked her dry lips. It look all her strength to face this formidable man, but the thought of her dreamed of freedom hanging in the balance forced her on. "As I said, I'm sure you are an excellent financial administrator, Mr. Bond. And, after all, why should I concern myself with how my money is invested as long as I have £ 160,000 a year. But don't you say that you `control me' only before I am twenty-one?"
Her eyes fixed on Bond's which were now growing wider with concern and he didn't look so awesome as he had a moment before. Juliette smiled slightly. "Well then, Mr. Bond. Since that is the case, I propose that you allow me complete freedom to do as I please now, before I am twenty-one, and in return, I will promise to allow you to invest and to profit from my money after I am twenty-one."
Mr. Bond's eyebrows flew up and he let his breath out in a single rush. "I will have you know, Miss Thorpe, this is a reputable firm." He cleared his throat and coughed. "We will not be bribed!"
Juliette's gaze did not falter. "Certainly you couldn't consider what I suggest as bribery, Mr. Bond. I am simply offering you unlimited years of investing millions for a small favor, less than three short years of your indulgence."
Mr. Bond stared, amazed to find so clever and astute a brain in the head of a female, and a young female at that. His was a reputable firm, but he was also a practical man. He was not invulnerable to financial ruin, and to pull the Thorpe millions out of his companies would be no less than a crisis of major proportion. On the other hand, to be assured of these millions to invest in the future would provide tremendous security and profit. There was only one obvious course of action.
He coughed again and cleared his throat. "I see. So if you are to be your own mistress then what do you plan to do?"
"To travel. I don't know where yet. I've always wanted to see the world."
Mr. Bond's face was stern and he paused so that the pendulum of the big grandfather clock behind him made the only sound in the room as it clicked from side to side. "Very well then," he said at last. "I agree on one condition.
"
"And that is?" Juliette asked, trying not to let the triumph she felt creep into her voice.
Mr. Bond fixed her with another stare. "You ask for, freedom to make your own decisions, Miss Thorpe, but we cannot forget that I am still legally responsible for your actions, and will be seen as such by everyone. My reputation is of up most concern to me, as I trust yours is to you. So while I grant you the freedom to conduct your own life without interference from me, I must demand that you conduct yourself so that you draw no scandal to yourself, and thereby to my good name. I can agree to your proposal only if you agree to mine, and if the time comes when there is even a breath of scandal, then understand, our bargain no longer is valid, no matter what you plan to do with your money later. In other words, Miss Thorpe," Mr. Bond said as he leaned forward again, "I am willing to give you all the rope you wish. But don't make the mistake of taking so much that you hang yourself."
Chapter 19
April 10, 1892
Dear Millie,
I'm writing you from Las Flores del Mar, a resort on an island off the Spanish coast, which a certain Madame Gascon (a lady I met while in Paris) recommended as the highlight of the spring season.
So far, I'm not disappointed. The hotel itself, an old mansion built a hundred and fifty years ago by a Spanish nobleman, is a dream that sits elegantly on the beach with dozens of gardens I can see from my balcony on the second floor.
At the moment, not too many people have arrived and it is generally deserted, though there is Lady Linley and her son, Bosley, and Roberto, who gives me a tennis lesson occasionally. I'm told, however, that in a week or so the hotel will be quite full in expectation of the horse race, the Spanish Cup, to be run in the middle of May.
It's an event I've heard about, but never expected to see. Truly, Millie, I wish I could live forever frozen in time. And now every morning I wake up with a wonderful remembering that everything isn't a dream, but a reality, and there are no more nasty girls and no Lady Pottersbee to bother about.
Well, I will stop for now. It is nearly two in the morning, and though I'm not tired at all, I'm still planning a long ride on High Times early tomorrow so I should at least try to sleep. Please write when you can.
Love, Juliette
Rereading the letter, Juliette folded it and slipped it in a long narrow envelope before her pen scratched the address on its surface. Then rising, she walked to her balcony, idly tapping the edge of the envelope against her open palm.
Leaning against the wrought-iron railing bordering the plaster and wood overhang, Juliette breathed deeply the warm breezes and looked down at the churning and splashing water below. For a stretch up the beach, the moonlight revealed waves of azure and jade gliding up the shore in shallow fans.
In the opposite direction, the far wing of the hotel was visible with other balconies and tiled roofs emerging out of a thick of greenery. An hour before, the moon had broken the sharp white line dividing sea and sky. It began as thin crescent but then grew slowly larger to sit full on the horizon, a long silvered arm stretching across the sea toward her.
Taking another deep breath, Juliette leaned forward to pluck a flower from the gnarled vine growing against the wall. It was then she noticed with surprise the figure of a man directly below, trotting along the beach with vigorous ease as he gazed out to sea.
Though he was only a dark shape, Juliette could tell he had a large build and, while her eyes followed him, he never glanced up in her direction as he moved silently along the shore before turning into the rolling waves.
With powerful overhand strokes he propelled himself away from shore until his dark head was only a tiny dot in the glowing moonlight. Beyond the breakers he seemed very much at home, and turning again, he swam parallel to shore.
Juliette studied the far-off dot with puzzled eyes. What sort of a man would plunge into the tumbling sea alone, and at this hour? She wondered absently. Did she know him? It seemed she should, with so few people staying at the hotel. Yet she recognized nothing about him.
She shivered as the breeze blew harder and cooler and her arms bumped with goose flesh. Still she hesitated to go inside, aware of a sense of expectation in the air, even in the tempestuous toss of the waves. Then she laughed at her own foolishness. How silly, she told herself. It must be she was worried about Rodney.
After almost a year, guilt still gnawed at &r every time she recalled the look on his face when she told him good-bye. How she had hated giving him pain after all his kindness. But after a sleepless night pacing her attic room she had decided that to become his wife out of pity, when she wanted no husband at all, was too much to ask.
"You must try to understand," she had told him the next day. "I just don't feel . . . well, anything . . . at least what it seems I should feel. I never agreed to marry you before, and I can't agree to it now. I don't want to disappoint you, and maybe someday, yes . . . possibly someday I will marry, and if I do, I can't imagine whom I would want more for a husband than someone as kind and generous as you. But for now, it is impossible. Please ... if you could only understand."
Rodney laughed, trying to seem good-natured, though the sound stuck awkwardly in his throat. "Yes, of course, Juliette, if that's your decision. I can even understand your desire not to marry, especially with the kind of opportunity you have now. I think it's only natural that you would want to be independent for a time, particularly after being under old Lady Pottersbee's thumb all these years. But all girls eventually marry, and I'll be patient, although I'm not used to having to wait for anything that I want as much as having you for my wife."
His voice held no bitterness, and his face seemed boyishly handsome and understanding, so much so that Juliette felt selfish as she never had before. "Only promise me," he continued, "that if you should decide to take a husband that it shall be me."
He finished with a look that touched Juliette in the same way as the eager gaze of a collie puppy.
His request was an easy one to fulfill, Juliette thought, jumping at some way to relieve her sense of responsibility for his unhappiness. Who else would be a more considerate husband than Rodney? And feeling sure she would never marry anyway, she had nodded.
"Yes, of course," she had said then. It was such an easy promise to make, she told herself. And if it made him happy. . .
So they had parted friends, just as Juliette hoped they would, and in a week she set sail aboard the Whimsy. She traveled first to France, and then to Germany, Austria, and to Italy, attending balls and parties, and meeting dozens of new people who treated her with curiosity but with acceptance, too, and even warmth on occasion.
Often she saw the other graduates of Miss Fayton's, who surprised her by greeting her like an old beloved schoolmate and introducing her to their families and particularly to their brothers.
She had been nervous at first, still feeling somehow out of place, but that faded quickly. She learned to dance and to make polite conversation with those same people who had snubbed her less than a year before. So her circle of acquaintances grew. She was invited everywhere and some even whispered she was "debutante of the year."
But all this Juliette took with diminishing interest, finding her status in society much less important to her than being able to go wherever she wanted, and at any time, to do exactly what she pleased, and to have the luxury of everything being done for her.
There were men, of course. She never attended a ball without receiving a flurry of flowers and invitations the next day. Her interest in men, however, was limited to their use as dancing partners, or riding companions, and sometimes she did accept a yachting invitation.
Generally though, they interested her very little and she learned to keep them at arm's length, turning down their proposals as regularly and dependably as Big Ben, and always mindful of Mr. Bond's warnings that a "scandal" would result in an end to her freedom.
So now, nearly a year later, here she was in Las Flores del Mar, an island paradise where every "season"
the wealthy of Europe gathered. And from here . . . ? Well, she had purposely made no plans. She wanted everything to remain as spontaneous as possible so she could go as her mood moved her in this long, unhurried and unhindered, investigation of life.
Looking from her balcony now, Juliette scanned the band of water beyond the breakers to find the man reversing his course and retracing his way back toward the beach.
I wonder if I've met him before, or perhaps ridden or played tennis with him, Juliette mused.
She was still watching when the smooth motion of his arms wavered abruptly. Then pausing mid stroke some fifty yards from shore, his head disappeared.
Squinting against the chilled darkness, Juliette came suddenly alert. What was he doing? Not a dive surely. And now the man's head appeared again, bobbing uncertainly before once more his arms were thrown in the air and he disappeared underwater.
Juliette's fingers reached to her lips as the man's head remained invisible for what seemed an endless period. No, he wasn't diving, not like that! And when his head broke the surface again, she realized he was trying to float as a level-headed swimmer does when seized by cramps.
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