by Jane Feather
This assumption of chastened humility was so absurd, Juliana burst into a peal of laughter. “I fear you’re a lost cause, my lord duke.”
Before the conversation could go further, the butler appeared in the open door behind her.
“Visitors for Lady Edgecombe. I’ve shown them to your private parlor, madam.”
Juliana turned, startled. “Visitors. Who?”
“Three young ladies, madam. Miss Emma, Miss Lilly, and Miss Rosamund. I thought they would be more comfortable in your parlor.” Not a flicker of an expression crossed his face.
Had Catlett guessed the ladies from Russell Street were of a different order from Lady Melton and her daughter? Or had he assumed she would entertain her own friends in her own parlor?
“Excuse me, Your Grace.” With a smile and curtsy she left him and hurried upstairs to her own private room.
Tarquin raised an eyebrow to the empty room and shrugged. The only woman he’d ever lived with until now had been his mother. Apparently he had something to learn in his dealings with the gender sex—and it seemed that Juliana Courtney, Viscountess Edgecombe, was going to provide the education. Absently, he wondered why the prospect wasn’t more irritating.
Juliana hurried up to her parlor, vaguely surprised at how eager she was to see her friends from Russell Street. She hadn’t had much time to get to know them, but living under one roof with them even briefly had fostered the kind of easy camaraderie that came out of shared laughter as well as shared anxieties.
“Juliana, this is the most elegant parlor,” Rosamund declared as Juliana came in.
“Lud, but the whole mansion is in the first style of elegance.” Lilly floated across the room to embrace Juliana. “You are the luckiest creature. And just look at your gown! So pretty. And real silver buckles on your shoes, I’ll be bound.” The eye of the expert took in every detail of Juliana’s costume.
“I swear I’ll die of envy,” Emma lamented, fanning herself. “Unless, of course, there is some unpleasantness here.” Her eyes sharpened as she looked at Juliana over her fan. “You must have to pay for all this in some way.”
“Yes, tell us all about it.” Rosamund linked arms with Juliana and pulled her down onto the sofa beside her. “You can say anything you wish to us.”
Juliana was tempted to confide the whole as they sat around her radiating both complicit sympathy and alert curiosity. But an instant’s reflection canceled the dangerous impulse. She must learn to keep her own secrets better than she had done so far. If she hadn’t yielded to weakness in the first instance and told Mistress Dennison her story, she wouldn’t be in this tangle now.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said. “It is exactly as you see it. I was wed to Viscount Edgecombe yesterday, and he and I both reside under the Duke of Redmayne’s roof.”
“So the duke didn’t buy you for himself?” Emma pressed, leaning forward to get a closer view of Juliana’s face.
“In a manner of speaking he did,” Juliana said cautiously.
“So both he and the viscount are your lovers.” Lilly smoothed her silk gloves over her fingers, her hazel eyes sharply assessing.
“Not exactly.”
“La, Juliana, don’t be so mysterious!” Emma cried. “Everyone wants to know how you managed such a piece of amazing good fortune. There’s nothing strange about being shared … particularly when you’re provided for with settlements. You are, of course?”
“Yes.” Juliana decided that it would be simpler to let them believe that she was shared by the duke and his young cousin. It wasn’t a total fabrication, anyway. “I’m well provided for, and I suppose you could say that I belong to both the duke and the viscount.” She rose and pulled the bell rope. “Will you take ratafia, or sherry … or champagne?” she added with wicked inspiration. “Do you care for champagne?”
“La, how wonderful,” Lilly declared. “You can order such things for yourself in this house?”
“Anything I please,” Juliana said with a hint of bravado as the butler arrived in answer to the summons. “Catlett, bring us champagne, if you please.”
“My lady.” Catlett bowed and left without so much as a flicker of an eyelid.
“See,” Juliana said with a grin. “I have the right to command anything I wish.”
“How enviable,” Rosamund sighed. “When I think of poor Lucy Tibbet …”A cloud of gloom settled over Juliana’s three visitors, imparting a cynical, world-weary air to the previously bright and youthful countenances.
“Lucy Tibbet?” she prompted.
“She worked in one of Haddock’s millinery shops,” Emma said, her usually sweet voice sharp as vinegar. “Keep away from Mother Haddock if you value your life, Juliana.”
“She’s every bit as bad as Richard Haddock,” Rosamund said. “We all thought when he died, his wife would be easier to work for. But Elizabeth is as mean and cruel as Richard ever was.”
Catlett’s arrival with the champagne produced a melancholy silence broken only by the pop of the cork and the fizz of the straw-colored liquid in the glasses. Catlett passed them around and bowed himself out.
“What’s wrong with a millinery shop?” Juliana sipped champagne, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles tickled her palate.
“It’s a whorehouse, dear,” Lilly said with a somewhat pitying air. “They all are in Covent Garden … so are the chocolate houses and coffeehouses. It’s just a different name to satisfy the local constables. We can’t call them whorehouses, although everyone knows that’s what they are.”
The others chuckled at Juliana’s quaint ignorance. “The Haddocks rent out shops and shacks in the Piazza … usually for three guineas a week. They pay the rates and expect a share of the profits.”
“Not that there ever are any profits,” Lilly said. “Lucy spent ten pounds last week on rent and linen and glasses that she had to buy from Mother Haddock, and she had only sixpence for herself at the end of the week.”
“She’d given Richard a promissory note before he died for forty pounds,” Rosamund continued with the explanation. “He’d bailed her out of debtors’ prison once, and she was supposed to pay him back every week. But she can’t do that out of sixpence, so Mother Haddock called in the debt and had her thrown into the Marshalsea.”
“We’re having a collection for her,” Lilly said. “We all try to help out if we can.”
“You never know when it might be you,” Rosamund added glumly.
“Some of the bawds will make an interest-free loan if they like one of the girls who’s in trouble,” Lilly said. “But Lucy made a lot of enemies when she was doing well for herself, and now she’s down on her luck, none of the bawds will lift a finger.”
“And the jailers at the Marshalsea are really cruel.” Emma shuddered. “They torment the prisoners and won’t give them food or coal or candles if they can’t pay the most outrageous sums. And Lucy doesn’t have a penny to her name.”
“But how much does she need?” Juliana’s mind raced. She’d seen enough in her few days in London to find Lucy’s plight appalling but believable. After all, the duke had gone to great pains to show her how easy it was for an unprotected girl to slip into the sewer. And once in, there was no way out.
“She needs the forty pounds to free herself from Mother Haddock,” Rosamund replied. “The girls at Russell Street have put together ten pounds, and we hope the other houses will contribute too.”
“Wait here.” Juliana sprang to her feet, spilling champagne down her bodice. She brushed at the drops impatiently. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She put down her glass and whisked herself from the parlor.
Tarquin was crossing the hall on his way to the front door when she came racing down the stairs, holding her skirts well clear of her feet.
“My lord duke, I need to speak with you, it’s most urgent.”
He regarded her impetuous progress with a faint smile. Her eyes glowed with a zealot’s fire, and her tone was vehement. “I’m at your service, my
dear,” he said. “Will it take long? Should I instruct the groom to return my horse to the mews?”
Juliana paused on the bottom step. “I don’t believe it should take long … but then again it might,” she said with a judicious frown. “It rather depends on your attitude, sir.”
“Ahh.” He nodded. “Well, let’s assume that my attitude will be accommodating.” He turned back to the library. “Catlett, tell Toby to walk my horse. I’ll be out shortly.”
Juliana followed him into the library, closing the door behind her. It seemed simpler to come straight to the point. “Am I to have an allowance, sir?”
Tarquin perched on the arm of a sofa. “I hadn’t given it any thought, but, of course, you must have pin money.”
“How much?” she asked bluntly.
“Well, let’s see …” He pulled on his right earlobe with a considering frown. “You already have an adequate wardrobe, I believe?” He raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Yes, of course,” Juliana said, trying to restrain her impatience. “But there are—”
“Other things,” he interrupted. “I do quite understand that. If you were to take your place at court, of course, two hundred pounds a year would be barely sufficient for personal necessities, but since that’s not going to happen, I would have thought—”
“Who said it wasn’t going to happen?” demanded Juliana, momentarily deflected from her original purpose.
Tarquin looked perplexed. “I thought it was understood. Surely you don’t wish to enter society?”
“I might,” she said. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t have the option.”
Tarquin’s perplexity deepened. He’d had a very clear idea in his head of how Juliana would conduct herself under his roof, and joining the exclusive court circles had not been part of it. He remembered how she’d seemed to encourage Lucien’s company that morning—another contingency he hadn’t considered. Was it just mischief on her part? Or was she going to be more trouble than he’d bargained for?
“Let’s leave that issue for the moment,” he said. “I suggest we settle on fifty pounds a quarter at this stage. I’ll instruct my bankers accordingly.” He stood up and moved toward the door.
“Well, could I have forty pounds now, please?” Juliana stood between him and the door, unconsciously squaring her shoulders. She had never been given money of her own and had never dared ask for it before. But she reasoned that since she was now a viscountess, she was entitled to make some demands.
“Whatever do you want such a sum for?”
“Do I have to tell you how I spend my pin money?”
He shook his head. “No, I suppose not. Are you in some difficulties?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “But I have need of forty pounds … well, thirty I suppose would do … but I need it immediately.”
“Very well.” Still clearly puzzled, Tarquin went to the desk and opened the top drawer. He drew out a strongbox, unlocked it, and selected three twenty-pound notes. “Here you are, mignonne.”
“That’s sixty pounds,” she said, taking the notes.
“You may have need of a little extra,” he pointed out. “Will you give me your word you’re in no difficulties?”
“Yes, of course, how should I be?” she said, tucking the notes into her bosom. “Thank you very much. I’m very much obliged to you, my lord duke.” Spinning on her heel, she half ran from the library, again holding her skirts clear of her feet.
Tarquin stood frowning for a minute. Did that urgent request have anything to do with her visitors from Russell Street? It seemed likely. Highly likely, and he wasn’t at all sure that he approved of Juliana’s subsidizing Elizabeth Dennison’s harlots. But she did have the right to some money of her own, and he didn’t have the right to dictate how she should spend it. He found he’d lost interest in his ride and stood in fiercely frowning silence in the middle of the room.
“There, that’s forty pounds.” Juliana placed two of the bills on the table in her parlor before the astounded eyes of her friends. “So you won’t need to spend your own money for Lucy’s bail. Shall we go at once?”
“But … but is this your own money, Juliana?” Even the down-to-earth Lilly was astonished.
“In a manner of speaking,” she said airily. “The duke gave it to me as part of my allowance. I wasn’t sure whether I was to have one or not, but Lord Quentin said His Grace was generous to a fault, so I thought I’d put it to the test. And there you are.” She indicated the riches on the table with a grandiose flourish, rather spoiling the effect by adding, “It isn’t as if he can’t afford it, after all.”
“Well, I for one won’t question such good fortune,” Lilly said, tucking the notes into her beaded silk muff. “And I know Lucy won’t.”
“Then let’s go at once.” Juliana energetically strode to the door. “Do you know how to get there? Can we walk? Or should I order the carriage?” she added with another grand gesture.
“We can’t go ourselves,” Rosamund protested, shocked.
“But you have a footman downstairs.”
“It’s still no place for ladies,” Emma explained. “The jailers are horrid and rude, and they’ll ask for all sorts of extras before they’ll release Lucy. Mr. Garston will go for us. They won’t intimidate him.”
“They won’t intimidate me,” Juliana declared. “Come, let’s go. We’ll hail a hackney, as there’s not a moment to lose. Heaven only knows what miseries Lucy’s enduring.”
This consideration overrode further objections, although her companions were still rather dubious as they followed her down the stairs, where they collected the Dennisons’ footman, Juliana told Catlett that she expected to be back for dinner, and they stepped out into the warm afternoon.
Chapter 14
Where are you off to, Lady Edgecombe?” Quentin was coming up the front steps as they emerged from the house. He bowed courteously to her companions.
“To the Marshalsea,” Juliana said cheerfully. “To bail someone out.”
“To the Marshalsea?” Quentin stared at her. “Don’t be absurd, child.”
“The footman will accompany us,” she said, gesturing to the flunky behind her.
“The footman may accompany your friends, but Lady Edgecombe does not go to a debtors’ prison,” Quentin stated.
“Truly it would be best to ask Mr. Garston to go for us, Juliana” Emma put in, laying a tentative hand on Juliana’s arm.
“Tarquin would flay me alive if I permitted it,” Quentin declared.
Juliana regarded him steadily. “I understood I was free to go where I please.”
“Not to the Marshalsea.”
“Not even if you accompanied me?”
“Juliana, I have not the slightest desire to visit a debtors’ prison.”
“But you’re a man of the cloth. Surely you have a duty to help your fellow man in need? And this is an errand of mercy.” Her voice was all sweet reason, her smile cajoling, but Quentin was aware of a powerful determination behind the ingenuous facade.
“Why not follow your friend’s suggestion and ask this Mr. Garston to go for you?”
“But that will take time. And that poor girl shouldn’t languish in that place a minute more than necessary. I heard that the jailers torture the inmates for money, when of course they can’t have any funds, because if they did, they wouldn’t be there in the first place.” Her eyes sparked with indignation and her cheeks were pale with anger, all pretense of ingenuous cajoling vanished. “You have a duty, Lord Quentin, to help those in trouble. Don’t you?”
“Yes, I like to think so,” Quentin said dryly. He was uncomfortably reminded that as a canon of Melchester Cathedral, he hadn’t spent much time tending a flock. He was beginning to wonder why he’d ever felt Juliana needed protection and guidance. At this moment she hardly seemed like anyone’s victim.
“We have the money,” Juliana continued. “All forty pounds of Lucy’s debt. And if the jailers demand more, I shall t
ell them to go hang,” she added with a flashing eye. “If we allow them to get away with extortion, they’ll do it to everyone.”
“I’m sure you will keep them in line,” Quentin murmured. “I pity the man who tries to stand in your path.”
“Oh, you sound just like the duke,” Juliana said. “So toplofty. But I tell you straight, my lord, you won’t persuade me out of this.”
“You are right that I am obliged to help those in trouble.” His mouth took a sardonic quirk that made him look even more like his half brother. “I am also obliged to keep people out of trouble. And I assure you, my dear Juliana, you will be up to your neck in hot water if Tarquin discovers you’ve been roaming around a debtors’ prison.”
Juliana was standing on the top step, half facing the open front door. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Lucien crossing the hall toward the drawing room. “If my husband doesn’t object, I fail to see why the duke should,” she said with a flash of inspiration. “I do beg your pardon for teasing you, Lord Quentin. Of course you mustn’t trouble yourself over this for another minute.”
She gave him a radiant smile and turned to the three young women. “I’ll be back in an instant. Wait here for me.” She hurried into the house, leaving Quentin staring uneasily after her, unsure whether he’d heard her aright.
“Oh, dear,” Emma said. “Do you think Juliana is perhaps a little impetuous?”
“I fear that ’a little’ is something of an understatement, ma’am,” Quentin said. “Surely she’s not intending to enlist Edgecombe’s support?”
“I believe so, my lord,” Rosamund said, her brown eyes wide and solemn in her round face.
“Excuse me.” Quentin bowed briefly and strode into the house in search of Tarquin, leaving the women still on the steps.
Juliana had followed Lucien into the drawing room and closed the door behind her. “My lord, I need your leave to go on an errand,” she stated straightaway.
