The Chase

by Sara Portman

  Juliana cast one quick, backward glance at Michael, wishing, like a child, that she could rush back and cling to his hand. But she could not, so she allowed herself to be ushered from the room, through the front hall and up the grand staircase.

  * * * *

  The marquess ran his tongue across his teeth and looked at Michael unhappily. “Who is she?”

  The look Michael returned was equally unhospitable. “Currently, she is a woman who needs our help.”

  The marquess glowered impatiently at the uninformative answer. “Where did she come from?”

  “Beadwell.”

  “Don’t play games,” he barked, stepping forward. “This is my house, you are my son, and you’re supposed to be courting Miss Thatcher. So tell me who the hell she is and where she came from.”

  “I have not yet agreed to the proposed arrangement concerning Miss Thatcher,” Michael said.

  “That was not my question. What is your relationship to that girl?”

  “We met a few days ago on the road from Yorkshire. She was in danger and required help. I provided it.”

  The marquess sighed unhappily, but Michael didn’t particularly care if his father’s curiosity remained unappeased. “I have asked very little from you, Father,” he said, “when compared with how much you have asked of me. I would ask now that you find it in your heart to tolerate Miss Crawford’s presence until other arrangements are made for her.”

  The marquess squinted suspiciously at him. “Is she married?”

  “No.”

  “Is she your mistress?”

  “No.”

  “Will she have parents arriving on my doorstep, demanding a wedding?”

  “No.”

  The marquess was silent for a moment, his face pinched as though digesting this information wasn’t agreeing with him. When finally he spoke, he said, “Tread carefully, Michael. Take care you don’t ruin things for everyone, including yourself.”

  Michael said nothing in response, only watched him go. His father wasn’t concerned about where Juliana had come from. He only cared how her presence affected his grand plan for his true son, Alexander.

  * * * *

  Lady Rosevear and Juliana encountered the housekeeper on the landing. She answered the question as to the prepared room and left them, without a second glance for Juliana. Lady Rosevear led Juliana around the corner and down a long hall until they reached a room at the far end. The door stood open.

  “Here you are, Miss Crawford. I hope that you will be comfortable here.”

  She stood aside and allowed Juliana to precede her into the room. Juliana could not imagine anyone would not be comfortable in the cheery bedchamber with soft yellow paper on the walls and matching flowers embroidered into the coverlet. There was a low fire in the grate and heavy gold drapes were pulled back from the windows, letting late afternoon sun into the room.

  “I am going to send my maid up to you, dear,” Lady Rosevear said. “I think a soothing bath may be just the thing you need. The family will dine in a few hours, but please don’t feel that you should try to join us if you are overset from your ordeal.”

  Juliana looked around the room and at the pretty marchioness in her elegant, rose-colored dress and knew, overset or not, she could not possibly appear in the dining room of Willow House. Even if she bathed, she had only her mended dress to wear and though she’d washed it the day before, it was once again filthy from her visit to the docks. “I...um, thank you, Lady Rosevear, but I am quite…tired, actually.”

  “That’s understandable, dear.” She went to the bed, turned back the covers, and fluffed the pillows. Then she stood and pivoted, taking the time to survey the rest of the room.

  Juliana stood quietly while the marchioness satisfied herself that the room had been readied to her standard. While she appreciated the care, she found the silence uncomfortable. She did not speak easily with strangers, even kind ones.

  Lady Rosevear’s view landed on Juliana’s small satchel, dirtier from the scuffle on the quay, and looked back at Juliana with mild alarm. “Are those your things?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Juliana answered, aware she was not alone in understanding she did not belong in a place such as this.

  “Well,” Lady Rosevear said, her warm smile feeling surprisingly absent of the judgment Juliana had expected. “I imagine with your unexpected ordeal today you are missing a great number of necessary items. When my maid comes for your bath, I will send some things to,”—she tilted her head and considered—“fill in the holes, I suppose”

  “I’m sure I can manage, my lady. There is no need.”

  Lady Rosevear stepped forward. She spoke firmly. “My dear, I don’t fully understand what you’ve endured today or the events that brought you here, but it seems they were harrowing indeed. So often in these times, those who wish to help are unfortunately helpless. Please allow me to do this little thing so that I can feel I have aided your cause, however minimally.”

  Lady Rosevear, Juliana realized, possessed a graciousness and conversational ability beyond anything Juliana could ever have achieved. She had managed to very sweetly, but nonetheless absolutely, deny Juliana the ability to politely decline her offer. After such a speech, she had no alternative but to say, “Of course. Thank you.”

  “It’s practically nothing, dear,” she insisted, and with a final check of the room, she moved toward the door. She paused before leaving and said, “I will send a dress appropriate for dinner and I hope you will join us if you are well enough. My maid will show you the way.”

  * * * *

  Despite the generosity of the marchioness, Juliana had determined that she would not appear at dinner. Her arrival had been too disruptive to the family and she could only imagine their reactions to her when she appeared at their dinner table looking like a poor beggar from the streets. The day had already seen enough discord and drama for a lifetime.

  The promised maid arrived and introduced herself as Mary. Juliana couldn’t help but notice that this Mary seemed considerably more efficient than the last she’d encountered. She brought an armful of towels and other garments and she was closely followed by two footmen, one carrying the largest metal tub Juliana had ever seen and the other carrying two large pails of steaming water. Mary directed the footman carrying the tub through a door at the far side of the room and Juliana peeked through to realize it was a small square dressing room that she had not even realized was there. After the first man delivered the tub, the second was directed in to empty his pails of water. Mary then hurried them out the door and turned to Juliana.

  “Now, shall we be about your bath, then?”

  Juliana had never been assisted in her bath before. She wasn’t sure which portion really required assisting, as she was perfectly capable of washing herself, but she didn’t want to appear ignorant of the way that highborn ladies were supposed to behave. Better, she thought, to allow herself to be directed.

  She followed the maid’s instructions, allowing Mary to assist in removing her dress and worn chemise and avoided looking to see whatever judgment the maid might be holding. Juliana realized this woman’s garments were likely richer and in better condition than her own. When Mary gasped, she realized she had forgotten her back. She was sore and, she supposed from Mary’s reaction, fairly bruised from the blow she’d taken.

  Juliana wasn’t sure how to explain the injury, so she said nothing. She stepped into the tub and sunk down into the water, gritting her teeth for a moment against the sting when the hot water touched her back. Fortunately, the pain was only sharp for a moment and then the warm water was soothing to the ache.

  When Mary let down the remains of Juliana’s braided knot and began to wash her thick length of hair, she realized precisely why those who could afford to keep servants might want to have their hair washed by someone else. The feel of having one’s hair w
ashed, she now understood, was absolutely lovely.

  When Juliana was clean and likely smelling more like flowers than ever before due to the scented soap she’d used, she let Mary wrap her in clean linen to dry her and felt a little like a child. Again to avoid seeming out of place, she said only, “Thank you,” and allowed herself to be led to a chair where Mary began the task of combing through her long hair.

  The feel of having one’s hair combed was almost as nice as having it washed and Juliana relaxed into Mary’s ministrations. When Mary finished combing out the tangles, she used the cloth to dry it further then began to arrange it. Because she had complied all along, Juliana presumed an objection at this point would appear ungrateful or confirm her lack of familiarity with the ways of lords and ladies. Still, the effort was wasted when she would not be going down to dinner.

  Arrangement of hair, it seemed, was not a simple matter for the aristocracy, for she had not anticipated when Mary began just how long she would be sitting before the task was completed. Mary, however, seemed quite satisfied with the results. “There,” she said. “That’s nice. You’ve very pretty hair, miss.”

  “Thank you,” Juliana said.

  “Shall we see how the dress fits?” Mary asked. “I’ve brought a few tricks in case we need to make some adjustments.”

  “Oh, I know the marchioness offered, but I don’t think I should. I couldn’t wear one of her gowns. It’s not necessary. Really, it’s too generous. I don’t think the family expect me at dinner anyway.”

  Mary patiently waited, her expression placid, while Juliana rattled off every general refusal she could think to say. Then she went to where a green dress lay draped across the bed, picked it up by the shoulders and said, “This was always a bit snug for her ladyship. It may be a nice fit for you, miss. Let’s try and see, shall we?”

  More than a little tempted to at least try the dress, Juliana allowed Mary to help her into it. They discovered the dress fit surprisingly well with the aid of an extra sash under her bust to tighten the bodice. Mary brought a looking glass and Juliana was stunned at the transformation. She immediately imagined the cutting remark her father would make about her vanity and wantonness. Had her mother made such efforts with her appearance? She didn’t remember, but she found it unlikely her father would have spent the funds for anything half so nice.

  She wondered then at the cost of the garment she wore and decided it was probably better she didn’t know. She could imagine what the women at Mrs. Stone’s would think of the opportunity to don such a dress.

  And she wondered, inevitably, what Michael would think to see her this way. That was the thought that caught her imagination and held it captive. That was the thought that tempted her to say, “When is dinner served, Mary?”

  * * * *

  Michael had received word that Juliana would be joining the family for dinner, so he was waiting in the drawing room well before the appointed time, careful not to leave her to his father’s questions without his protection. As it happened, she was the last of the four to arrive for the meal. When she appeared in the doorway, she was utterly changed.

  He crossed the room toward her and scrutinized her changed appearance, deciding on closer examination that she was not so changed after all. Her face was perfectly familiar, the same jewel-green eyes and dark lashes against smooth, pale skin. She was perhaps a bit more pale than usual, which worried him. Her auburn hair was piled atop her head in a fashionable arrangement of twists and curls that would have been common and, thus, unremarkable on any young lady in a London drawing room. He hated the style on Juliana. The wisps around her face curled like corkscrews. He had seen her hair unbound and knew it did not curl that way on its own. He liked it unbound. This style seemed all artifice and didn’t fit Juliana at all.

  The dress, however—he was fully in support of the dress. Any dress would have been an improvement upon the simple and worn garments she possessed, but she was lovely in this one. The color made her eyes brighter and the bodice dropped lower than the severely modest dresses she owned. The moss-colored fabric skimmed her figure in a way that made him want to run his hands over it.

  He went to her, forcing himself to halt just before the point at which he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. Still, as he stood so near her, his arms twitched to do so.

  He’d spent the entire afternoon too fearful for her danger and then too relieved for her safety to give a fig about propriety and what right he had to touch and hold her, even in front of others. Now he was once again bound by the restraints of proper behavior and found they chafed.

  “You look lovely,” he said, once he realized she’d been staring up at him, waiting for him to speak. “How are you feeling? Are you well enough to sit through a lengthy meal?”

  She smiled and must have thought he was overly concerned, but someone had to have a care for her well-being.

  “I shall be fine,” she said.

  “If you find you are not, simply say so, and someone will take you to your room. There is no need for you to endure the entire meal if you are unwell.”

  Juliana smiled at him, but her eyes cast to where the marquess stood with his wife, reminding Michael that he may be a bit too attentive for everyone’s comfort.

  “We are assembled. Shall we go in to dinner then?” the marchioness said. Michael was beginning to recognize the slightly higher pitch of her speech that signaled her efforts to be diplomatic in uncomfortable situations. She seemed well practiced.

  When she received no response, the marchioness simply took her husband’s arm and forced him to lead the way into the dining room.

  “I’m very glad that you were well enough to join us, Miss Crawford,” the marchioness said as they were seated. “I often think company, as opposed to solitude, is best for recovery from a difficult time.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Lady Rosevear.” Judging by Juliana’s expression, she did not believe it one bit. Company, Michael mused, was perhaps a comfort. An audience was another matter altogether.

  As soon as they were all seated and the first course was served, Michael realized the dinner was a mistake for Juliana. Easy conversation was not a particular skill for her in any situation, and their group of four assembled in the large and unforgivingly formal dining room of Willow House could not have made it easier. Spaced apart as they were, each person was isolated yet entirely on display to the others. It no doubt added considerably to Juliana’s discomfort to know she was continually watched.

  It surely added to Michael’s discomfort, for he found it impossible not to watch her—every motion, every expression, the curve of her neck, the movement of her mouth as she ate. What had this woman done to him? Seeing her in danger had affected him in a way he could not understand and could not manage to control.

  “Do tell us, Miss Crawford, where do you hail from, or is London your home?” the marchioness asked.

  “My home is in a small village in Derbyshire, My Lady,” Juliana answered. She met Michael’s eyes as she said it and it was the first time Michael realized that her village—her father’s home—was the one place to where she could not return. She could not go back to where everyone knew her and live alone as an unmarried woman.

  “Do you have family in London then?” the marquess asked. Of course he would be primarily concerned with Juliana’s ability to impose upon someone else’s hospitality.

  “I do not, my lord.”

  “Then you are visiting?” the marchioness asked. “With your parents, perhaps?”

  Juliana looked down at her plate and Michael answered in her stead. “Miss Crawford’s parents are not living.”

  “I am very sorry, dear,” the marchioness said softly.

  “What brings you to London then?” the marquess pressed, not possessing the same sympathies as his wife.

  “As I’ve explained, Father, Miss Crawford has had a trying
day. I don’t believe an interrogation is called for just now.”

  “Certainly not,” the marchioness agreed.

  “I am sorry, Miss Crawford,” Michael said, glaring at his father. “You should not be subjected to such questioning.”

  Juliana lifted her chin. The directness of her gaze was surprising as she faced all three of them. “Please do not apologize,” she said firmly, all the uncertainty gone from her tone and countenance. “As you have most graciously opened your home to me, you have every right to know who I am and how I have come to be here.”

  Michael stilled, wondering how much of her story she would tell. The marquess and marchioness stilled also, waiting to learn whatever information she offered.

  “My mother is no longer living, but her family, with whom I am not acquainted, have left me a small inheritance that I may collect now that I have reached the age of five and twenty.” She addressed the other occupants of the table, each in turn, as she spoke, never shying from their direct attention. “I traveled to London on my own to do just that. I am certain you think it inappropriate and ill-advised for me to do so and you would be correct. The events of earlier today are the clearest evidence of that truth. To my great fortune, Mr. Rosevear,”—she smiled—“and the brave Gelert, came to my aid. I do not wish to cause any trouble for you,” she said, addressing Michael directly. “Rather, I owe you a great debt. You saved my life. I will not forget it.”

  Michael could not look away from the intensity of her regard and her declaration. He knew not how the others reacted to it and found he did not care. He had believed her too insecure, too shy, to field questions but once again she had shown an inner vein of strength. Would he always underestimate her fortitude? After all that she had endured in her life, how could he ever question that beneath her ethereal timidity was an iron frame, sturdy and unyielding?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Juliana allowed herself one final look in the glass before she removed the green dress. She had liked the dress far too much—the way Michael had looked at her while she was wearing it. Dinner had finished quietly and all had retired for the evening, leaving her alone in the unfamiliar and beautiful house. She draped the dress carefully over the chair in the corner so she could return it in the morning in the condition in which she had received it.