Juliana

by Bancroft, Blair

  Nick Black spoke up at last. “No games, Fetch. You don’t have to like these people, but you’ll show them you speak as well as they do.”

  “Yes, sir.” But Fetch’s scowl was a thing to behold.

  “Damme,” Jacob Ramsey muttered. “How many times did I see Marcus look exactly so? And he’s got Marcus’s spunk. Throw it all back in my teeth, would you, boy?”

  “I have all I need for now, and I’ll earn more,” Fetch ground out.

  “Marcus did not abandon you,” Lady Matilda cried, no longer able to keep silent even though her husband had a tight grip on her arm. “I am certain he did not. Mr. Ramsey bought him his colors that year and off he went. He likely never knew.”

  “Nor cared.”

  “Mind your tongue, boy!” Jacob Ramsey, once again roaring.

  “I believe we’re done with this farce,” Nick Black said. “It’s plain to see the boy is likely a Ramsey, but he’s well fixed where he is. He needs, nor wants, nothing from any of you. Except, as he says, he will visit Lady Matilda from time to time, if she wishes it.”

  Nick Black and Jacob Ramsey exchanged the look of two strong men who could recognize an impasse when they met it, but the elder was not yet ready to concede. “Can’t say as I like the thought of what he must be learning from you, Black.”

  “He is learning power, Ramsey. Power. And how to wield it. I advise you to walk softly, for the boy will grow, and you will definitely want to be his friend.”

  “Never,” Fetch growled, just loud enough for all to hear.

  “Peace, boy. It’s time to go.” Nick took him firmly by the arm and turned toward the door.

  “The boy may visit his grandma.”

  Juliana watched with unabashed fascination as Nick and Fetch turned in unison, both regarding Jacob Ramsey with considerable skepticism. “Fetch?” Nick asked.

  The boy looked at Lady Matilda, his angry blue gaze visibly softening. “I’ll come, my lady. Don’t know how often, but I’ll come. Even if I only look like your son, I reckon it’s the right thing to do.”

  Nick, suddenly recalling Juliana’s presence, signaled for her to join in their stiff-backed departure from the house on Upper Wimpole Street. As they settled onto the squabs in the carriage, Nick let out a long breath. “My lady, do you mind if I indulge in a bit of pungent vocabulary?”

  “Me too,” Fetch declared in heartfelt tones.

  And then they all laughed, relief that the ordeal was over pouring out in a flood of chuckles that lasted an entire block.

  But it wasn’t over. For it seemed Fetch had truly found his family, whether he wanted them or not.

  Chapter 12

  Juliana stared at the invitation in her hand as if she expected it had been delivered by mistake, perhaps by an evil fairy who would pop into view at any moment and whisk it away.

  A betrothal ball. At the home of Natalia, Countess of Charlbury. That fiend of a female could not possibly expect her to attend!

  Juliana turned the invitation over, and yes, there it was: The Right Honorable the Baroness Rivenhall.

  Bitch! Not for one minute did she believe the countess knew only of the activities of the Aphrodite Academy. She knew about her intimacy with Darius as well. Had he told her?

  She’d kill him!

  No. La Charlbury was shrewd. No doubt she’d sensed the smoldering fires beneath the ice. Ice newly formed and oh-so-thin. But flaunting Darius before her at a betrothal ball . . . This was twisting the knife indeed.

  She must go, of course. Honor demanded it.

  Juliana considered the problem, a grim smile finally tugging at her lips. Although it seemed her ploy with Longmere had failed to incite Darius’s jealousy, the marquess could still be useful. Oh yes, he would make an excellent escort to the Charlbury ball. Taking up her quill, the Baroness Rivenhall wrote two notes, one to Jason, Marquess of Longmere, the other an acceptance to the Countess of Charlbury. And then she called for her carriage. An immediate visit to Madame Francine was necessary, for she must have the most glorious gown any widow ever wore to a ball. A gown fit for a queen.

  Though perhaps she would settle for the title of marchioness. Could she do it? Did she want to? Lost in thought, Juliana barely heard Penniman, her butler, announce a flurry of arrivals, as Belle, Cecilia, and Holly entered the house together, almost bowling over the stately old man in their rush up the stairs to Juliana’s drawing room.

  “Son of a duke, my foot!” Holly declared as they burst into the room. “Boy’s born to be hanged.”

  “He always had the look, though, didn’t he?” Cecy said. “Handsome as the devil, with arrogance to match.”

  “Oh, aye,” Holly mocked. “Cock of the walk, born to give orders, Fetch was. “It’s a wonder he even bends to Nick Black.”

  “Come now,” Belle said gently, “you should be glad for him. Finding family when he thought he had none.”

  “And more,” Juliana offered. “I am hoping Lady Matilda will do something for him.”

  “Nick will do for him,” Cecy declared stoutly. “Fetch doesn’t need anything from the likes of them. Nick says all but the old lady looked fit to kill. If they think she’ll give him so much as a ha’penny, they’ll turn him away from the door.”

  “If they don’t send someone to slit his throat one dark night,” Holly added darkly.

  “That’s enough!” Juliana, looking every inch the headmistress of the Aphrodite Academy, glared at her former students. “Jacob Ramsey is no one’s fool. He won’t bring down Nick Black’s wrath on his head. And I observed the whole—he cares for his wife, I believe. As he cared for the son who is lost. The younger generation may not be best pleased, but if you’ll pardon an expression only a bit above the gutter, they know he’ll cut up warm. I suspect there will be plenty of guineas to go round.”

  “And think of the old lady’s pleasure,” Belle said. “It must be like having her son come back to her.”

  “I still wouldn’t trust ’em an inch,” Holly muttered.

  “Give over,” Cecy hissed in her ear. “Be happy for the boy.”

  “If he doesn’t break Cathy’s heart.” Holly Kincade, stubborn to the end.

  “Come,” Juliana said, deliberately turning the subject. “You must see my new ball gown. For Lady Charlbury’s betrothal ball,” she added as she led her former pupils toward her bedchamber.

  A sudden silence descended on the three young women, still arguing about Fetch’s family. “You are going to that woman’s betrothal ball?” Belle whispered.

  “To Mr. Wolfe?” Holly’s brown eyes filled with horror.

  “You’re mad,” Cecy breathed.

  “Oh, very like,” Juliana agreed. “But it must be done. How could I not go? Honor demands it.”

  “Honor be damned,” Holly snapped. “You can’t let her lord it over you. And that’s what she’ll be doing. Flaunting him like some grand prize at a country fair.”

  “Here we are.” Ignoring her friends’ bickering, Juliana threw open the doors of a large wardrobe and carefully unfurled the new gown which had been lying on the shelf.

  Cecilia and Holly ceased their grumbling long enough to join Belle in exclaiming over Madame Francine’s latest creation, but Holly was not so easily distracted from the primary topic. “That’ll show him,” she declared. Make him see what’s he’s missing. Grind him right into the dirt, that gown will.”

  No one needed to ask the identity of “him.”

  It was indeed a lovely gown, Juliana thought. Exactly what she’d wanted. And yes, Holly was right. She had absolutely no reason, or right, to flaunt herself in Darius’s face, but that was what she would be doing. See, see . . . if only I weren’t so damaged.

  If only . . .

  On the night of the ball Juliana took one last look in the cheval glass. When Madame Francine had displayed a primrose tulle, artfully beaded, embroidered in golden thread, and set with a scattering of brilliants, Juliana knew she must have it. The end result was a gown of bro
nze satin that almost exactly matched her hair, overlaid with a half-skirt of the spectacular tulle. The minuscule satin bodice was attached to off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves of the transparent tulle, giving the impression the whole might slip at any moment, revealing far more of Lady Rivenhall than even the most daring modiste intended. Gold slippers, a bandeau of bronze satin with a flower constructed of the beaded tulle, and a reticule to match completed her ensemble. Before descending to where Longmere was waiting, Juliana took one last look in her glass. She would do. Indeed, she would do.

  Darius, beware!

  It was going to be a squeeze. That much was apparent the moment they saw the line of carriages winding half-way round Berkeley Square. “I’m surprised she didn’t ask to use Charlbury House,” Jason murmured.

  “Perhaps she did and the new earl refused,” Juliana returned rather snidely. “He is but a distant cousin, I hear. And did you note the wording on the invitation? ‘Natalia, Countess of Charlbury,’ rather than ‘The Dowager Countess of Charlbury’?”

  Jason barked a laugh. “My dear Juliana, I thought you above playing the cat.”

  “I am sorry but I cannot like her. But Darius is in my employ, after all, and I must make a show of being pleased for him.”

  “Ah, my dear girl.” Jason said, leaning back against the squabs, his expression lost in the shadows, “you must know that in my younger years I flitted on the edge of Rivenhall’s set. He was always so charmingly sinful, you know. A man guaranteed to draw adventurous young noblemen as flies to honey. I was fascinated. By him, by you, by those closest to him. And of the many, Wolfe stood head and shoulders above the others. So . . .” The marquess leaned forward, placing his hand over hers. “No need to say more, except I think this betrothal does not sit well with you. But you may count on me to smooth your way through this evening as best I can.”

  His compassion was almost the final straw. Juliana came close to begging him to take her home. But after a brief struggle, she bit her lip, straightened her shoulders, and offered him a slightly wavering smile. “I am infinitely grateful. Thank you. I had not thought to be so transparent.”

  “You are complexity itself,” he returned. “I am flattered that you consider me enough of a friend to show me something other than the façade you show the world.”

  It was a ball like any other, Juliana told herself as they mounted the stairs. The smoke from myriad candles drifting over and around a miasma of perfume, food, and too many people crowded into rooms too small for such a grand affair. And then they reached the point at the top of the stairs where Natalia, Lady Charlbury and Mr. Darius Wolfe were greeting their guests.

  The butler announced: “The Baroness Rivenhall and the Marquess of Longmere.”

  Juliana smiled. And smiled, saying all the right words. And then they were past, though her knees threatened to give way and she could scarcely breathe. Jason’s hand was firm on her arm as he guided her into the ballroom, sat her down on a gilded chair with a scarlet velvet seat. “I will return with champagne in hand,” he murmured, and left her there, shaking, knowing herself for the greatest fool in the history of the world.

  The only sin she and Darius had committed was a sin arranged—yes, arranged—by her husband. Sin encouraged by her husband, perpetuated by her husband. And what choice had Darius had? He was Geoffrey’s employee.

  Juliana winced. The real sin was, they had enjoyed it. After the first few fumbling times, they had shut out their entertainment value to Geoffrey and reveled in each other. Darius and his Jewel, seeing, feeling no one but each other.

  She loved him. Had loved him almost from the very beginning.

  Yet she let her haunted past drive him away. With the inevitable result of Darius’s betrothal. To someone else.

  A glass of champagne appeared in her hand. Juliana summoned a wan smile of thanks. Dear Jason. He truly did seem to be a reformed man.

  He lowered himself to the seat beside her, gazing into her eyes with a remarkably inscrutable look. “You are about to be angry with me, I think, but know that I am doing you a favor. Call it ‘penance’, if you will.”

  Juliana sipped her champagne, eyeing him over the glass. “You realize I have not understood a single word?”

  “Not tonight,” he agreed equitably, “but you soon will.”

  “Jason?” Pain thrust aside, Juliana sat straight in her chair, eyeing her escort with considerable trepidation. “What diabolical scheme are you hatching?”

  “Why merely the completion of my atonement, my dear. Did you think you were the only one in search of a happy ending?”

  “Jason?” She searched his face. “You will not harm anyone?”

  The even temper he had so assiduously cultivated over the past year slipped, his eyes flashing like a blaze of lightning in a stormy sky. “Dear God, Juliana, is that not why I need to seek atonement? How could even ask such a question?”

  To her astonishment, he shot to his feet and stalked off.

  Another good man gone.

  She sat there, clutching her fan, attempting to assume the look the ton expected: the Baroness Rivenhall, worldly, wise, and worth more than any other guest in the room. When asked to dance, she offered a brilliant smile and accepted, whirling from one dance to the next until suddenly the orchestra was playing a waltz, and the hand around her waist belonged to Darius.

  She jerked back, but anticipating her reaction, his grip on her hand and waist tightening until it was almost painful as he gritted out, “If you wished to avoid me, Jewel, you should not have come.”

  She flashed a smile full of white teeth and venom. “On the contrary, I came to wish you happy. The harpy will do very well for you.”

  Darius’s laugh turned the heads of several couples dancing by. “My dear Jewel, you cannot think I wish to take an insipid young miss to wife, not after all those years of vintage wine.”

  “Vintage!” Juliana sputtered, once again attempting to pull away. “I am not yet thirty.” His only reply was to spin her in circles, a perfectly diabolical grin on his face.

  “Vintage in experience, my Jewel,” he murmured provocatively.

  “I’ll wager La Charlbury has known ten times the number of men. In the biblical sense, that is.”

  “On that point I will not argue.”

  At that, Juliana finally looked him in the eye. “And still you’ll marry her?”

  “Who among us has a past that bears close scrutiny?” he returned easily. “We are sinners, Jewel. Is it not guilt that keeps us apart?” She missed a step but he caught and steadied her with ease. And then suddenly they were out of the colorful swirl of dancers, the music fading as they danced out the tall open doors onto the balcony. He brought them to a halt with her back against the wall, his hands once again rising to grasp her shoulders, holding her firmly in place. “Will you never put the guilt aside? Never accept that you were an innocent when you married Geoff, that he pulled you into a world you should never have known. That none of it was your fault.”

  Darius let go of her long enough to run a hand through his ink black hair. “I know I’ve said this before—and you never listen—but turn your back on the lot of it, Jewel. Just slam the door. Live again. Be the girl Geoff married, tempered to steel by the bad compounded by all the good experiences and the wisdom you’ve acquired.” His hands renewed their grip on her shoulders. “Close the wound, Jewel. Be yourself. Lady Juliana Rivenhall. Intelligent, wise, and beautiful. You can do it, I know you can.”

  Juliana kept her eyes fixed on the flagstone floor as she returned, “How many times have you said this, and how many times have I failed? There’s something inside me that refuses to give way. Dear God, Darius, you know I want to, but I can’t!”

  “I should have killed him,” he muttered. “All those years ago, I should have killed him.”

  “And been hanged? Do not be absurd.”

  “So here you are.” Lady Charlbury’s icy tone bit through the cool night air.

  “Indeed
,” Darius said. “Since you seemed so well occupied, dancing with Longmere, I thought Lady Rivenhall and I should take the time to discuss her new school.”

  “How delightful, my darling,” the countess cooed, “but you seem to have forgotten this dance is promised to me.”

  As soon as Darius escorted the ladies back inside, Juliana asked a footman to find her a hackney. Men were an abominable sex. Darius was welcome to his countess, and Jason could go home alone. It was not, after all, as if she had ever planned to invite him in.

  Well, perhaps the thought had crossed her mind. As long as she could be certain Darius heard of it.

  Instead . . . Instead she would run home to Thornhill Manor, turn her back on the ton for a few days. Attempt to find her way out of the boggy pit she seemed to have made of her life.

  Caught fast with no way out.

  Unable to break the chains of memory.

  As she settled against the doubtful squabs of the hackney, Juliana choked out a rueful laugh. Her metaphors were as mixed as thoughts. Yes, she would go to Thornhill. Would she find only brief respite, or would desperation help her forge a new path?

  A new path to where? What was left when Darius was lost to her?

  Leaving Penniman to pay the jarvey, Juliana ascended the stairs to her bedchamber, surrounded by the dark uncertainty of her future.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two days later

  Bong. Bong. Bong. Darius leaned back in the leather-upholstered chair behind the desk in his bookroom, closed his eyes, and listened to the longcase clock announce the hour of midnight. Until recently, he had been among the citizens of London who were at their desks in the City no later than half-nine. In his case, usually closer to half-eight. But now . . .? Since Natalia stormed into his life, insisting he escort her to as many as three or four ton events in one night, he was seldom in bed before the wee hours. He had even seen dawn creeping over Mayfair more than a time or two.

  Yet it was a mere midnight and he was home alone, thoroughly enjoying the peace and quiet. Which was not exactly the correct emotion for a gentleman who had just become betrothed to one of the leading lights of the ton.