by Joan Vincent
"Oh, that scheming, abominable man,” Lady Juliane muttered. She had been discomposed ever since Bess had raised the green, watered-silk gown and held it for her to see.
All of the boxes and packets had disappeared. Juliane had stalked to the wardrobe, thrown open the doors, and gasped at the array of colours and materials within it. Looking closer, her jaw tightened.
All of her practical, serviceable gowns had been removed. “Of all the loathsome things to do,” she muttered while she paced. “Tretain could charm a snake out of his skin and the snake wouldn't know it."
The sound of male laughter echoed through the connecting passageway into her room. In a burst of unusual temper, she grabbed the figurine on a table close at hand and threw it at the connecting door.
The figurine, predictably shatter3e against the door and stilled the laughter. A few moments later, Lord Adrian, in breeches and open-necked shirt, cautiously opened the door.
"Is something troubling you, my lady?” he asked in vexatious innocence.
Through clenched teeth, Lady Juliane said, “No, my lord. An accident merely."
"You have not yet begun to dress,” he accused. “There is only a short time before we must ... go down.” He turned to go back to his room but paused.
"Your eyes are most beautiful.” Reading her irritated response, Lord Adrian judiciously hastened to close the door behind him.
Lady Juliane started toward the door to the hall, but the sight of Bess stopped her. She would not add to the gossip, certain that enough had already been gathered from the scene.
Just once, Juliane thought, I would dearly love putting him in his place. Capitulating for the moment, she allowed Bess to assist her in arraying herself in the garments Lord Adrian had provided. Having to concede that his taste was impeccable, if a bit extravagant, only increased her anger.
When Bess had completed the finishing touches, Juliane refused to look at her reflection in the mirror. She primly sat and awaited the earl.
Rising at his knock, Lady Juliane motioned for Bess to open the door.
Lord Adrian halted when he saw Juliane, a smile of deep satisfaction on his features. “Lovely, my dear, you are as I imagined, a statuesque Greek goddess.
"These should suit admirably.” He held out a velvet-covered box.
Lady Juliane refused to take it and used her eyes to convey a volume of unspoken feelings.
Lord Adrian opened the box and handed it to Bess. He removed a delicate gold chain set with emeralds. Standing close behind Juliane, he fastened it about her neck and placed a matching bracelet upon her wrist.
At his touch, Juliane's anger turned to something quite different. She allowed him to place her hand upon his arm as they went to the hall.
* * * *
Late that night, Juliane raised her head from a tear-soaked pillow, sat up in the darkness, and wiped her eyes with the edge of the sheet. You are being exceedingly missish, she reprimanded herself. You know you cannot tolerate such women. This pronouncement threatened to induce a fresh bout of weeping.
Foolish woman, Juliane thought, wasting all this energy over yourself, when you should be concerned with the children.
Sadly, she admitted that from the moment she and Lord Adrian had entered the library that afternoon, she had forgotten the danger to the children. He filled her thoughts completely. His touch—his nearness—made her heart sing.
Sighing, Lady Juliane hugged her knees. I must concentrate on the children. She sighed once more. Tomorrow I must go through with my plan before it is too late.
Reassured by her thoughts, but realizing her emotions were far too close to betraying the love she refused to recognize, Juliane fell into an uneasy sleep.
CHAPTER 16
Bright rays of the sun reflected off the dew-covered lawn creating a carpet of sparkling diamonds shimmering with the promise of an excellent day.
Lady Juliane had been down to breakfast early, thereby escaping an encounter with anyone. She instructed Holdt to have a small landau ready by mid-morning and to have the cook prepare a picnic luncheon. After ordering the luncheon be placed in the landau and another wicker basket sent to her room, she went to the temporary nursery.
Alva was dressing André and the servant assigned to help her was just finishing with Leora.
Taking the babe, Lady Juliane dismissed the servant girl. “We are going for an outing this morning, Alva since it is such a pleasant day. It should be warm enough by mid-morning for just light jackets, but bring along the children's heavy wraps."
Handing Leora to Alva, she said, “Take them into the other room for breakfast. Have them ready by mid-morning. I will come for you."
"Yes, m'lady. Be something wrong?” asked Alva, hesitating at the door.
"No, of course not—go on.” Juliane waited until Alva and the children were gone. Then, going to the wardrobe, she searched through it and removed several sets of the children's clothing. Coming out of the room, she assumed her most nonchalant air as she walked across the hall with her armful of clothing. She ignored the questioning looks of the watchful guards.
Once in her room, Lady Juliane packed the children's garments and added a few of her own things. She found it necessary to include a few of the new undergarments but was determined, even if it necessitated hardship, that she would not take any of the new gowns. Her packing finished, she went in search of Holdt.
The house was a hive of activity as servants worked to ready the huge ballroom and prepare the guest rooms. Lady Juliane hoped that all this activity would divert everyone's attention from her clandestine activities.
Locating Holdt, she ordered the landau to be left near the stables instead of brought to the house offering the children's desire to see Lord Adrian's animals as an excuse.
Lady Tretain collared Juliane as she made her way toward the stairs. “Come, my dear, see how well preparations are proceeding.” She frowned. “From this evening on until the guests depart, I shall send Satter to do your hair. We cannot have it seen as such."
As Lady Juliane planned on being absent this evening, she thanked Lady Tretain for her kindness and allowed her to lead the way into the ballroom.
"This is the first time this room will be used since my husband's death."
To Juliane's surprise a fleeting sorrow passed over the countess’ features.
"Do you approve?"
Looking about, Lady Juliane experienced a twinge of sadness. It would have been wonderful to reign over such a splendid room.
A myriad of servants were busy polishing the oak wainscoting and the floor to mirror perfection. Others were cleaning the score of huge candelabra placed along the walls and filling them with fresh candles. Elegant bouquets of flowers made from blue and silver lame were being constructed.
"It is most beautiful, Lady Tretain,” Lady Juliane answered sincerely.
"I am glad you feel so. I must go now—so much to see to. I will see you at luncheon."
"No, I will not be there,” Lady Juliane fidgeted. “I am taking the children on a picnic—my last chance to do so and the weather is so glorious this morning."
"But, I thought Lord Adrian ... well, never mind. Enjoy yourselves.” With a wave of her hand she was off.
Lady Juliane hurried back to her room and took up her cloak. It was time to go. In the nursery, she helped Alva button up the children's coats, procured the wicker basket from her bed, and picked up Leora.
In the hall, Juliane smiled at the two men assigned to guard them. Best to seem natural so they would not become suspicious. Alva rejoined the group and they made their way to the stable yard where the landau awaited.
Motioning for Alva to put the basket under the seat of the landau, Juliane turned to one of the guards. “I have forgotten my umbrella. Would you be so kind as to fetch it? You will find it on my bed."
When he was out of hearing, she had Alva hand André into the carriage. After the girl had followed him, she handed Leora to her.
"Oh, I
had forgotten—Holdt desired a word with you,” she told the remaining guard. “In one of the greenhouses, I believe. We will wait for you. No one can harm us here."
The man frowned but, not daring to disobey, went on his way.
Heartened by her success thus far, Lady Juliane dismissed the driver and ordered him to help her up to the driver's seat.
"But you cannot mean to drive off alone, my lady,” the groom exclaimed when he realized her intent.
"We are not going far. Lord Adrian knows of this. Do not worry. Now, release their heads."
The groom did so reluctantly and watched them out of sight. “That be odd,” he said to the driver, “but, if his lordship knows, who are we to disagree?"
The crunch of the chipped gravel beneath the hooves and wheels sang a song of freedom to Lady Juliane. She had hoped for a livelier pair than those hitched to the landau, but they would do. Drawing out of sight of the house, her assurance of success grew.
The path, they followed led them through a wooded area. After the brilliant sunshine the filtered murkiness there cast a pall on their spirits.
"Be ye certain of where we be goin'?” asked Alva, glancing about nervously. The children drew from her mood and huddled closer.
"Of course. Now smile—why such a lowering look?"
"I have a feelin', m'lady, and it bodes no good,” answered Alva with increasing anxiety.
Even the horses sensed something afoot and became restive in their paces.
Lady Juliane forced herself to remain calm. Once we are out of the woods, she assured herself, this feeling will evaporate. “Come, children, let us sing a song,” she said, leading them in a familiar French nursery tune.
Alva joined in as best she could and their spirits brightened somewhat until they realized they were not alone in their singing. One by one, they became silent with Lady Juliane trailing off last, her heart sinking. The song still surrounded them.
Flipping the reins, Lady Juliane admonished Alva to hold onto Leora and for André to find a grip. As the horses increased their gait, the muffled sound of hooves drowned out the nursery tune.
Casting a look back, Lady Juliane saw that four horses followed them. She could not see their riders. She took the whip in hand and she applied it vigorously. Even with this, the horsemen drew closer.
"They be masked,” screamed Alva, clutching Leora. “Lord above, save us!"
Closer still they drew. There seemed no escape. Hurtling into the bright sunshine with the riders in close pursuit, Lady Juliane caught a glimpse of movement to her right but was too occupied with the horses to consider it.
One of the riders had gained one of the horses’ heads and reached for its bridle.
Lady Juliane struck at him with the whip, using some of the more expressive phrases she had heard from her brother's men in India. Then a volley of gunshots sent fear deeper into her heart.
* * * *
As the four riders veered away from the landau and made for the forest, Mallatt led a group of grooms with fowling pieces after them. Lord Adrian and Comte de Cavilón raced after the still speeding landau.
Lady Juliane's gratitude at being rescued diminished when she recognized her deliverers. As Lord Adrian and the comte brought the horses to a halt, her lips thinned into a thin line.
Turning their horses back to the occupants of the landau after they halted it, Lord Adrian smiled grimly. Comte de Cavilón maintained a blank demeanour.
"That was magnifique,” cried André, standing. Alva and Leora were crying—Alva from fright and relief, Leora from being held in a crushing grip.
Lady Juliane sat ramrod straight, unspeaking.
"How careless of my men to leave you unattended. I must discipline them."
"That will not be necessary,” Lady Juliane said quietly. She was very mindful of the comte's scrutinizing gaze.
"Truly,” quipped Lord Adrian. “I hear you are destined for a picnic. Knowing Cook, she will have prepared enough food for a battalion. We will join you.” He dismounted, tied his mount to the rear of the landau, and climbed up, taking a seat beside Lady Juliane.
She refused to look at him even when he took the reins from her hands.
"May I compliment you on your command of the English language, my dear,” Lord Adrian said languidly as he flicked the horses into motion. “We could not hear you clearly, of course, but your education does seem to be diverse."
Lady Juliane's blush rose higher, but she refused to rise to the bait.
Reaching a clump of pines, Lord Adrian halted the team. He stepped down and reached up to assist Lady Juliane. Ungraciously, she allowed him to do so.
Alva shook her head in puzzlement at Lady Juliane's black look when she reached for Leora.
"I had no idea you were so fond of outings, Juliane,” noted Lord Adrian, taking the wicker basket from beneath Alva's feet.
Lady Juliane bit her lip. That was not the basket of food. “My lord,” she said, concentrating on Leora's jacket, “I have ... have forgotten to thank you. Let me do so by serving your lunch. If you will but give the basket to me?” She looked at him as guilelessly as she could.
"I would not think of it, my dear,” the earl assured her. “I am certain this ‘luncheon’ will be sufficient reward."
"But, no, my lord. Take Leora for me."
Lord Adrian balanced the basket atop the wheel. “Is there something troubling you?"
"I—” Juliane stammered. “I—that is, that is the wrong basket, my lord. It contains ... extra clothing for the children,” she finished lamely.
Lord Adrian raised the edge of the basket lid. He reached inside and lifted a lace chemise just high enough for Lady Juliane to see. “Do you not think Leora a bit young for this?” he asked with raised eyebrow.
Blushing fiercely, Lady Juliane reached across and slammed the lid shut, barely missing Lord Adrian's hand.
"I am most fortunate you are so good-natured,” he teased and put the basket back and removed the other.
CHAPTER 17
"Success” was not the word Lady Juliane used to describe her “outing.” A day after the fact she still fumed. Not so much that she had failed, but that she was forced to endure Lord Adrian and Comte de Cavilón's idle chatter the entire afternoon.
If only he had mentioned something, anything, about her attempted escape, but, no, the pompous buck had pressed on as if nothing had happened. Compounding matters, André adored him even more. What was she to do?
Even worse was the role Lady Juliane now had to play. The weight of the deception increased daily. The guests had arrived. Each introduction added to her guilt because of the ready acceptance of her as Lord Adrian's wife. Indeed, Lord Adrian had gone out of his way to be the exemplary husband. She could not decide what he was about.
It matters little, Lady Juliane thought. It will end the same for me regardless of his design. But how am I to protect the children? She started as voices intruded into her ruminations.
"Lady Juliane. Here you are,” exclaimed Lady Stern. “Sir Percival and I wondered where you had gotten to."
"I felt the need to relax,” Lady Juliane answered quietly.
"I can well understand that. This house has never seen so much excitement. My goodness, you are the best thing that could have happened.
"Is that not so, Sir Percival?"
"Yes, my lady, exactly so,” beamed Sir Percival, twisting the lace on his sleeve, a habit Lady Juliane had patiently tried to ignore since being introduced to the foppish young man.
"You are both most kind,” Lady Juliane replied softly.
Laughter edged into the room and they all turned to the door. Lord Adrian and one of the most beautiful women Lady Juliane had ever seen entered arm in arm.
"You have been negligent, Lord Adrian,” said Lady Stern, tapping his arm with her fan. “You did not tell us Lady Cecile was coming."
"But I did not know it. Her presence is a delightful surprise provided by Mother.” He sought Lady Juliane's eyes,
but she looked away.
Lady Cecile's intimate manner and flirting glances at Lord Adrian, gave Juliane uncharacteristically unsavoury thoughts about the woman. She would swallow him, she thought distastefully. If she clung any closer, she might just as well be a drape. A milk and toast miss if ever there was one, she quipped silently.
Juliane's thoughts continued in this caustic manner as she assessed the perfect coiffure, the palest complexion, the slimmest figure with curves disgustingly well placed, and the tiniest of feet peeping from beneath a rose gown complete with furbelows and gewgaws. Repulsively feminine. The sort men had preferred throughout all of Lady Juliane's competently unfeminine life.
"Lady Juliane ... I say, Lady Juliane?” repeated Sir Percival with a nervous twist at his lace.
"Oh, yes?"
"Lady Cecile,” he coughed delicately into his lace, “was addressing you."
"Lady Cecile, I am sorry. What was it?” Lady Juliane asked in a sharper tone than she intended.
"I merely wished to offer you my most sincere congratulations,” gushed Lady Cecile. “Why, you must realize you are the most fortunate of women. Such a man as Lord Adrian.” She hugged the earl's arm to which she had continued to cling.
"To remove such a nonpareil from the marriage mart is a feat indeed. How did you manage it?"
The hostility beneath Lady Cecile's soft tones was clear to Juliane. She also sensed Lord Adrian's discomfort and failed to resist the urge to increase it. Dismissing her usual common sense approach, Juliane bubbled, “Why, I just cannot tell you."
Taking Lord Adrian's free arm, Juliane looked up adoringly and sighed. “He just swept me away. You know his ways. I could not resist his marvellous manners.
"Fortunately for me, he also had a penchant for honeyed water in crockery mugs,” she cooed, recalling how she had halted his amorous advances at the farm cottage.
The assembled company exchanged puzzled looks as a slow blush crept above Lord Adrian's collar.
This was more nerve-wracking than any situation in which the earl had ever found himself. What has come over Juliane?
