Abandoned to the Prodigal, page 16
“So do you.”
Juliet glanced doubtfully in the glass as she passed. She had made no effort to shine this evening. She wore no jewels, but the dainty diamond set her parents had given her as a coming-out present two years ago. Her gown, of a subtle, icy green silk, was a favorite, but it needed emeralds to bring it to life. But her intention, as well as her parents’ wish, was to remain in the background.
And in truth, she had no idea how she would be greeted by these friends and neighbors. No one had refused to come, and no one would be rude to her in her father’s house. But no one could deny her name was tainted. Those who had called on her parents in the last week had not brought their daughters. Old friends of her own age had made no effort to see her.
If it had not been for Dan’s anticipated presence, she would have felt even more uneasy than Kitty. As it was, she felt rewarded when they descended the stairs into the gallery where the guests were gathering to be greeted by the earl and countess. It was not yet crowded, and Kitty’s face lit up like a beacon as soon as she caught sight of Lawrence. And Lawrence, moving instantly toward them, had eyes only for his betrothed.
This made Juliet smile as she moved aside to exchange a few words with Lawrence’s kind parents. After a few minutes, she moved away, unwilling to take advantage of their shelter, for this was something of a triumph for them, to have won the earl’s daughter into their family. Juliet thought they appreciated Kitty for herself rather than her birth and was glad.
She caught Jeremy’s gaze on her once but pretended not to. Unlike Kitty’s, her engagement had been for political ends, both her father’s and Jeremy’s. Only she had been unaware of it.
Lord Barden bowed over her mother’s hand, and with a jolt, she remembered Hazel’s letter. That the man responsible for her downfall should be here at this moment… She still didn’t know why he had come. On impulse, she moved forward, placing herself on a course to intercept him.
He saw her coming and bowed. “Lady Juliet.”
“Sir.”
“You must be delighted for your sister,” he remarked politely.
“Of course. I know she will be very happy.”
He smiled, reminding her for some reason of a cat playing with a mouse. “Still, you cannot have expected her to marry before you.”
“I never considered the matter,” she replied coldly.
“Allow me to offer my sympathies on the ending of your own engagement.”
“They are not necessary, sir, but I thank you for your kindness.”
“I confess I am surprised to see Mr. Catesby here. Someone is not taking their dismissal well.”
With shock, she realized, he did not mean Jeremy, but her. Of course he knew, despite the polite fiction that Juliet had done the jilting, that it was Jeremy who had cried off. But that he should refer to it, when he had, in effect, caused it, flabbergasted her.
“I suspect you are not regarding the unfortunate situation in quite the right way.”
“Do you?” she said deliberately, meeting his gaze with all the contempt of which she was capable. “And how do you advise I do regard it?”
“As an opportunity,” he replied.
“To do what? Bring to justice the…person who traduced me?”
“There is no chance of that,” he stated, with frightening confidence. “But you should marry him. There is some justice in that.” He smiled at her stupefaction and bowed before moving on. “Lady Juliet.”
So that was the offer he had made to her father? No wonder Papa was looking tense. Although at the moment his expression could have something to do with the fact that he was greeting Mrs. Stewart and Dan.
Her heart lifted at the sight of Dan, and she found herself already moving toward him as though to her only source of comfort. Fragments of conversations reached her as she walked.
“… Myerly’s eldest daughter, you know. The one who jilted Cosland and ran away with a soldier.”
“…her name is Stewart now. Do you suppose Cosland still carries a torch for her?”
“…her son?”
“According to rumor, old Myerly made him his heir.”
“Hush…”
“How do you do, ma’am?” Juliet greeted Mrs. Stewart, only too aware of the avid listeners.
“Very well indeed. How beautiful you look—does she not, Dan? Oh my, is that Amelia…” She drifted away, and Juliet had to concentrate in order to prevent herself from grabbing Dan’s arm and dragging him off to a quiet corner.
“Yes, she does,” Dan said, his eyes gleaming as he looked down at her.
She could only smile distractedly and begin to walk, knowing he would fall into step beside her.
“What is it?” he asked, low.
She drew a deep breath. “Nothing really. But that man is here, the one responsible for the vile piece in the newspaper.”
“Is he, by God,” Dan said softly. “Point him out.”
“No, for I don’t want you getting in a fight or even a quarrel with him. I think he is dangerous, and I’m afraid…”
“Afraid of what?” he asked, frowning.
“I don’t know. But he’s also the man whose fortune my father won at cards.”
Dan’s eyebrows flew up. “Then this business is simple revenge?”
“Not simple. He named four of us, and Hazel seems to have thwarted him somehow with the support of the Sayles. Which is odd in itself, for she never had a kind word to say about Sir Joseph.” She drew in her breath. “I’m babbling. I’ve been needing to talk to you.”
“I miss our walks,” he admitted. “But, at least tonight, we can enjoy ourselves.”
She glared at him. “How can I enjoy myself when I have Barden in one corner, Jeremy in the other, and half the county avidly watching my every step to see if I’m a fallen woman?”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
A moment longer she scowled, then she had to smile back. “You are abominable. How dare you make me laugh when I’m trying to be a tragic heroine in a melodrama?”
“I thought you’d prefer to laugh. It would do me good, too.”
“Are things difficult for you? Has the rest of the family not left yet?”
“What, before Lady Cosland’s dinner? No, we just couldn’t all fit in the one carriage, so we came ahead with Hugh.”
“Oh, where is Hugh?” she asked eagerly.
“He is quite soberly dressed, sadly, although there are yellow butterflies on his waistcoat, which he is very proud of.”
“And do the others quarrel with you?”
He shrugged. “They gave up when I wouldn’t quarrel back. But you could still cut the atmosphere with a knife. Silly, really, because we all know he’ll change his will again as soon as I annoy him too much.”
“Do you think so?”
He shrugged. “He is capricious.”
“So, what have you been doing?”
“I keep out of the way, spend most of my time with Patrick, the steward. Am I allowed to monopolize you like this?”
As it turned out, he was, for he had been earmarked by the countess to take Juliet into dinner. Of course, it was largely to keep the scandalous daughter away from more important people, but the countess could not have chosen a more congenial dinner partner for her.
“Actually, now I think about it,” Juliet murmured as he sat beside her at the massive table, “it makes perfect sense. As Lord Myerly’s heir, you are an important man and quite worthy to take the earl’s daughter into dinner. And yet, you will not be insulted or alarmed by being obliged to talk to me.”
“What rot,” Dan countered. “You are obviously here to tell me which cutlery to use.”
The meal was long and magnificent, and Juliet was glad to see her sister smiling and contented. Ferdy was making up shamefully to the squire’s daughter. Jeremy, seated with her cousin Anne, cast Juliet occasional glances, perhaps because she was laughing too much for someone not engaged. She also caught several curious and shyly admiring glances cast by young women—married and otherwise—at Dan.
But it was Barden’s observation that made her flesh crawl. So much so, that Dan drew her attention away by asking, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take him outside and punch him?”
“Not yet,” Juliet said hastily. She glanced at him. “Besides, I’ve never thought of you as violent.”
“I’m a peaceable man for the most part,” Dan agreed. “But I’m happy to make an exception for the oily, the weasely, and anyone else who upsets you.”
“Oily George,” she remembered, almost with fondness. “That seems so long ago, and it is only about ten days!”
He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then politely turned to speak to the blushing girl on his other side.
A little later, he turned back to Juliet, asking, “So what happens after this?”
“You will not be encouraged to linger over your wine, for Mama has hired a fiddler, and there is to be dancing.”
“Will you dance with me?”
For some reason, the casual question made her blush. “Of course.”
*
The partition between the small and large drawing rooms had been folded back and both cleared of excess furniture. The result was a miniature ballroom with seating for chaperones and others not dancing. The room connected to the large drawing room had been set up for card players. Candles blazed in the chandeliers and in several wall sconces.
The overall effect was a fine balance of splendor and coziness, although it was all on a rather larger scale than Kitty had wanted.
“What utterly charming rooms,” Mrs. Cornwell remarked, sitting unexpectedly beside Juliet. “And what a delightful way to mark your sister’s engagement.”
“You’re very kind, ma’am. I believe Kitty is enjoying it.”
Kitty was the center of a group of young ladies, including several old friends they had both known all their lives. Normally, Juliet would have been part of the same group. Now she felt awkward and unwanted, as well as bound by her parents’ strictures that she stay in the background.
“Ah, here are the gentlemen,” Mrs. Cornwell observed. “You must be looking forward to dancing.”
“I love to dance,” Juliet admitted, looking toward the door. She couldn’t see Dan at first and then was glad to glimpse him laughing with Ferdy and Lawrence King, before they all sauntered off in different directions.
“Lady Juliet,” Colin Cornwell said in front of her, and she looked up to see him bowing. “Mama.”
“Mr. Cornwell,” Juliet replied, smiling. “I hope your evening is agreeable so far?”
“Most agreeable. Charming company, an excellent dinner, and dancing to follow—what man could ask for more?”
The inviting scrape of a fiddle struck up from the corner of the room, and Colin bowed again. “Perhaps, Lady Juliet, you would honor me with the first dance?”
Surprised, for Colin struck her as something of a high stickler and he must have known about the scandal breaking over her head, Juliet said, “Thank you, of course I would.”
The country dance was just what she needed to lose the tensions of the evening. Colin smiled and chatted, as did everyone in the set, and when it was finished, she was quite happy to take his arm and go in search of refreshment, which the footmen were offering.
“I should escort you to Lady Cosland,” he observed as they sipped champagne.
“Oh, the party is too small and informal to worry about such niceties,” she replied. “In this setting, everyone is a chaperone.”
Rather to her surprise, they were joined by two neighbors’ sons, old friends who seemed delighted to see her. She wondered cynically if they would be so happy to escort her to their sisters. However, this situation was even less their fault, so she merely asked after their families and their latest news, while Colin tried to look interested but didn’t, oddly enough, excuse himself.
The fiddler, having given them a few minutes to recover, struck up a waltz. Her old friends amused her by getting in each other’s way to prevent the other asking her to dance. She rather thought Colin would win simply by offering his arm. But then the worst happened.
Lord Barden loomed over the more youthful heads. “Lady Juliet,” he said, extending his hand in a languid manner. “Will you do me the honor?”
It reduced her old friends to chagrinned silence. Colin frowned with something very like frustration. Juliet shared it. She would have danced with anyone, even Jeremy, to avoid this. But in all politeness, she could not. He had asked, and she had no reason to refuse that would not cause an unsightly quarrel and upset Kitty’s party.
“Gladly, sir,” she replied, trying to smile. She placed her hand on his sleeve. Dan advanced onto the dancefloor with her cousin Anne, and she desperately wanted to swap partners. He was bending toward her as if to hear her better, a smile lurking about his lips. Just so had he often smiled at her. Her stomach tightened.
Dear God, am I jealous?
Of course not. I just have no desire to dance with Barden.
But she has to suffer his arm at her waist, his fingers lightly clasping hers. There was something cold, almost reptilian about him, and yet behind this ice, his eyes swirled with anticipation. Or was it triumph?
It didn’t matter. Convention, manners, and care for her sister might have forced her to dance with him, but she had no intention of conversing with the man who had so casually ruined four innocent young women.
Over his shoulder, she saw Dan dancing as she’d known he would, with careless grace and a shade too much enthusiasm. Anne seemed enchanted.
Barden broke the silence at last, in a bored voice. “You are enjoying your sister’s party?”
“Of course.” She did not return the question.
“You need not worry. You will still be married before her.”
She met his gaze. “I have no plans to marry. And frankly, the order of such events is immaterial to me.”
“Won’t young Catesby come back up to scratch?” he said sympathetically.
“Mr. Catesby and I do not suit.”
“The trouble is, my dear, in your present predicament, you do not suit anyone. But you will do very well for me.”
“Why, because you are no one?” she flashed back before she could bite her lips.
His eyes narrowed. Then he smiled. “My, my, the kitten has claws. Those must be clipped.”
She ignored him, gazing straight ahead at his chin. She hoped she looked as disdainful as she felt. And trusted she was hiding the surge of panic. He sounded too sure of himself, as though he knew more than she did. And he made her flesh crawl.
“I suppose you know,” he drawled, “that these opulent surroundings, the exquisite dinner we have just enjoyed, even the expensive silk gracing your lovely person, all were bought with money stolen from me.”
She curled her lip. “You lost a game of cards. Or was it dice? Whatever, I suggest you grow up, for you are not a child to complain now about the fairness of the game.”
A mottled flush stained his cheeks. His eyes spat. “Fairness? I was little more than a child. He fleeced me.”
“A child? By my reckoning, sir, you would have been around five- or six-and-twenty and well able to take responsibility for your own bad decisions.”
Deliberately, it seemed, he calmed himself. He even smiled, although it was not pleasant. “As you take responsibility for yours? You should not have stayed in that house, you know.”
“What difference would it have made? You already had the piece written and printed before any of us arrived.”
He could not quite hide his surprise. The suspicion had been Hazel’s, and clearly, she was quite right. The princess’s ladies were the only people named, or at least initialed in the newspaper. And yet more famous people, including two well-known singers and a notorious actress, had been present. They could have added juicier meat to a very generalized description. But nowhere in the article were they mentioned.
He forced another smile. “But at least the Alfords might have stood by you. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m glad they didn’t. I now find you back on the marriage mart, heavily discounted.”
“You are insulting, sir,” she said between her teeth.
“Get used to it, little girl. I am already your master, and you should know it.”
No one had ever dared to speak to her this way. The combination of rudeness and blatant insult was flabbergasting. She resolved not to open her mouth again and didn’t, even when he spoke to her. But she endured until the end of the dance.
Even then, he would not let her escape at once. “Some champagne to celebrate your new fortune,” he said, retaining her hand and placing it on his sleeve. Stiffly, she walked off the floor with him and was handed a fresh glass of bubbling wine.
She wanted to throw it in his face. She contented herself with murmuring thanks to the waiter and removing her hand from his arm at last.
“Another dance, Lady Juliet?”
She stared at him. And, again, was reminded of a cat playing with a mouse. He was torturing her for his own entertainment. Well, that was not a game she would allow him to win. He was relying on her good manners. Since people must have heard him ask, and two dances in one evening was unexceptionable, he thought she was obliged to accept.
She tilted her chin. “I am a little fatigued. I would rather sit this one out with—”
Before she could add her mother, sister, or any other member of her family, he interrupted. “Excellent choice. I am happy to sit with you. Here, perhaps?” He indicated the vacant chairs closest to where they stood, still well within the hearing of other guests where she could not deliver the blistering set-down on the tip of her tongue. He smiled, offering his arm once more. “Or perhaps my lady would rather dance after all?”
She didn’t want to be anywhere near him, and he knew it. She could plead a sudden headache and flee to her mother, but such spiritless conduct appalled her. It would still let him win.
“Don’t be a hog, man,” a familiar voice said at her elbow. “The lady is promised to me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dan. Her relief was dizzying.
