Who is Captain Harry Fanton?

When Juliana Milford first encounters Captain Harry Fanton, she finds him arrogant and rude. There’s no way she’ll fall for his dazzling smile! Her visit to Chadcombe House was always going to prompt questions over her scandalous family, so she’s touched when Harry defends her reputation. She’s discovering there’s more to Harry than she’d first thought...

A man so plagued by the demons of war, he’s sworn he’ll never marry, no matter how tempted...

Without any further warning, Harry bent his head and kissed her.

Shocked, Juliana could only feel the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, the brief touch of his breath before it was gone again. Not a moment too soon, as some guests appeared round the arc in the corridor. He had timed the kiss to perfection, in the brief instant when they were alone, and in that split second Juliana’s senses swam, her stomach flipped and her nerve endings tingled.

Her heart was pounding with what must be outrage. ‘Thank you? I should thank you for kissing me without my permission?’ Her voice squeaked a little. She cleared her throat. ‘Why on earth would I do such a thing?’

‘Because, my darling Juliana, I wished you to know yourself. To know the passion within you...a passion that would be smothered by the wrong man. You would end up half alive.’

‘You have no right to make such remarks—or to kiss me!’ Surprisingly, Juliana felt close to tears. What was happening to her?

He looked closely at her and his gaze softened. With a rueful half-smile, he murmured, ‘You must believe me when I tell you I have only your interests at heart.’

Praise for Juliet Landon

“Charming, romantic and historically accurate; it’s a feast for the history lover.”

—RT Book Reviews on Scandalous Innocent

“Landon has written a titillating and entertaining battle of the sexes, one in which readers cannot help but take sides—both of them. SENSUAL.”

—RT Book Reviews on His Duty, Her Destiny

“Readers who enjoy medieval love stories...will enjoy immersing themselves in this tale.”

—RT Book Reviews on Captive of the Viking

The Captain’s Disgraced Lady

Catherine Tinley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHERINE TINLEY Catherine Tinley has loved reading and writing since childhood, and has a particular fondness for love, romance and happy endings. She lives in Ireland with her husband, children, dog and kitten, and can be reached at catherinetinley.com, as well as through Facebook and @CatherineTinley on Twitter.

Books by Catherine Tinley

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The Chadcombe Marriages Waltzing with the Earl The Captain’s Disgraced Lady

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

For my family—

Andrew, Danny, Aoife and Maeve—with love.

And for my friends Bryan and Beryl,

for loyalty and love through good times and bad.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Praise

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Author Note

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Dover—March 1815

‘Come along, Mama—it’s this way.’

Juliana moved confidently along the wharf, ignoring the rain, the sailors, dockworkers and passengers. She wore a fashionable travelling gown of dark-green merino, which clung to her form, and a fetching hat with a small feather stuck in it at a jaunty angle.

‘You there!’ Her voice was strong, clear and assured.

‘Yes, miss?’ The docker doffed his hat, despite the rain.

‘We require a carriage—a good carriage. It will take us to Ashford tonight, then on towards Surrey.’

‘Yes, miss. Right away, miss.’

‘The porter will bring our luggage. We shall require a place to wait, out of the rain, while our luggage is brought from the ship.’

‘Er, yes, miss. You won’t want to go to the Swan—it’s not for the likes of you. You’d be better suited to the King’s Head.’ As he spoke, the docker indicated the King’s Head, failing to conceal his horror at the thought of two gently bred ladies wandering into the Swan in broad daylight. Juliana tried not to smile.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice gentled. ‘See, Mama? Did I not tell you all would be well?’

Her mama did not look convinced. She glanced around fearfully, clinging to her reticule as if convinced it would be stolen from her at any moment. Juliana sighed inwardly. Her mama’s anxiety was even worse than she had anticipated. She needed to get her indoors and offer her reassurance. Ignoring the spring rain, which was getting heavier by the minute, Juliana marched purposefully to the inn, her mama following in her wake.

The King’s Head had seen better days. The sign over the door was a little faded, as was the wool rug on the floor of the taproom. The wooden panelling and gloomy portraits on the walls gave an air of an age gone by, but the stone floor was clean and the brass taps shone.

The landlord, assessing their quality at a glance, bustled forward to welcome the two ladies. Inviting them to follow him out of the common taproom to the cosy parlour, he asked for their requirements—tea, cakes, and the fire to be built up. As usual, Juliana took charge, making her requests politely but firmly. They were to have sole use of the parlour. The tea should be served very hot, with an additional pot of hot water.

Mama sank into the nearest chair with an attitude of great relief.

Juliana immediately went to her. ‘Oh, Mama! You look fagged to death. And I have dragged you across the sea when you never wanted to come. You know I could have travelled to visit Charlotte with just a maid to accompany me. You did not have to come! Here, let me put this cushion behind you. Your tea will be here directly.’ She threw an imperious glance at the landlord, who quickly absented himself in pursuit of the hottest tea he could procure. Good! Now she could spend the next hour or so seeing to her mama’s comfort, soothing her and ensuring she was relaxed enough to cope with the next part of the journey.

Juliana knew exactly what her mama required, for had she not done this many times before? Mama needed solitude—the parlour door closed against strangers, along with hot tea and reassuring words.

Mama waited until the door had closed behind the landlord, before declaring tremulously, ‘I do not mind, Juliana. Well, that is to say... I cannot claim I wanted to come, but I could not let you travel by yourself, all the way across the sea. Why, you have never been to England before!’

Juliana sighed, remembering the many hours of agonised debating. Mama had wanted to accompany her, yet had also not wanted to. Juliana had bitten her lip, not having wanted to influence her mother, content to travel with her or without her. It had been months before Mama had made a final decision.

‘And I have told you before, I can look after myself, Mama. Why, I have travelled from Brussels to school in Vienna with just a chambermaid for company, many times!’

‘That is different.’

‘How is it different? I—but, no, let us not go over this again. You are here and you are weary, and I should make you comfortable. Should you like to lie down for a while?’

‘I confess I still feel as though the ground is rolling under my feet, as it was on that awful boat! I declare I thought we would all end up in the sea, it was so stormy! I should like to sit here for a little while, before we continue on.’

Juliana looked at her mother doubtfully. The crossing had been an easy one, the sea smooth. The rain had only started as they approached Dover. Mama had stayed in the cabin the whole time, not actually being sick, but expressing strong disapproval of the sea and everything associated with it. Juliana had paced the deck, exhilarating in her first sea voyage, inhaling the sea, immersing herself in the experience.

Perhaps this was why they had never travelled home to England before. Although Juliana was used to her mama’s nerves, she did seem to be reacting particularly badly to her sea journey. Mama rarely left their home city of Brussels, but had made the long journey to visit Juliana in Vienna the previous year, accompanied by her devoted maid, Sandrine. Strange to think Mama had grown up here, in England, yet Juliana had never even visited.

Until now. Juliana’s dear friend Charlotte—her best friend from the school for young ladies—had moved to England and was now married, and Juliana had not seen her for more than a year.

Tea was the solution, Juliana decided. Mama would rest here awhile, in solitude, then they could continue their journey.

* * *

Captain Harry Fanton, darling of the Thirtieth Foot Regiment, strode into the King’s Head, glad to get out of the rain. The sea crossing had been smooth enough, but he was frustrated at having to return to England when his fellow officers were busy preparing to take on Napoleon again. His colleague Evans followed diffidently. Harry was rarely seen without a smile or a light-hearted remark, but today, his usual good humour seemed to have left him. Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on the high bar. ‘Landlord!’

Harry had lodged many times in the King’s Head and the landlord recognised him and his colleague immediately.

Ignoring the landlord’s effusive greeting, Harry informed him, curtly, that they required overnight rooms, as well as the use of the parlour.

Wringing the corner of his apron, the landlord explained haltingly that the parlour was in use, that two ladies—a mother and daughter just off the packet from Calais—had need of the parlour for an hour while they awaited their carriage and—

‘Tosh!’ said Harry. ‘Why, we have shared the parlour before, with many fellow travellers! We shall speak to these ladies and all will be well! Come, Evans...’ he nudged his portly, sandy-haired friend ‘...follow me!’

Knowing his way about, Harry led the way unerringly to the parlour. The landlord stayed at the end of the hallway, still clutching his apron for comfort. Ignoring him, Harry scratched on the parlour door. His friend, experiencing sudden qualms, baulked.

‘Dash it, Harry, we need not intrude. Perhaps we should have stayed in the taproom. The beer is the same there!’

Harry brushed off his concerns. ‘Nonsense, Evans! I have a fancy for the parlour and its fire. I will handle this—trust me.’

On hearing the command to enter, Harry opened the door. He paused to survey the scene. On a chair beside the fire sat a faded, middle-aged lady with fair hair and gentle blue eyes in a pale face. Standing beside her chair was a young woman, who—

Lord!

She was strikingly beautiful. Her height was average, but she seemed taller—something to do with the air of suppressed energy about her. She was as dark as her mother was fair, with glossy brown curls, a stubborn chin and expressive chocolate eyes, framed by thick black lashes. His own eyes swept over her, noting the confident stance, white neck and shapely figure. A vision!

He smiled—a smile his friends would recognise. They called it the Dazzler, for the effect it had on young ladies.

He made an elegant bow. ‘Ladies! Allow me to present myself! I—’

‘You have made a mistake. This is the wrong room.’

‘Pardon me?’ He blinked.

‘I said...’ the young lady spoke slowly, as if he had trouble understanding ‘...this is the wrong room. You should not be here. This room is taken.’

Beside him, Evans gave a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed. Harry’s spine stiffened. He would not be made to look a fool in front of one of his lieutenants!

‘This room,’ he returned, speaking equally patiently, ‘is a public room. It is not a private parlour. Therefore—’ he stepped forward ‘—we will join you.’

‘You must know,’ she insisted, through gritted teeth, ‘I cannot physically remove you. Hence I must ask you, if you are a gentleman, to allow my mother and me the private use of this room.’

‘An interesting dilemma. For you cannot know if I am a gentleman or not, as we have not even been introduced. I am—’

‘I do not wish to know who you are! I wish only that you leave this instant!’ Incensed, she stamped a little foot. Her mother, who had been becoming increasingly agitated, chose this moment to intervene.

‘My dear Juliana, they are doing no harm. They have been out in the rain, like us, and perhaps also need the warmth of the fire.’

Two points of high colour appeared in Juliana’s cheeks, as she heard her mother’s words. They were gently uttered, but delivered a public rebuke, nevertheless. Harry almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

She was not to be defeated. ‘Very well, you may remain. We shall remove ourselves to the taproom!’ She swept towards them, all grace and haughtiness. ‘Mama, we shall allow these men to have the parlour.’ She clearly expected her mother to follow.

‘Oh, no! My dear, please!’ Juliana’s mama shot a look of entreaty at the soldiers.

Harry knew himself to be defeated. He spoke coldly. ‘There is no need for you to leave. We shall retire to the taproom.’ He bowed politely to the older lady. ‘I shall cause you no further distress, ma’am.’

He turned to Juliana. ‘Miss.’ It was the shallowest of bows, designed to show his disdain.

She responded with the slightest nod of her head, mirroring his iciness, but her eyes blazed.

Evans, who had been squirming in agitated silence, made his bow to the two ladies, then followed his friend out of the room. They closed the door behind them.

‘Well!’ Juliana exploded in a flurry of movement, pacing up and down the parlour. ‘What an insufferable man!’

‘Now, Juliana—’

‘So rude! So arrogant! Thinking he could just burst in here, uninvited—’

‘They did knock, my dear. You bade them enter.’

‘No, but—well, yes, I bade them enter, but only because he knocked. I did not bid him to stay!’

‘It is not seemly to draw attention to yourself in such a way.’

‘Oh, stuff, Mama! What should I do? Allow people to dominate me? Never!’

‘We could have shared the parlour with them, you know.’

‘Mama, you know you could not have rested properly with strangers in the room!’

‘But you must not appear hoydenish, Juliana. We are in England now and it is important you are not noticed.’

‘I care not if I am noticed or not. But I will not stand by and have your comfort disturbed by some boorish soldiers!’

Mama sighed. ‘I do not mind, Juliana.’

Juliana put her hands to her head in exasperation. ‘You know I am right, Mama. Why do you say you do not mind, when we both know that you mind very much?’

Mama had no answer to this. Looking at her confused face, Juliana relented. Taking Mama’s limp hand, she spoke kindly to her. ‘Mama, you cannot always please everyone. Sometimes you must think of yourself. Why, you are so kind, so yielding, that you would be insulted by every demi-beau and dunned by every tradesman in Brussels! How I used to hate it, when I was younger, watching them be rude to you or try to cheat you with false accounting. If I were a boy I’d have called them out over it! But you are so good, Mama. They sense your weakness.’

‘I do not believe those young men offered us any insult or inconvenience, Juliana. Oh, how I wish you would think before you act!’

Juliana was only half-listening. She moved to the window and stared out, lost in thought. ‘I swore when I was twelve I would grow up and take care of you.’

She would never forget the day she had made that vow. She had entered their little sitting room in the rented house in Brussels, to find her mama crying, sheets of paper with numbers on them scattered across the table. Twelve-year-old Juliana had been shocked. ‘What is wrong, Mama?’

‘Oh, Julie-Annie,’ her mama had said. ‘It is just these bills—tiresome grown-up things. I think the butcher has made a mistake with his reckoning again, but this time I have not the funds to pay the difference.’

‘What difference, Mama? What do you mean?’ Juliana had never been interested in the accounts before. Mama meticulously counted out the money every month and gave some of it to the landlord, some to the butcher, some to the other tradesmen. It had always been that way. Juliana’s father, a soldier, had died of a fever when Juliana was just a baby, so there had only ever been the two of them.

‘It says here that we had a haunch of venison, which I know we did not, for I would surely remember if we ate anything so extravagant. Well, I know we had only the bacon and the squabs this week, and the mutton for stew.’

Juliana was shocked. ‘You mean the butcher has added something to the list that we did not have?’

She took the bill from her mother’s trembling hand. There it was. Venison. They hadn’t eaten venison since April, when they had been invited to the Vicar’s house for dinner.

‘It must be a mistake,’ said Mama. ‘He does make mistakes, sometimes.’

But it wasn’t a mistake. Standing there, in that little parlour, with its faded French rug and damson-coloured curtains, Juliana suddenly understood something for the first time. The butcher was cheating her mother. Cheating both of them.

In an instant, Juliana suddenly made sense of things she had seen and heard before. Some people—unscrupulous people—would see her mother’s gentle nature as an opportunity to cheat her. Mama was so good, so giving, so pliant. But where she saw goodness, others would see opportunity.

‘He is cheating you, Mama! Why should you allow him to do such a thing?’

‘Oh, no, Juliana! It is an honest mistake, that is all. I shall not even mention it.’

Looking into her mother’s angelic, trusting blue eyes, Juliana knew there was no point in trying to persuade her mother of the butcher’s deceit. She would simply not believe it.

In that moment, Juliana understood something else. She and Mama were different. Her twelve-year-old self could not have explained how, or why. But she, Juliana, was different. She saw what Mama could not, would not see. And she could act.

‘I will go with you to the butcher’s tomorrow, Mama.’

This time, when Mrs Milford went to settle her reckoning with the butcher, her daughter was with her. The child calmly explained there had been a mistake with the bill. She made the point in full earshot of three other customers, who tutted in shock that such a thing should happen. The butcher looked into the girl’s resolute, angry gaze and immediately realised he had met his match. He apologised profusely to Mrs Milford, thanked her daughter through gritted teeth for pointing out the error, and assured them it would not happen again.

It hadn’t. And Juliana had been her mother’s guardian ever since.

She turned back, returning to the present and the parlour in Dover. Her mother was pressing her hands to her temples. ‘Mama, are you unwell?’

‘Just a little headache, my dear.’

‘Oh, no! What shall I do? Would you like a tisane? Some tea? Where is that tea?’ She moved to the door. ‘Landlord!’

He bustled towards the parlour, followed by a sullen serving girl carrying a tray.

‘At last! Please set it on the table. Thank you.’

‘Your carriage is prepared, miss, and ready to leave at your convenience.’

Juliana gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’ Now Mama, finally, could begin to settle.

Chapter Two

An hour later, the ladies left the parlour, Mama, thankfully, now easy and calm. Juliana rang the landlord’s bell in the taproom. She pointedly ignored the two soldiers, who sat at a table opposite the door, enjoying tankards of foaming beer. The one who had spoken to her—the tall one with the dark hair and piercing blue eyes—lifted his head and watched her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze.

The landlord appeared from the back room, all bustle and busyness. ‘I am sorry to keep you waiting, miss.’

‘I should like to pay the reckoning.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ The landlord glanced at Juliana’s mother and his expression changed. ‘Ma’am, you are unwell! May I be of assistance?’

Juliana turned quickly. ‘Mama!’ Her mother looked dreadful. Her normally pale skin was ashen and she was gasping for breath. She seemed to be staring fixedly at a painting on the facing wall—a portrait of a stern-looking army general.

Juliana took Mama’s arm and gently led her to a nearby settle. The two soldiers, who had leapt to their feet, approached with concerned expressions.

‘Oh, dear! I am sorry! I do not wish to make a fuss!’ Mama’s voice was faint and trembled slightly.

‘It is nothing, Mama. You see, you can sit here, until you feel better.’ Juliana was pleased to note that her own voice remained steady, though inside she was distressed. What on earth was wrong with her? And what was she to do?

‘How may I be of assistance?’ The dark-haired soldier spoke softly.

‘We do not need your assistance!’ Juliana hissed. Gathering herself, she added a reluctant, ‘Thank you.’

‘I think you do. Unless—’ his blue eyes pierced hers ‘—you wish to fetch the doctor yourself?’

‘The landlord will do it.’ Mama probably did need a doctor.

‘The landlord cannot leave his inn. And we saw his manservant riding off as we arrived.’

‘Gone to the market,’ confirmed the landlord gloomily. ‘Won’t be back ’til nearly sundown.’

Her mother had closed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating on breathing slowly. Juliana bit her lip. She knew herself to be at a standstill.

‘Quite.’ There was satisfaction in the soldier’s tone. Juliana looked at him. Was that a gleam of enjoyment in his eyes? She stood straighter, then addressed the other soldier, the sandy-haired one.

‘Sir, might I request your assistance?’ She ignored the arrogant soldier completely. ‘I would be grateful if you could fetch the doctor to assist my mother.’

His eyes bulged. ‘Anything! I am at your service!’ He bowed. ‘Lieutenant Roderick Evans, of the Thirtieth Foot.’

Juliana inclined her head. ‘I am Miss Milford. My mother, Mrs Milford.’

He gestured towards his friend, as protocol demanded. ‘Captain Harry Fanton, also of the Thirtieth.’

Captain Fanton bowed ironically. She wasn’t sure how he managed it, but the bow was definitely ironic. Stop! She should be concentrating on Mama. She rubbed her mother’s white hands, speaking softly to her.

‘Mama, this gentleman will fetch the doctor. All will be well.’

‘No! I do not need to see a doctor. I am well.’

Juliana looked at her closely. In truth, her mother did look a little better. She bade Lieutenant Evans wait, then sat by Mama’s side for a few minutes. She closed her eyes. Slowly, the colour began to return to her cheeks. Juliana’s own heart also began to calm a little.

Her mother opened her eyes, a frown appearing as she realised she was being watched by the two soldiers and the landlord. All bore similar expressions of concern, but Juliana was conscious that Mama would hate to be the focus of attention. She turned to Juliana, her eyes pleading. ‘I am ready, Juliana. I wish to travel on. Let us go to the coach.’

‘If you are certain, Mama, then we will go.’ At least in the carriage, her mother would be safe from the kind eyes of strangers. But what if she were truly ill? Oh, how Juliana wished she knew what to do!

Mrs Milford stood, though slowly and carefully. Seeing it, Juliana frowned.

Captain Fanton still looked concerned. ‘Mrs Milford, may I enquire—were you ill during the crossing?’

‘Indeed I was, Captain. The crossing was very rough, you see.’

‘Then let me advise you. Stay in Dover tonight. The worst thing you can do is to travel onwards by carriage. It will remind you too much of the movement of the sea.’

‘Oh, but Juliana says we need to travel on tonight. Our rooms are booked in an inn twenty miles from here.’

‘Twenty miles!’ His jaw set. ‘I am concerned you are not well enough to travel.’

Juliana felt her anger rise. How dare he interfere? What did he know of her mother or their needs? She was having trouble enough trying to decide what was best, without an interfering stranger trying to influence Mama!

‘I thank you, sir...’ her voice dripped with contempt ‘...but we have no need of your advice. Or your concern.’

He sent her a cold look. ‘I intended no insult. I meant only to help.’

Mrs Milford spoke, shakily. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Captain Fanton, but I am quite well.’

Juliana bit her lip. Mama was not recovered, it was clear, and that insufferable man might be right. Her mother would surely benefit from a quiet evening in the inn, rather than a long coach journey, but how was she to back down now?

‘Landlord, we shall retire once more to your parlour. You may tell the coachman to wait. Lieutenant, I should be grateful if you would fetch the doctor.’

‘Oh, no, Juliana, but we must travel on. Our room is reserved and if we do not leave soon we shall be too late.’

‘We shall discuss it in private, Mama.’

‘Landlord! Do you have another chamber free—one suitable for these ladies?’ Captain Fanton took it upon himself to question their host. Juliana’s fury increased. Really!

The landlord confirmed it.

Captain Fanton addressed Mrs Milford. ‘We can vouch for the rooms here in the King’s Head, for we have stayed here many times.’ He glanced at Lieutenant Evans, who shuffled in discomfort, clearly unwilling to be drawn into the battle of wills between his commanding officer and a young lady they had never met before.

Juliana was now fuming. This was intolerable interference! What business was it of his what they did?

‘If I wish for your opinion, on inns, or any other matter, then I shall ask for it!’ She sent him a daggered glance, then turned back to her mother. ‘Mama, come with me to the parlour.’

Mrs Milford, always polite, thanked the two men before allowing Juliana to take her arm and lead her from the taproom. Juliana ignored them.

The landlord followed them back to the parlour, where Juliana immediately saw Mama settled again in the chair beside the fire. She then quizzed the landlord on all the possible inns in the area. None, it seemed, would suit their purposes, either being full, as far as he knew, or unsuitable for the Quality.

‘Then we have no choice. We must stay here.’

The landlord, who had clearly been troubled by the altercations between the fiery young lady and Captain Fanton, confirmed this with an air of resignation.

‘You may tell the coachman to return in the morning. We require a chamber with two beds, and I shall inspect the sheets.’ He nodded resignedly and left, in his haste omitting to close the door behind him.

Juliana turned to her mother. ‘How are you feeling now, Mama?’

‘Much, much better. Juliana, I do wish we had travelled on.’

‘Captain Fanton did not advise it.’ There was a hard edge to Juliana’s voice.

‘Did you dislike the Captain? I thought him a charming young gentleman. So obliging!’

‘I did not find him charming in the least! In fact, I found him conceited, rude and arrogant! He had no business interfering in—’

She broke off, as the object of her tirade appeared in the doorway, her mother’s reticule in his hand.

‘Mrs Milford, I believe you dropped this.’ Captain Fanton’s voice dripped with ice, his jaw set into a hard line. His eyes, connecting with Juliana’s, flashed fury.

He marched smartly across to her mother’s chair, handed her the reticule, bowed and left.

Juliana stood stock still for a moment, as the realisation of her own rudeness washed over her. Her face flushed. She put both hands up to cover her embarrassment.

‘Juliana! How could you?’ Her mother’s voice signalled her shock.

‘Oh, I know, I know,’ Juliana groaned. ‘But how was I to know he would come sneaking up on me, eavesdropping at the door?’

‘He was not eavesdropping! Juliana, I do not understand what has come over you. Indeed, I am most disappointed in you today and now you have insulted that young man. How many times have I told you that your behaviour must be beyond reproach? I knew no good would come of going to England. I just knew it!’ Mama began to cry.

Juliana rushed to her mother and knelt by her side.

‘Oh, Mama, indeed I am sorry! My dashed temper got the better of me—and it has not done so in years! I can only blame the long journey and his rudeness earlier. Perhaps I, too, am more tired than I knew. I do not normally behave so, you know this!’

Her mother’s eyes were sorrowful. ‘I am surprised, Daughter. If there is one thing I wished, it was to raise you to be a lady, not a termagant! You know how hard it was for me as a widow, raising you by myself. And you know that you must give no reason for anyone to question your behaviour!’ Her mother began to sob gently into a lace-edged handkerchief.

Shaken by the knowledge that she was the cause of her mother’s distress, Juliana just managed to hold back her own tears. Over the years Mama had drummed it into her that she must be ladylike, circumspect, and wary at all times. She must not draw attention to herself. Her reputation was a fragile thing. The consequences of attracting gossip could be fatal to her place in good company.

There were reasons, her mother always said, that she couldn’t divulge, why Juliana must be even more careful than other young ladies. What reasons? Juliana had asked, many times. Her mother had resolutely refused to answer.

Conscious of her mother’s frailty, Juliana had complied—though it had frequently cost her to hold her tongue and behave properly. Today’s lapse was inexcusable. She spent so much of her energies devoting herself to protecting her mother, yet now she had troubled her. ‘I am sorry, Mama. I truly am.’

Her mother, unable to withstand her daughter’s remorse, stroked Juliana’s dark curls.

‘I know, Julie-Annie.’

‘I hate it when you are disappointed in me.’

‘You should apologise to him.’ Mama held her gaze evenly.

Juliana swallowed hard. ‘I know.’

‘Invite them to join us in the parlour. They can dine with us later.’

‘Must I?’ Her mother’s stern look was enough. ‘Very well. But you cannot force me to like him.’

Steeling herself to face him, Juliana moved swiftly along the narrow hallway to the taproom. There he was, glowering into his beer. Lieutenant Evans had gone—presumably to fetch the doctor.

Juliana lifted her chin. ‘Captain Fanton, I must speak with you.’

He looked at her. His eyes narrowed. ‘Well?’

Such insolence! She clenched her fists by her side, managing to hold back the angry retort on her lips.

Deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. Long, sturdy legs, she noted absent-mindedly. The thin breeches hugged his long limbs, revealing the curve and sweep of well-developed, powerful muscles. She had heard that some men filled their stockings with sawdust, to falsify muscular calves. Not this man! She felt herself flushing, unaccountably.

Ignoring his attempt to disconcert her, she pressed on. ‘I wish to apologise. You should not have had to hear my angry words.’

A gleam of surprise lit his dark-blue eyes. ‘Are you apologising for saying what you said, or only for allowing me to hear your opinion?’

Oh, he was sharp-witted, this one.

‘I would have preferred you hadn’t heard me, but...’ she sighed ruefully ‘...I should not have said those things. My anger got the better of me.’

‘A frank apology, then. I admire plain speaking and will accept it.’ He offered his hand. Reluctantly, she took it.

His hand was warm, his grip firm without being crushing. She pulled her hand away as soon as she could and noticed a wolf-like smile lurking in the corner of his eyes. Her hackles rose again. A lifetime of protecting herself and Mama had made her wary.

‘My mother bids me invite you and Lieutenant Evans to join us in the parlour for dinner in one hour,’ she informed him.

‘And what would you bid me do?’ His voice was soft, warm, confusing.

‘I would prefer to dine in private, with only my mother. I do not wish to prolong my acquaintance with you!’

He looked surprised for an instant, then threw his head back and laughed. Despite her frustration, she could not help but notice, in that moment, that he was actually very handsome. Acknowledging it—though she had realised it from the first moment she had laid eyes on him—caused her a great deal of annoyance. Why couldn’t his face match his character?

‘You are refreshingly honest, Miss Milford. But, I must point out, it seems your mother holds a different view.’

‘My mother is unwell. She would be better resting quietly in the parlour than conversing with strangers, which will tire her out! But then, your aim from the start has been to gain access to the parlour!’

His eyes flashed. She had scored a hit then? Good.

‘Indeed?’ he said coolly. ‘I did not think you cared so much for your mother’s comfort earlier, when you were bustling her towards the carriage when she was clearly unwell! Or when you wanted to take her away from the warmth, to the taproom, rather than share the parlour!’

Juliana gasped. ‘And what business is it of yours, may I ask?’

‘In a sense, none. But I am used to considering the needs of those around me and I saw how ill she looked in this very room!’

‘Are you suggesting I fail to consider my mother’s needs?’ She was livid. No one had ever dared suggest such a thing. Why, she had devoted all her energies to looking after her mother!

‘That isn’t what I said.’

No, but he had certainly implied it! How dared he?

‘I shall thank you to keep your opinions to yourself! I do not wish to discuss my own personal business with you!’

He threw her a look filled with challenge. ‘And yet you just have.’

‘That was a mistake. It will not happen again.’

Juliana had had enough. Without a word of goodbye, she turned and strode away. She swept regally across the taproom, head held high, then collided inelegantly with the serving girl, who almost dropped her basket. Juliana rocked on her heels and put a hand out to touch the table in order to prevent herself from falling. Lord, what a time to be clumsy!

She could feel his eyes on her and knew he was laughing. This was fast turning into one of the worst days of her life. She mumbled an apology to the girl and scuttled out of the room as fast as she could.

* * *

Harry stood, filled with agitation. Absent-mindedly informing the serving girl that, no, he did not require another beer, he began to pace around the taproom. Damn Miss Milford! She had made him lose his temper and he had spoken hastily. He, who prided himself on his self-control.

It had been hard-earned, this ability to detach himself from situations so he could always act coolly and rationally. It had taken years of relentless practice and self-discipline. Anger—like fear—was simply not permitted in his gut. He knew the risks of too much emotion. These days, it was almost impossible for an insolent private or an untidy lieutenant to cause him to bristle. He paused. Until today.

He had been aware of his own frustration at being forced to return to England. He had not, however, expected his own temper to be so damn short!

Provocation. That was his defence. The fiery Miss Milford was altogether too insolent and fearless with her words and manner. The disdain in her eyes still irked him now. Such insubordination would not be tolerated for a minute in the army. Men had been flogged for less! And for more...

He checked himself. Insubordination? Had he somehow expected her to obey him, to take his commands as though he were her senior officer? He sighed ruefully. Yes, he had. Because he was a man and she was a young woman, he had expected her to defer to him and had been shocked when she hadn’t. He also, he realised, felt strangely protective of her. His instincts told him Mrs Milford was heavily reliant on her daughter and that, at times, this was something of a heavy burden for the young woman to bear. Not that she was helpless! Along with foolish amounts of courage, her evident wit and intelligence had been clearly displayed.

He thought he’d had her at a standstill when she realised she would need someone to fetch the doctor, but she had outwitted him by asking Evans. Strangely, the thought gave him a sense of satisfaction, not dissimilar to finding an opponent who could genuinely challenge him in chess. A worthy foe, then.

The fact that she also happened to be one of the most stunning women he’d ever met had not escaped his attention, either. Even now, he could picture her perfectly clearly in his mind’s eye. A beautiful opponent, and one who had stirred his emotions, and his body, as much as his mind.

She had challenged him and bested him, but he was not without small victories either. She would be forced to dine with them tonight, against her inclination. He wondered if he could charm her.

He reflected again on their battle of wits. Damn it! She had made him say unforgivable things. He recalled her face as he had accused her of not caring for her mother’s comfort. Beneath the anger, she had looked stricken. Harry squirmed uncomfortably. How could he possibly understand her motivations for behaving as she did? He should not have accused her so. Now, how was he to atone for it?

Chapter Three

In the hallway, Juliana paused. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. Never had she been so incensed! She dashed away angry tears with the back of her hand.

The worst thing was, she admitted, Captain Fanton was right in a way. She had been so anxious to travel on tonight, she had failed to notice that her mother was still feeling ill. She had selfishly tried to push forward with her plans, without checking on Mama’s health.

Yet, she remembered, her mother had seemed recovered as they left the parlour. She had enjoyed her tea, topped up with hot water, and had eaten two pastries with some enthusiasm. Had Mother really been hiding her illness? Or had she genuinely taken a relapse in the taproom?

Captain Fanton had looked at her with such contempt. He clearly believed her to be insensitive to her mother’s needs. The fact that he had overheard her tirade didn’t help. But if the man went around interfering in other people’s business, then he should expect consequences from time to time.

Anger warred with guilt, both emotions swirling around inside her, making it difficult to think straight. The thought of sharing a dining table with him tonight filled her with dread. Yet Mama had set her heart on it—trying to compensate for Juliana’s earlier rudeness. It was, she admitted, entirely her own fault.

The fact that Captain Fanton was one of the most attractive men she’d come across had not gone unnoticed. Something about his handsome features, knowing grin and lithe body was making her heart race and her stomach flip. Behave! she told her disobedient body.

Dinner would undoubtedly be difficult. But she was ready for the challenge.

* * *

‘Are you feeling quite recovered, Mrs Milford?’

‘Indeed I am, Captain Fanton, and I confess I am feeling a little silly for making such a fuss. Thank you for your concern, and to you, Lieutenant, for fetching the doctor.’

Evans muttered something about it being no trouble. He was clearly ill at ease and nervous, though had managed to eat four courses with a hearty diligence. ‘Not accustomed to making the civil—all bachelors,’ he’d mumbled apologetically when Juliana’s first attempts to engage him in conversation had fallen flat. By this she’d understood he was uncomfortable in female company. Juliana felt quite sorry for him and set out to put him at ease.

She now knew most of his life story, his likes and dislikes in food and horses, and the fact that he was the only child of a lawyer and a seamstress. He had a perfectly respectable background, but confessed he was still much in awe of the gentry. He adored his commanding officer, Captain Fanton.

This, Juliana put down to Evans’s obvious naïveté. Of course he would be in awe of the suave Captain, whose responses to Mama’s questions had included Harrow and Cambridge, so he likely had an aristocratic background, like many army officers. Not that she was listening to their conversation. She was perfectly happy to converse with the amiable Lieutenant Evans.

However, for some reason, she did not want Mama to share too many details about herself—about their life. She had heard the Captain ask where they lived and Mama had described some details of their life in Brussels.

‘So, what brings you to England?’ he asked.

‘We are visiting friends,’ Juliana intervened quickly. ‘We will return to Brussels in the summer.’

‘As long as that monster, Napoleon, has been captured by then,’ added Mrs Milford. ‘When I heard of his escape from Elba, I declare it was the only thing that could have persuaded me to agree to Juliana’s scheme of visiting England.’

Captain Fanton raised an eyebrow, looking from one woman to the other. ‘Ah! So it is you, Miss Milford, who wanted this trip.’

‘It was, though Mama was in agreement.’ He threw her a sceptical glance, clearly unconvinced. Again, this cynicism!

‘Were you really in agreement, Mrs Milford? Or did your strong-willed daughter force you?’ He laughed lightly to take the sting out of his words, but Juliana knew they were sincerely meant. Mama, ever trusting, smiled in response.

Can’t she see, thought Juliana, that it is just empty charm? That he is saying it to attack me?

‘Juliana has always been strong-willed, ever since she could first speak and walk. It is her nature.’

Juliana squirmed. Speak of another subject! she thought.

‘Indeed.’ He threw a glance in Juliana’s direction, his eyes dancing. Unexpectedly, her heart skipped a little—she was unsure why. ‘I wish I could say you surprise me.’

‘But, in this instance, her will did not overpower mine,’ said Mrs Milford. ‘I agreed to come to England, though I wish to return home to Brussels as soon as we can.’

‘You do not think of England as home, then?’

She pondered this. ‘In a way. I grew up here, so it is a part of me. But I have lived in Brussels for over twenty years and Brussels is where I am comfortable.’

‘So...was your daughter born there?’

Juliana stiffened. Really, he was too inquisitive! She opened her mouth to cut off the direction of his questions, but, luckily, Mama herself changed the subject.

‘Yes, she was. But I must tell you, Captain, I am surprised to see you army officers here, when Wellington has made Brussels his headquarters. The army is encamped in the towns and villages around, for we had word of it in Brussels society.’

‘Indeed.’ His forehead creased. ‘We are sent to London on official business. We must, of course, follow orders, though it pains me to leave my friends and colleagues behind. We hope to rejoin them before long.’

‘Well, if you return to Brussels, you must call on us. I declare I should be pleased to see you both again.’

A strangled sound escaped from Juliana. She would certainly not be pleased to see him again! As she looked towards him, they locked eyes, an unholy gleam in his. He knew exactly what she was thinking and she was powerless to intervene—oh, how manipulative he was!

‘Thank you, Mrs Milford. If you give me your direction, I shall be sure to call.’

‘Juliana will write it down for you.’

‘Will she?’ He looked at Juliana, who dropped her gaze. ‘Actually, if you tell me now, I shall write it down myself. I would not put Miss Milford to the trouble.’

Juliana bit her lip. He had known she had planned to write the address down incorrectly and had outfoxed her.

She lifted her head to look at him again. His eyes were dancing with glee. Despite herself, she suddenly saw the humour in the situation and the corners of her mouth turned up. He looked startled.

‘So you do know how to smile then?’ His voice was low, as he leaned forward to talk to her, under cover of Mrs Milford’s conversation with the Lieutenant. His deep voice, so close, sent a shiver through her, though the room was warm.

‘Well, what a strange question! Of course I know how to smile. I just choose when to smile.’

‘That is a pity. Your smile is a powerful one.’ Juliana flushed, confused by his words and warm tone. She could not, in that moment, think of anything to say.

The Captain walked to the writing desk near the window, where he lifted paper and a sharpened pen, then wrote as Mrs Milford dictated their address. Juliana took the opportunity to study him.

She had already noted his height, strong figure and ease of movement. She knew him to be handsome—this she had acknowledged even as his arrogance had incensed her. Now, unobserved, she looked at his face in more detail.

A strong profile, straight nose, good jawline. His intense blue eyes were hidden, directed to the page, but she noticed he had surprisingly long lashes, which did not at all reduce the masculinity of his looks.

As if sensing her scrutiny, he suddenly looked up. Juliana glanced away immediately.

‘...shall retire. Thank you for a most enjoyable evening.’ Juliana, distracted by her observations of the Captain, suddenly focused on her mother again. Mama was standing, saying goodnight.

Belatedly, Juliana also stood. She said all that was polite, but in truth there was a great deal of confusion in her mind. The Lieutenant lifted her hand politely, thanking her for her company.

Captain Fanton was next and he actually kissed her hand, rather than simply bending over it. His lips were warm on her skin and surprisingly soft. Her heart racing, she mumbled a goodnight and followed her mother out of the room.

* * *

Later, listening to her mother’s even breathing in the other bed, Juliana’s thoughts returned to Captain Fanton. An attractive man, that much was evident. He had arrogance in abundance—she felt anger return as she remembered his confidence, the empty charisma by which he had expected two simpering women to give up their privacy and comfort. And his accusations towards her! Juliana could not remember the last time someone had made her feel so small, so filled with self-doubt. Somehow, he had got under her skin.

Then, the attempts to charm her mother at dinner...and he had even tried his charisma on her, in quite a different way. She shivered at the memory of his lips on her hand. The man was clearly an accomplished flirt! She might have guessed it. Charm had many forms and the bold Captain, it seemed, had acquired them all.

* * *

Harry, meantime, was finding it surprisingly difficult to sleep. Miss Milford was unlike any young lady he had met before. Beautiful, undoubtedly. But it was her manner which intrigued him. She did not flirt, or simper, or hide her feelings. She was as plain-speaking as a soldier and a disturbing contrast to the coy, coquettish ladies he was used to. He was not clear why this had disturbed him so, but was confident he would soon forget her.

Chapter Four

‘Oh, it is so good to see you again!’ Juliana hugged Charlotte tightly. ‘It seems so long since we were at school together.’

‘It has only been a year, you know,’ laughed Charlotte.

‘But what a year for you! Moving to England and getting married. Is your husband at home?’

‘Yes, Adam is here, but out with his steward. You will meet him later.’

The two young women were seated together in the drawing room at Chadcombe, the large estate owned by Charlotte’s husband, Adam, Earl of Shalford. Juliana’s mother, claiming tiredness, was lying down and being fussed over by Adam’s great-aunt Clara, who seemed like a darling. Mama had suffered no relapse of her illness during the remainder of their journey, though had seemed relieved their voyage was ended.

‘The house is beautiful, Charlotte—and so large! How on earth are you managing as mistress of it?’

‘Oh, it is fine—I enjoy it, actually. There is a lot to do—and an army of servants to manage. I love it!’

‘Well,’ said Juliana doubtfully, ‘I am glad, for I could not imagine coping with the responsibility. It is all I can do to manage myself sometimes!’

Charlotte laughed. ‘That is such a Juliana thing to say! Oh, how I’ve missed you!’

‘I’ve missed you, too, Charlotte. But tell me about your husband. Is it true you are a countess now?’

‘Indeed I am, though I confess I always think they are talking about someone else when people mention Lady Shalford.’

‘Lady Shalford—just think! Though I must say you look and sound like the old Charlotte!’

‘I don’t think I have changed very much at all.’

Juliana considered this. ‘Something has changed, though, Charlotte. There is something different about you.’

Charlotte looked disconcerted. ‘Well, I hope I haven’t changed for the worse.’

‘Of course not, for I can sense already you are still as lovely—and as calm—as you ever were. Oh, how I’ve missed your calmness when I get myself in a scrape!’

‘And we certainly had plenty of scrapes together!’ Charlotte smiled. ‘Remember the time we stole the apple pie that cook had made for Herr Meindl’s visit? And we had to eat a full supper as usual so the teachers didn’t suspect it was us?’

‘Yes! And the time you got the love letter from that Italian Count, and we had to burn it quickly because the head teacher was on her way to our chamber?’

Charlotte sighed. ‘He was exceedingly romantic—and terribly tiresome! But I was pleased he actually noticed me. All the young men used to fall in love with you, Juliana.’

Juliana snorted. ‘Not all the young men, Charlotte. Why, in Dover...’ She tailed off and bit her lip.

‘Juliana...’ Charlotte’s tone was suspicious ‘...you might as well tell me, for I can read you easily. What is your latest scrape?’

Juliana grimaced. ‘Well, I am not sure I should tell you, for I feel quite ashamed of myself. But I was provoked beyond measure!’

‘No need to give me your fierce look! Tell me the whole—who has provoked you and what did you do that makes you feel ashamed?’

Juliana told the story. She knew as she did so that she wasn’t telling it well, or clearly—her emotions were too heightened for logic, though she thought Charlotte eventually understood the essentials.

‘And now,’ she concluded, ‘that horrible man is likely to visit us in Brussels, for Mama gave him our direction.’

‘If he does, many months will have passed and you might not feel the same way.’

‘I cannot imagine ever feeling any differently about him! Why, he has followed me everywhere!’

‘What?’ Charlotte’s eyes opened wide. ‘He followed you? Who is he? What is his name? We can report him to the army...’

‘Oh, no! His name does not matter, for of course I do not suggest he actually followed me! What I mean is—he haunts me! I cannot forget his disdain, or how unjust it was! Twice on the journey I saw dark-haired men and my heart leapt with anger, as I thought it was him. But it was not him.’

‘I see,’ said Charlotte, though she looked confused.

Juliana had had enough of remembering him. ‘Anyway, tell me more about your life here. Who else lives in this huge house, apart from you and Adam and his great-aunt Clara—and your army of servants, of course?’

Charlotte looked as though she was considering persisting with her questions, then let it go. ‘Adam has a younger brother and sister. His brother is with the army in France and his sister is visiting friends in Lincolnshire. And Papa lives here, too—though spends much of his time socialising in London.’

‘Dear Sir Edward! I was so shocked when you told me how he was attacked in France last year. I do hope he is well.’

‘He is and flirting with every widow in London! Though I do believe he has a particular fondness for Adam’s godmother, Lady Annesley. But he is quite shocking, you know.’

Juliana giggled. ‘I do not doubt it! Are we to visit London?’

‘Yes, we will all go in a few weeks, for the Season has begun. But first, I must prepare for a Public Day on Friday.’

‘A Public Day? What is that?’

‘It’s a tradition here, which Adam and I have revived since our marriage last year. We open the house and gardens to all the locals. We provide refreshments and Adam makes a speech. There is entertainment for the children and some sporting competitions—pony races, archery and the like. The night before, some of the local gentry come for dinner and those from further away stay the night. There is no little work in it.’

Juliana gasped. ‘And you organise all of this?’

‘Not everything, no. Adam and his steward manage the events. I focus on the work the indoor staff do—the food, making sure that bedrooms are all allocated and ready, preventing petty theft, that sort of thing. This will be only our second Public Day.’

Juliana was impressed. ‘I could never manage it. But I am happy to be directed. Tell me how I can help, for I would not wish to be a burden on your time.’

‘Really? You would not prefer to rest?’

‘Now, Charlotte, you know I am not restful. I never was. Sometimes I think my poor mama tires more from my company than she does from the journey!’

‘Oh, no! For I know she loves you dearly.’

‘And I love her. But we have chafed on each other during this journey. My energy tires her out and she needs time alone to revive herself.’

‘She will have plenty of rest and solitude here, if that is her wish. Chadcombe is the most peaceful, beautiful place I’ve ever known. I love it here.’

Juliana frowned. ‘I hope I don’t cut up your peace, Charlotte.’

‘Oh, no, my dear friend! Why, you never tired me out. In fact, you always gave me daring when I needed it. Sometimes when I need to be strong, I think “What would Juliana say?” or “What would Juliana do?” And then I find my courage.’

‘Oh, Charlotte! Now I shall have to hug you again, for you are making me cry! And now you are crying, too! I am so glad to be here and so sorry to make you cry!’

‘Now then, what’s all this? Who is making my wife cry?’

Juliana’s heart lurched. The dark-haired man who had just entered the room really looked like—Stop it! she told herself. Stop seeing that arrogant man everywhere! He is not worth your thoughts!

‘Adam!’ Charlotte stood and moved to embrace her husband. ‘I am crying because I am so happy to see my dear friend again.’ He looked down at her, smiling, and kissed her forehead. The warmth between them was evident. Juliana’s heart melted. It seemed Charlotte had found a man who truly appreciated her goodness.

Charlotte introduced them, smiling happily. Adam welcomed Juliana and then politely asked about her journey.

‘Yes, it was a pleasant journey, thank you.’ Charlotte suppressed a giggle. Juliana threw her a quelling look. ‘Er...we had to stay in Dover on the first night, which is not what we had planned, but Mama was unwell, so we had no choice.’

Adam’s eyes narrowed, but he did not ask any awkward questions, for which Juliana was grateful. She would not wish Charlotte’s husband to think ill of her and she still felt the story showed her in a bad light.

The conversation moved on, and Juliana relaxed.

* * *

Harry turned towards Horse Guards, the familiar white edifice that housed the War Office. Absent-mindedly, he greeted acquaintances as he walked, for his thoughts were elsewhere. Yet again, the dark beauty he had met in Dover was occupying his mind. Miss Juliana Milford.

Various memories assailed him at different times. Juliana as he had first seen her, standing straight beside her mother’s chair, her eyes flashing warnings at him. Juliana, humbled, as she had apologised to him, each word dragged from her against her stubborn will. Her discomfort at the frisson of attraction between them when he had kissed her hand. He smiled. He particularly liked that one.

But his favourite memory—the one which intruded most frequently—was the moment he’d made her smile. Of course he knew she would misdirect him, if allowed to write down the details of her direction in Brussels. He had foiled her by asking her mother to dictate it instead and had been unable to resist sending Juliana a crowing look. He had been momentarily stupefied when she had returned it with a reluctant smile, signalling a sense of humour as wicked as his own.

That brief moment of charity between them was causing all manner of disturbing feelings in him. It was a new experience—and a much more complex response than his normal flirtations. He knew he had charm, and enjoyed the game of making ladies like him. He was always careful, of course, to make it clear his intentions were not serious. He would not want to dally with the affections of any lady.

For his affaires, he chose either high-born widows or high-class courtesans, and he was able to skilfully separate his basic needs from his flirtations with young ladies. There was no point in lusting after the virgins on the marriage mart, for their goal was marriage, not bed sport.

Confusingly, his thoughts of Juliana were decidedly erotic—something he had always previously guarded against with the young ladies of his acquaintance. He would be better putting her out of his mind, for a gently bred lady would never choose to give up her virginity outside marriage, and he, of course, would never marry.

‘Captain Fanton!’ It was Evans, using his military title as they were at Headquarters.

Harry greeted his colleague. ‘What gives?’

‘Major Cooke is waiting for you. I’ve heard they’ll keep us in England for at least two months. We’ve been assigned to planning and co-ordinating supplies for the new campaign.’

‘Damn!’ Harry frowned. He wanted to be back in Brussels, where the real action was happening.

‘I know. Perhaps you should have been less clever these past years. This is our punishment for having the most efficient unit in the regiment!’

‘I fear you are right, Lieutenant.’

‘The only good news is we shall have some time off in England. I’m going home for a few days.’

‘Really? That is welcome news, for I have not seen my family in months.’

Harry conversed with Evans for a few moments more, before continuing on to his meeting with the Major. If he must be stuck in England, at least he would have the opportunity to visit home.

He only wished he had sought Miss Milford’s direction in England—he had assumed he would be sent directly back to Brussels and that would be his next opportunity to see her. I wonder, he thought, if she will attend any balls or parties in London?

He grinned at the thought of how chagrined she would be to meet him in some parlour or ballroom, while thinking him safely returned to Brussels. Oh, that would be interesting!

* * *

Juliana watched as her friend graciously welcomed another family to Chadcombe. Charlotte stood with her husband on the steps outside the front door, as carriage after carriage pulled up, as well as farm carts and wagons. Each time, Adam and Charlotte spoke warmly to the arrivals, before directing them towards the public rooms, where they would find refreshments. Juliana stood in the hall behind them, with the list of expected guests, marking each family off as they arrived.

‘That’s the Beasley family, miss,’ said the second footman. He knew everyone in the district and was assisting Juliana in her task. Juliana thanked him and put a mark beside the Beasleys.

As the Beasleys—Mr Beasley, Mrs Beasley and Master Tom Beasley—passed, another carriage was already pulling up. Juliana’s eyes widened at the sight of the couple descending from it.

First, a lady. A woman. Possibly a lady. Her ample form was encased in a shocking purple silk and her arms glittered with diamond-encrusted bracelets. At her neck was a garish necklace—also with diamonds and quite inappropriate for day wear. Juliana studied her face. She was in her forties, with pale eyes, a hardness about the mouth and a hint of the rouge pot on her cheeks. Her hair was an improbable shade of blonde, glowing a brassy yellow in the bright daylight.

Juliana closed her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. The woman’s husband was now descending from the carriage, assisted by the groom. He was as lean as his wife was plump, with harsh, angular features and narrow eyes that darted, weasel-like, all around. His clothing was more conservative—a dark-coloured jacket and biscuit-coloured unmentionables, as well as dull black boots. He seemed all bones—elbows, knees and shoulders all poked prominently through his clothes, which hung on him in a most unflattering way. He, too, flaunted his wealth—a diamond pin was stuck in his cravat and he was unconsciously rolling an ostentatious signet ring on the small finger of his left hand.

Juliana consulted her list. This, then, must be Mr and Mrs Wakely, for almost everyone else had arrived. There was a family of five—the Dentons—still to come, but the Wakelys were the only couple. The footman confirmed it and Juliana moved forward, the better to hear the conversation between Lord and Lady Shalford and this strange pair.

‘...so sorry for our tardiness, milady,’ trilled Mrs Wakely, with a false-sounding titter. ‘I said to Mr W. we needed to hurry, but he assured me we would be in good time!’

Her spouse looked less than pleased at having to shoulder the blame. ‘My lord! Lady Shalford!’ He made an obsequious bow. ‘We are so delighted to finally visit Chadcombe! We thank you for your kind invitation!’

The Earl glowered, but said all that was proper, as did Charlotte.

‘Lady Shalford,’ said Mrs Wakely, ‘you and I must have a comfortable cose! For we ladies know what it is like to run a household, though I confess Glenbrook Hall—our humble home—has nothing on Chadcombe. What pillars! What windows! And look, Mr W.! Peacocks!’

‘I had already noted the noble birds, my love,’ replied her spouse with a sickly smile. ‘We shall have to install some at Glenbrook Hall! Lord Shalford, how much would it cost to buy a pair of peacocks?’

Adam adopted an air of haughty indifference. ‘I’m sure I have no idea—my steward, however, may be able to assist you.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Mrs Wakely busily, nudging her spouse hard in the ribs. ‘Lord Shalford would not concern himself with such things as buying peacocks! And, you know, my lady, we have more than twenty servants in Glenbrook Hall—including the grooms and the stable boy—so we can ask one of them to acquire peacocks for us.’

Charlotte seemed unable to speak. On the other hand, Juliana rather thought Adam was about to say something that he oughtn’t. As someone who had frequently found herself at a similar stand, she decided to rescue them. ‘Charlotte, if you will introduce me, I will gladly show your guests to the public rooms.’

Charlotte sent her a grateful look. ‘Thank you, Juliana.’ She turned to the Wakelys. ‘May I present my friend Miss Milford, who is staying with us at present. This is Mr Wakely, and Mrs Wakely.’

‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Mrs Wakely, with an insincere smile. ‘Any friend of Lady S....’

Mr Wakely took Juliana’s hand. His eyes swept over her body in a most disturbing way. ‘Charmed!’ he said, planting a wet kiss on her hand. Juliana shuddered slightly. He saw it and a hint of a cold smile gleamed momentarily in his tiny eyes.

Juliana swallowed hard. Then, squaring her shoulders, she indicated the hallway. ‘Please come this way. I am certain you are in need of refreshments after your journey.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Mrs Wakely, as if affronted by Juliana’s suggestion. ‘For we travelled only four miles to get here and we ate well before we left. We keep a good table at Glenbrook Hall, if I do say so myself. Why, at breakfast today, we had pork and beef!’

Juliana was at a loss as to how to respond to this. Mrs Wakely, though, continued without a pause, admiring every detail of the house and its contents—the ceilings, doors, door handles and patterned stone floors all came in for praise. She constantly advised her husband to look and he, too, exclaimed at every detail.

‘So, Miss Milford,’ said Mr Wakely, who was walking much too close to her, ‘is your family from this area?’

‘No,’ said Juliana shortly. ‘We are simply visiting Lord and Lady Shalford.’

He nodded as if satisfied. ‘I see.’

After leading them to the parlour set aside for refreshments, Juliana waited while they loaded their plates—Mr Wakely with a single cake and a peach, and Mrs Wakely with a generous selection of pastries, fruit and cheese. With some relief, Juliana made her apologies and returned to the hall to find Charlotte.

‘Juliana!’ Charlotte hurried towards her, taking both her hands. ‘Thank you so much for rescuing us!’ She glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then added, ‘What awful people!’ She bit her lip. ‘I know I should not say such a thing about my guests, but...’

‘They are awful and you’re perfectly right to say it to me,’ said Juliana reassuringly. ‘Who on earth are they?’

‘They’ve recently moved into Glenbrook Hall, a house and grounds not five miles from here. I had heard they are not at all the thing and have not been accepted into local society.’

‘I can understand it, having seen them,’ said Juliana with a grimace. ‘Will they be here for long—are they leasing Glenbrook Hall, or do they own it?’

‘I can’t remember.’ Charlotte frowned. ‘There is some story there that I cannot quite recall. I shall ask Adam later. For now, I must help with the events.’ She had a quick word with the footman, reminding him to be on the alert for any intruders who might stray beyond the public rooms or pilfer small items. She then linked her arm with Juliana’s and together they stepped out into the sunshine.

* * *

Five hours later, Juliana sank down on to a wooden chair with some relief. She had finally located her mother, who was sitting drinking tea with Adam’s great-aunt Clara, Miss Langley, outside the Orangery.

‘Juliana!’ Her mother reached out and took her hand. ‘You look exhausted! Would you like some tea?’

‘I should love some, for I have had nothing to eat or drink since breakfast. I had no idea how much work there would be on this Public Day.’

Miss Langley poured her a cup, her wrinkled face a study in concentration as she carefully poured the warm liquid into a delicate china cup. ‘Oh, my dear Miss Milford! Here, have some cake!’

Juliana thanked her, and bit gratefully into the sweet sponge. ‘Charlotte has not eaten either, I know, for we have been constantly moving around, from competitions to the parlour and back again. Thankfully some of the guests are beginning to leave. It has been a long afternoon.’

‘Well, if you are tired, Juliana, it must have been busy, indeed, for you are rarely tired.’

Juliana was not listening. Out of the corner of her eye she had seen a dark figure moving furtively through the bushes and trees on the edge of the garden. Moving towards the house!

The manner of his movement was so suspicious that Juliana’s sense of danger was aroused. She remembered Charlotte’s warning to the footman and had asked her about it afterwards. Charlotte had said that in years past, there had been reports of thefts during Public Days, with thieves seeing it as the perfect opportunity to sneak in and purloin some small, expensive items while everyone was distracted with the guests and events.

She thought quickly. The footmen had been charged with keeping an eye on the corridors and entrances nearest the guest areas. No one had anticipated someone might try to sneak in through the Orangery!

‘Excuse me, Mama, Miss Langley, I have just remembered something.’ Acting nonchalantly, Juliana stood and walked casually to the Orangery door, just behind the terrace where the ladies were seated. Once inside, she moved quickly among the fruit trees and exotic plants towards the other external door—the one on the west side. She peered through the glass, scanning for any sign of the intruder. There he was—much closer and still moving stealthily through the shrubbery.

What could she do? There was no time to get help—everyone, apart from Mama and Miss Langley, was at the far side of the building. She looked around quickly, then spotted some tools resting in the corner. Choosing a short spade with a stout wooden handle, she positioned herself behind an enormous fern and waited.

She did not have long to tarry. She heard the door open, creaking slightly as it did so. It was closed again, slowly, then she distinctly heard a sigh, as if the intruder was relieved to have gained entrance, and now believed himself to be safe. Well! She gripped the spade more tightly. How dared he intrude into her friend’s home?

She held herself completely still, breathing as quietly as she could. She need not have worried. As he moved towards where she was hiding, she heard him whistle. What an arrogant thief! She felt the moment he passed her fern—its leaves moved as he walked along. Stepping out at exactly the right moment, she raised her spade and brought it down smartly on the back of his head.

‘Ow! What the deuce—?’ He wheeled around and grabbed her, at the same time hooking his right foot behind her calf and knocking her off balance. The spade flew out of her hand and clanged to the ground. She fell heavily, banging her left shoulder hard against the floor. He fell with her, his weight crushing all the breath out of her.

Uh-oh! Once again she had acted before thinking something through, and now she had left herself in danger. She had envisaged him falling, knocked out by her blow, which would have allowed her to run for help before he came to. She hadn’t thought that he would attack her! Her mind raced as she searched for a way out. She gasped for air, unable to scream, or even make a sound. His body pinned hers from shoulder to hip and all she could see was his shoulder, encased in a fine wool jacket.

He lifted his head. As his eyes met hers, Juliana’s widened in shock.

It was him—the man from the inn! Captain Fanton!

Chapter Five

Juliana was all confusion. What was going on here? Had the arrogant Captain indeed followed her?

No. He looked just as shocked as she felt.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Miss Juliana Milford! What the devil are you doing here? And what possessed you to hit me?’

‘Get off me!’ she said, finally finding her voice. She gave him her fiercest look, no longer afraid. Now that she knew it was him, her heart was racing in a very different way. This was not fear, but a novel excitement. She could feel the length of him with every part of her chest, stomach and hips. He was warm and solid, and heavy. She had never experienced anything like it.

‘This is an interesting dilemma,’ he said smoothly. ‘You have attacked me and I have disarmed you. I think I should get some answers before releasing you.’ He shifted his weight slightly, but did not get up. His slight movement was excruciatingly pleasurable. Juliana resisted the unexpected impulse to move a little herself, just to feel it again.

‘I have asked you to release me! People may come in at any second—my mother and Miss Langley are taking tea just outside—and if they came in and saw us like this, they might think—they might not understand—’ Her voice tailed away.

‘Why, what might they think, beautiful Juliana?’ He was looking intently at her mouth.

A new, disturbing feeling swamped Juliana. It was altogether confusing. Was he going to kiss her? Her heart, deaf to all sense, leaped in anticipation. Rejecting it, she hissed at him, ‘Let me go, if there is anything of the gentleman in you!’

His jaw clenched. ‘I am the one who was attacked without reason!’ As he said it, thankfully he rolled off to sit beside her, his hand going to the back of his head. ‘Ouch! A lump as big as an egg!’ He glared at her. ‘What did you mean by it?’

She sat up. ‘You were skulking. I saw you, sneaking through the shrubbery, trying to find a way in. I know they have been bothered by thieves before on Public Days. I thought—’ She broke off. It seemed unlikely, now she had time to reflect, that he was a thief.

‘You thought I was a thief, trying to steal from Chadcombe?’

She looked at him, then bit her lip. She nodded.

‘That has to be one of the greatest insults I have ever received.’ He reflected. ‘No, I think it is truly the greatest.’ He stood and offered her his hand.

She thought about rejecting it, then, realising how ungainly she would look if she tried to scramble to her feet without his assistance, she placed her hand in his.

He pulled her up—and into his arms! Her hands came up to his chest and for some reason she didn’t push him away. Her heart was pounding loudly and she had the strangest feeling in the pit of her stomach. His deep-blue gaze pinned hers and she knew—just knew—something was about to happen. She held her breath.

He gazed down at her, then his expression changed. ‘What did you hit me with?’

‘Er—what?’ Her brows knitted in confusion.

‘Your weapon. What was it?’

‘Oh—a spade.’ Why was he asking about that?

‘A spade! You are jesting, surely?’ He released her and looked around. ‘This spade?’

She crossed her arms around herself, suddenly feeling a little cold. ‘It was all I could find.’

He picked it up, tested its weight, then looked at her with a gleam of humour in his eyes. ‘Permit me to tell you, Miss Milford, you are an unusual young lady.’

Was he laughing at her? Her chin went up. ‘And permit me to say, Captain Fanton, you are the most irritating man I have ever met! And you still haven’t explained why you were trying to sneak in!’

‘You’re right, I haven’t,’ he said smoothly, setting the spade down again. ‘Come with me.’

Eyeing him suspiciously, she accompanied him to the eastern door of the Orangery, the one she had come in by. Outside, they found Mama and Miss Langley, still calmly drinking tea.

He winked at Juliana, then cleared his throat.

Both ladies turned. Mama’s face lit up when she saw him. ‘Oh! What a pleasant surprise!’

Miss Langley, a little slower to respond, smiled broadly when she saw who it was. ‘Harry!’ She rose to embrace him. ‘What brings you home? And so unexpectedly!’

Home? Had she just said ‘home’? Juliana’s jaw dropped in shock.

‘Ah, Great-Aunt Clara, I am so happy to see you!’ He kissed her wrinkled cheek. ‘I am fixed in Horse Guards for at least two months and thought I would come to Chadcombe for a few days to see you all. It was only when I got here I realised you were in the middle of a dashed Public Day. Why Adam had to start them up again I shall never understand!’

‘Oh, dear, Harry, I do remember how you always hated Public Days!’

‘Well, I hoped to avoid everyone by coming around by the Orangery.’

His great-aunt smiled fondly at him. ‘I remember, this was how you avoided your tutor, too, when you wanted to. No one ever could find you when you wanted to hide.’

Juliana snorted. He hadn’t been very discreet while skulking through the bushes today! Hearing her reaction, he sent her a sideways glance, his eyes brimming with humour.

Miss Langley turned to Mrs Milford. ‘Mrs Milford, may I introduce you to my great-nephew Harry—Adam’s brother. Harry, this is Mrs Milford and Miss Milford—dear Charlotte’s school friend.’

‘But we have met before,’ cried Mama, smiling broadly. ‘Captain Fanton and his friend were of great assistance to us while we were in Dover.’ She offered Harry her hand. ‘How wonderful it is we should see you again and that you are Charlotte’s new brother! Is it not wonderful, Juliana?’

‘Indeed it is, Mama,’ said Juliana smoothly, lying without a blink. ‘Quite wonderful.’

* * *

Juliana settled into the corner of the carriage with a sigh. She was not looking forward to today. Mama was ill—just a cold, but she had stayed in bed today. Juliana hated to leave her. While she knew her mother was enjoying the best of care and attention from Miss Langley and a flurry of chambermaids, it still felt wrong to abandon her like this. Juliana had been really torn, for Charlotte needed her, too. Her mother had seemed to understand.

‘Mama?’ Juliana had spoken softly, unsure if her mother was awake or asleep.

‘Yes, my love?’

‘Do you remember I told you about the Wakelys?’

‘That boorish couple from the Public Day?’ Mama shuddered. ‘What of them?’

‘Charlotte plans to visit them today—they live only a few miles away. I do not wish to leave you alone, but I think she would be easier if I accompanied her.’

‘Of course you must go with her!’ Mama patted her hand. ‘If you stay, you will only keep me from sleeping anyway.’ Mama smiled to soften her words, but Juliana was unconvinced. ‘Go, Juliana! You cannot abandon Charlotte when she needs you. You will be of no use to me today, but a great deal of use to Charlotte!’

Reluctantly, Juliana had agreed—only to discover, just now, that Harry also intended to accompany them. It was much too late to back out, but it galled her to discover she hadn’t been needed after all. She wondered if Harry had deliberately ensured she would not discover his plans until she was committed.

Charlotte took her seat beside Juliana, then finally Harry entered, sitting in the centre of the rear-facing seat, opposite them. In the small, confined space, Juliana could not but be intensely aware of him. At a glance, she took in his well-fitted coat, pale breeches and gleaming boots—one of which was threateningly close to her own foot. She moved slightly, further away from him, and resisted the urge to tuck in her dress protectively around her. His nearness disturbed her—though not in the same way that the unctuous Mr Wakely had. No, she felt under no threat from Harry. Rather, she was altogether too aware of him—and was conscious of an incomprehensible urge to enjoy the proximity.

She and Charlotte were both wearing pretty day dresses of sprig muslin, with matching spencers. Charlotte wore a becoming cap, as befitted a married lady, whereas Juliana had opted for a high-poke bonnet with blue satin ribbons. Harry had paid them both extravagant compliments just now. Charlotte had smiled fondly at him, while Juliana had thanked him coolly.

Juliana had managed to keep a polite distance from Harry over the past few days, navigating with outward equanimity the warm welcome and surprise with which his arrival had been greeted. He had suffered no lasting ill effects from being clobbered with a spade, and the bump on his head had been a just reward, Juliana thought, for skulking.

It was clear Harry was well loved at Chadcombe—and not just by his relatives. The staff, Juliana noted, held him in high regard and Charlotte adored him as a brother. Charlotte had squealed with delight when she and Adam had first seen him, outside the Orangery. They had come looking for Great-Aunt Clara and the others when the last guest had gone, and found Harry being plied with cake and questions.

Harry’s younger sister, Olivia, had also now returned to Chadcombe and was equally warm towards both her brothers. Juliana was quite envious of the clear bond between them and the fact that Charlotte, it seemed, had been fully welcomed into their family.

While she could only be glad Charlotte had found such a loving home, it had made her consider again her own situation. Growing up as an English child in Brussels, she had never felt she truly belonged there. And the years at school in Vienna had added to her sense of being rootless. It was partly the lack of family, she knew. Growing up without a father had not helped—she felt responsible for Mama and had taken on the obligation for making decisions that would normally fall to one’s parents. It had made her wary, old beyond her years and perhaps a little more ready to fight when threatened. Being in England was also unsettling. Though she, of course, had her dear Mama, she had often wondered about her own family background.

Mama rarely talked about her husband. His name, Juliana knew, was John Milford, and he had died while in active service during the Flanders campaign, soon after Juliana’s birth. Wounded in a skirmish with French forces, he had succumbed to infection a week later. Mama had said the bitterly cold winter had probably not helped. ‘I often wondered,’ she had told her daughter, ‘if I could have saved him. He was all alone, with no one to properly care for him. The army was in retreat and very few of the wounded survived.’

Juliana had been almost afraid to breathe. Mama so rarely talked about her past. ‘Could you not have gone with him?’ Juliana had asked tentatively. ‘I know many army wives who travel with the campaign—Charlotte’s mother did, for a time.’

‘Your father insisted I remain in Brussels with you,’ Mama had replied. ‘I was unwell after the birth, and he said he wanted to know we both were safe.’

Juliana had swallowed hard. ‘So it was because of me that he...died?’

Her mother had hugged her fiercely. ‘No! Never! He adored you—adored us both. It was simply the timing.’

‘Why did you not return to England after Papa’s death?’

Her mother’s face had crumpled. ‘Oh, I could not! To be subject to censure and control from—’ She swallowed hard. ‘I would have been punished and criticised for going away in the first place—I simply could not have borne it! I am not strong enough, you see.’

Mama had decided to stay in Brussels and focus on raising her daughter. Since then, she said, she had had no reason or desire to return to Kent, where she grew up.

Juliana had had a thousand more questions, but, since that day, almost two years ago, Mama had refused to disclose anything further about her past. She had begged Juliana not to press her, saying even after all these years it remained too painful to talk about. Juliana, conscious of her mother’s vulnerability, could not risk pushing too hard for information. She assumed Mama’s family had not approved of John Milford—or, perhaps, his decision to take his young bride to Europe to follow the Army. Perhaps there was some scandal there, which had made Mama anxious even all these years later.

Now they were in England, Juliana resolved to try to gently question Mama again about it all. Mama had been an only child, she knew, but surely someone remained. Was the estrangement so strong they could not have any contact with them? Could they perhaps visit them? When she was younger, she had often created visions in her head of being welcomed into a warm, loving home and that she would be the one to bridge a reawakening of her mama’s relationship with her own family. For who could fail to love Mama?

And what of her papa’s family? Was it possible she might have Milford grandparents or cousins? Would her mama be more willing to talk about it, now that they were in England?

‘I apologise to both of you that we are making this journey.’ Charlotte’s voice intruded on Juliana’s thoughts. ‘I am sure visiting Glenbrook Hall was not how you hoped to spend the afternoon—especially as we are to travel to London in two days.’

‘No need to apologise,’ said Harry cheerfully. ‘I am decidedly looking forward to it. I have heard much of our new neighbours and I confess to a certain curiosity.’

Juliana eyed him balefully. Quite apart from his deceiving her this morning, she still hadn’t forgiven him for being so rude and arrogant in Dover, and resented his seeming popularity with the entire family circle. He had been welcomed, fêted and exclaimed over by everyone in Chadcombe, including—the ultimate betrayal—by her own mama.

Everyone had thought him fixed in France and expressed their delight in animated tones at his unexpected arrival. Juliana had held back, a polite smile masking her disdain, until he had made a sly reference to her ‘falling over herself to greet him’ and how much of a pleasure it had been to meet Mrs Milford and her ‘charming daughter’ again. Charlotte, who had not been present when Harry had explained himself to Miss Langley, had looked confused.

‘But, when did you meet?’ she had asked innocently, failing to notice the daggered look Juliana had been sending in Harry’s direction.

‘In Dover,’ explained Mrs Milford, who had then gone on to describe their encounter in the warmest terms. Juliana had clamped her mouth shut and closed her hands into fists, for fear she would tell the truth—or that he would. He had known how she felt, of course, and had looked highly amused by her reaction. Charlotte had seemed astonished, then thoughtful.

‘Your curiosity is well warranted, Harry. The Wakelys are an interesting couple.’ Charlotte grimaced slightly as she spoke.

‘Interesting? Come now, Charlotte!’ Harry’s tone was lightly teasing. ‘You may speak plainly with me. And with Miss Milford.’ He looked directly at Juliana and she felt the impact of that steady gaze kick somewhere in her middle.

Charlotte shook her head. ‘I cannot say what I really think, for I do not wish to speak ill of people whom I barely know.’

‘Your discretion does you credit. Perhaps Miss Milford will oblige me. What is your impression of the Wakelys, Miss Milford?’

‘They are rude and encroaching, and not the sort of people Lady Shalford should be visiting.’ Juliana spoke bluntly, hoping to shock him. He was undaunted, humour glinting in his eyes. She turned to Charlotte. ‘Must you visit them?’

‘I fear so,’ said Charlotte sadly. ‘Mrs Wakely caught me unawares when they were leaving Chadcombe and I had agreed to call upon her before I knew what was happening.’

‘Did you discover the tale behind their move to Glenbrook Hall?’ Juliana hoped the Wakelys would be in the district only temporarily. She did not want anything to spoil Charlotte’s happiness and feared Charlotte would be too kind-hearted to repulse the strange duo.

Charlotte nodded. ‘Adam has been informed there is a dispute about the inheritance, and the Wakelys have been allowed to live there while the executors establish Mrs Wakely’s claim. It is known she has been given a generous allowance, too—the old Baron, Cowlam, was extremely wealthy, I understand. That might account for the diamonds.’

Juliana giggled. ‘And the peacocks!’

Charlotte laughed. ‘Lord! I wonder if they will have bought some?’

Harry smiled broadly. ‘Come now, you must tell me more of this! What peacocks?’

Juliana couldn’t resist, for it was too good a tale not to be told. Eyes dancing, she told him of the Wakelys’ plan to purchase peacocks. His reaction was gratifying, and for a few moments she actually felt in charity with him. She allowed him to be charming—indeed, she had admitted it from the first. And he was now part of her dear Charlotte’s family. Begrudgingly, she admitted he seemed genuinely loved by those at Chadcombe and that he must, therefore, have some good qualities she had not seen. She was sure of one thing, though. She would never wish to be close to him.

* * *

Harry watched Juliana as she told her tale, enjoying her animated features and sparkling eyes. He felt an unanticipated thrill as she spoke—this was the most relaxed he had ever seen her in his company.

Since his arrival at Chadcombe, she had tried to keep him at a distance, something which he had taken as a personal challenge. Her coolness was no match for his confidence in his ability to charm young ladies. The only time she had been openly angry and disdainful was during their encounter in the Orangery. Still, he mused, that event had had its compensations. He still remembered how it felt to have her beneath him, for those brief moments. Even the bump on the head now seemed a price worth paying. She was undoubtedly a daring woman!

Finding her installed in his family home had been an unexpected delight. He knew she was determined to dislike him, but somehow, it did not bother him. His instincts told him that, at a deeper level, her feelings towards him were much more mixed. He saw it in her awareness of him—a responsiveness which was entirely mutual. They came alive in each other’s company, politely throwing barbed comments, false sentiment and, occasionally, undisguised insults in each other’s path. He suspected Juliana was feeling the same exhilaration he was enjoying during these spirited encounters.

This was more than mere flirtation, though flattery was one of the main strategies which Harry was using to irritate her. He had realised quickly she was uncomfortable receiving compliments and that it was the easiest method of getting a response from her. As an accomplished flirt, he had developed the knack, he thought, of persuading young ladies to succumb to his charm—while avoiding, of course, any risk they might fall ‘in love’ with him. That was a complication he must avoid. With Juliana, he was sure there was no such risk, so his way was clear to see if he could charm her—or outwit her—into warming to him.

He squirmed slightly at the direction of his own musings. He sounded arrogant, even to himself. Deep inside, the monster of his self-loathing began to stir. Sensing the chasm opening up before him, he diverted his thoughts from the depths. Better to focus on the challenge of fencing with Juliana. The last thing he wished was to observe his own soul.

As each day passed, he grew to know her better. After just a week, he could now read the play of emotions that crossed her features with increasing accuracy, while Juliana was becoming ever more skilful at scoring hits on him.

Their battles—fought with word and gaze—were different to anything he had ever known and he found himself looking forward to each day with greater energy than he had known since—

‘And so,’ Juliana concluded with a flourish, ‘we may discover today whether Lord Cowlam’s wealth has been used to purchase peacocks for Glenbrook!’

‘Why, this sounds like a high treat!’ he declared. ‘I thank you both for allowing me to accompany you. There is nothing I enjoy more than absurdity!’

‘I know exactly what you mean.’ Juliana nodded. ‘People can be so humorous—even when they do not mean to be!’

Harry was startled by her straight answer. Honesty—without the hint of a barb—was a rare occurrence between them. He found himself agreeing with her. ‘Especially when they do not mean to be!’

Unthinkingly, they smiled briefly at each other in a moment of mutual understanding, then both broke off eye contact. They stared fixedly at the countryside for the rest of the journey, each lost in their own thoughts. Charlotte, after a keen look at each of them, smiled slightly, but said nothing.

In truth, Harry was a little disturbed by the sudden, unexpected harmony between himself and Juliana. They had each triumphed in various skirmishes, but which of them had won this latest round was unclear.

Chapter Six

‘We call this the Blue Drawing Room,’ Mrs Wakely tittered. ‘As you can understand, for everything is blue, even the rug!’

Juliana suppressed a yawn. How she disliked this ritual, touring people’s houses so they could crow about their wealth, furniture and—in Mrs Wakely’s case—rugs. She had done it many times around Brussels and Vienna, and knew the behaviour expected of her. She was to exclaim and compliment, and agree with her hostess, all the time understanding that she, who had no property or wealthy relations, was to be grateful even to visit such a wonderful dwelling. This occasion, Juliana recognised, was slightly different, for Mrs Wakely knew Glenbrook Hall was nothing compared to Chadcombe. Juliana was quite enjoying the reflected glory—and Mrs Wakely’s feeble attempts to seem humble, yet crow about her fortune.

‘As you see, it has blue hangings and the sofas and chairs are all done in blue. The fireplace, you will notice, is white.’

‘A most pleasant room, Mrs Wakely.’ Charlotte was all politeness. Juliana did not know how she could stand it. Since their arrival, Mrs Wakely had maintained an incessant flow of inconsequential chatter, interspersed with impertinent questions.

Thankfully, after tea, Harry had been taken off by Mr Wakely to inspect the stables, so Juliana did not have to endure the company of either man. Mr Wakely, on their arrival, had raised his quizzing glass to inspect both ladies with uncomfortable intensity, before pronouncing them to be ‘fine young ladies’, in a voice that made Juliana shiver slightly.

‘...you think, Juliana?’ Realising belatedly that Charlotte was addressing her, Juliana started.

‘Yes, delightful,’ she said generally. It seemed to fit, for no one reacted with surprise.

Mrs Wakely rang the bell. ‘The portrait gallery is next and I confess I do not know much of the family history, so I have asked our housekeeper, Mrs Campbell, to be ready to explain it to you.’

They stood, listening with seeming interest to Mrs Wakely’s description of the pleasant view out of the window, until the housekeeper appeared. Mrs Campbell was a stout, kindly-looking woman in her sixties, with a lined face and iron-grey hair contained in an orderly bun. Her black dress was neat and tidy, and she wore a large bunch of keys at her waist.

‘Mrs Campbell,’ said Mrs Wakely imperiously, ‘please take us to the portrait gallery, and explain everything to my guests. The same way you explained it to me when I first became your mistress.’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘Lady Shalford, you will know what a trial it is to find good staff and how one must establish dominance over them from the start—especially the “old retainer” types. One would not want to be cheated by dishonest staff!’

Juliana’s jaw dropped in shock. What an insulting thing to say, and in front of her own housekeeper! Mrs Campbell’s face remained expressionless, but Juliana knew from the brief flash of pain in her eyes that Mrs Wakely’s cruel arrow had found its mark.

Charlotte, she saw, was equally taken aback. ‘I know how important it is to find—and to keep—good staff,’ she said softly. ‘I declare I would be lost without my own housekeeper at Chadcombe.’ She smiled gently at Mrs Campbell.

Juliana spoke up. ‘I would be delighted if you would be so kind as to show us the portrait gallery, Mrs Campbell.’ She smiled broadly at the housekeeper, hoping to signal her outrage at Mrs Wakely’s rude behaviour.

Mrs Campbell looked at her fully for the first time. Her eyes widened briefly, then she schooled her features into impassivity. ‘Thank you, miss.’

Juliana followed as Mrs Campbell led them through two interconnected rooms. Why had the housekeeper looked at her with such surprise? Was she so unused to receiving kindness? Juliana could not imagine how difficult it must be to work for a mistress as coarse and unfeeling as Mrs Wakely.

Unhooking the bunch of keys from her waist, the housekeeper unlocked the door to the portrait gallery, then stood aside while they entered.

It was a beautiful room. Long, narrow and sunlit, with polished wooden floors and plain walls, hung with portraits amassed over three centuries. A single rosewood table stood halfway down and there was another door at the far end of the room. There was an air of peace, tranquillity and quiet tastefulness about the whole house, which did not match Mrs Wakely in the slightest.

Juliana was forced to admit she liked Glenbrook Hall. It was a pretty estate, with farms, mature woodlands, landscaped gardens and a long sweeping drive. The house was a modest building of warm granite and large windows, with high ceilings, elegant fireplaces and tasteful design. It was also immaculately maintained—Juliana laid the credit for this at the feet of Mrs Campbell and the other staff, for it was clear Mrs Wakely had no knowledge or understanding of running a country house.

‘How long have you lived here, Mrs Wakely?’ she asked, curiosity finally getting the better of her. Besides, she was unable to resist the temptation to make her hostess feel a little uncomfortable.

‘Almost six months,’ replied Mrs Wakely. ‘I do declare it took a while for us to get used to it, rattling around in this big place. I much prefer a compact house, with only the rooms I need—though, of course, it is gratifying when guests are impressed by how large the house is.’

Juliana blinked. Mrs Wakely continued, undaunted. ‘I have plans to change the house and to get rid of all this old furniture. We need to modernise it—the family had such old-fashioned taste! I was thinking of making everything golden. I have seen beautiful new furniture that has come from France and Mr W. and I have talked about redecorating. Of course, this war is very inconvenient—they say it will make importing what we want more difficult. Lady Shalford, you must come back next year and see what changes we have made.’

Charlotte made a non-committal answer. Juliana hoped she would never be back, for she dreaded to think what Mrs Wakely’s ‘modernising’ would do to this lovely house. And to describe the conflict with Napoleon as ‘inconvenient’ was nothing short of insulting to the soldiers and their families, as well as to the relatives of those who had been lost in war—like Juliana’s own father.

It also showed a lack of sensitivity to those who lived near the battlefields. This time, the armies had moved close to Brussels and Juliana dreaded to think of what might happen to her friends and acquaintances who still resided there.

‘Mrs Campbell, who are these people?’ In an attempt to divert her hostess from pressurising Charlotte, Juliana stopped randomly in front of a family portrait. It looked like a Reynolds, and showed a man, woman and child in an outdoor setting, Glenbrook Hall in the distance.

‘Ah, that is my master and mistress, and the young master,’ said Mrs Campbell warmly.

‘Indeed?’ said Charlotte with interest. ‘He was a baron, I understand?’

‘He was. Lord Cowlam, though the line died out with him.’

Charlotte looked perplexed. ‘But, his son...?’

‘When Napoleon started attacking all over Europe, nothing would do for the young master but that he must volunteer. Master Jack was always headstrong, especially after his mother died. He was killed in Spain, I believe, or France. The master went into a decline after that.’

‘How sad!’ Another of the thousands of families affected by war and by Napoleon’s thirst for glory. Juliana looked at the portrait carefully. They all looked so happy. The man was smiling broadly, his blue eyes brimming with energy and joy. The woman was beautiful, with soft brown eyes and an air of serenity. Juliana liked to think of them happy together in this house. She looked at the child. He had his mother’s brown eyes and was looking innocently at her.

‘When did the Baron die?’ Charlotte, Juliana saw, was also intrigued by the sad tale.

‘Nearly two years ago, milady.’ Mrs Campbell spoke with heavy sorrow. ‘We never expected him to live on after Master Jack died. In the end, it was twenty years, though he was never the same. We did our best to look after him, and to look after the house and the estate, but we couldn’t replace what he had lost.’

Mrs Wakely was frowning at the direction the conversation had taken. ‘But, as I always say, good comes out of bad, for if the old Baron’s son had lived, then Mr W. and I would not have inherited.’ Juliana frowned, noticing Mrs Campbell’s distress at her mistress’s words. Really, the woman had no tact or sensitivity!

‘Indeed, Mrs Wakely,’ Charlotte said coolly. ‘And has your inheritance been confirmed?’

‘Er...well, you know how these things are... Lawyers will be forever putting obstacles in the way of justice.’

‘Obstacles?’ queried Juliana, exchanging a wicked glance with Charlotte. This sounded interesting.

‘Yes, you know the sort of thing...’ Mrs Wakely waved a plump arm vaguely. ‘Other claimants that nobody can find. They will turn out not to exist, I am sure of it. And then the lawyers will give me my full inheritance and allow me to redecorate.’

‘So it is you, and not your husband, who is related to the Baron?’ asked Juliana, though she already knew the answer.

‘I am, indeed, and it has been verified. My grandmother and his grandmother were first cousins, you know. And I was never so shocked as on the day I found out that I was gentry! For—this will surprise you to know, milady—’ she laid a plump hand on Charlotte’s arm ‘—I was not raised as such. When I got the letter I was so shocked I could barely take it in and I had to ask my dear friend Mr Wakely to explain it to me!’

Charlotte ridded herself of Mrs Wakely’s touch by the simple expedient of raising her own hand to touch the plain gold locket around her neck. ‘So you and Mr Wakely were not married at that point?’

‘We were not—he was a regular customer at the tavern where I worked. The inn, I mean, not “tavern”! Tavern sounds altogether too common! A very high-class, select inn, it was, milady. Anyway, I had no idea he was harbouring such warm feelings for me. He had kept his love for me secret, for fear of rejection, you know!’ She sighed dramatically. ‘But he helped me through all the dealings with the lawyers—and it was with him that I shared my joy at becoming an heiress.’

‘Ah,’ said Juliana, ‘I begin to understand.’

Mrs Wakely beamed. ‘It was so gratifying to find myself in such a position—heiress to a fortune and then to discover my dear Mr Wakely wished to marry me. I count it the happiest day of my life.’

Juliana and Charlotte exchanged knowing glances. ‘Gratifying to be sure, Mrs Wakely. So you are not long married?’

‘Seven months—and at a time in my life when I had finally accepted my fate as a spinster.’ She nudged Juliana hard in the ribs. ‘So do not give up hope, miss. You may yet find a man who will take you on!’

‘Of that, there can be little doubt!’ A man’s voice rang out behind them. They turned to see Mr Wakely, Harry a step behind him, walking through the long portrait gallery towards them.

Mr Wakely laughed at his own witticism. Bowing to Juliana, he added, ‘For one so beautiful to remain unwed and untouched would be a sin.’

‘Miss Milford is indeed pretty,’ said Mrs Wakely, rather huffily.

Crash! The sound of metal on wood reverberated around the room as the housekeeper’s keys fell to the floor, making them all jump. Really, it was surprising just how loud a bunch of iron keys could be.

Mrs Campbell bent to pick them up, apologising profusely as she did so.

‘You stupid, clumsy oaf!’ barked Mr Wakely, his face white with anger. He turned to Charlotte. ‘Lady Shalford, I do apologise! What must you think of us?’

‘Oh, dear Lady Shalford, I do hope this does not prevent you from visiting us again,’ added his spouse, two spots of bright colour on her cheekbones, ‘For as the only notable landowners in the district, I had hoped we could become fast friends!’

Charlotte seemed lost for words. Juliana, her anger building at the rudeness of the Wakelys towards their housekeeper, immediately thought of at least ten things she wished to say. Unfortunately, she realised, none would do. How frustrating it was to be a gently bred lady when one wished to swear like a sailor!

Rescue came from an unexpected source. ‘Come now, Mrs Wakely,’ said Harry, a glint in his eye, ‘you must know there are many estates in our corner of Surrey. Chadcombe, to be sure, is by far the largest, but the Squire’s residence and Monkton Park are at least the same size as Glenbrook Hall and quite possibly larger.’

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