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
