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
