Authors: Mary Nichols
Juliette turned
and went along the gallery to her room where she sat in the deep window seat,
leaning against the cool stone of the embrasure, gazing out on the garden, her
thoughts in a turmoil. What had come over her mother? She had not expected her
to like the picture - she hadn't been very sure of it herself - but it had been
well painted and the likeness was most definitely there, so why could she not
have simply said so and left it at that?
No one had
behaved with any impropriety, except for that stolen kiss and her mother knew
nothing of that, so what was the lieutenant being accused of? Theft? Of what?
That glittering necklace? She leaned forward to watch as the lieutenant came
from the garden with his easel under his arm and disappeared in the direction
of the stables. He had a room above one of them where he slept and kept his
painting materials.
Her mother had
spoken of humiliation; it must have been that and more for the lieutenant to live
among the horses and do menial tasks when by all accounts he came from a good
family. Perhaps that was why he had portrayed her like that; it reminded him of
home.
The sound of
hooves and wheels on the gravel of the drive caught her attention and she looked
down to see the Viscount's carriage drawing up at the front door. She left her
room and stood looking over the gallery rails as he came into the hall and a
footman took his hat and travelling cloak. Her mother, who had gone downstairs
again, hurried out of the library to meet him, still very agitated.
`Edward, thank
heavens you are home. There is something I must show you.'
'Can I not
change out of my dusty travelling clothes first?'
`No. Please,
Edward.' She took his hand and almost pulled him into the library and closed
the door.
A few minutes
later, her ladyship emerged and ordered one of the footmen to fetch the
lieutenant, then she went back into the library. Juliette held her breath,
wondering if they would also send for her, but no one came to her.
Five minutes
later, the Frenchman was brought through from the rear of the house. He did not
look up and did not see Juliette, standing at the head of the stairs, as he was
shown into the library. His escort closed the door on him and disappeared down
the hall again.
Overcome by
curiosity, Juliette crept downstairs and put her eye to the keyhole. She could
see her father standing before the hearth. He was a fine figure of a man in his
fifties, still very handsome though his black hair was greying a little at the
temples. He looked sombre but not as agitated as her mother had been. The
lieutenant was standing a little to one side, the offending portrait propped on
a chair between them.
She could not
see her mother, who was out of her limited field of vision. Her father was
speaking, but the door was a thick one and she could not hear what was said,
except an odd word here and there. 'Pendant... Where...? Who...? Innocent
child...' That was her, she supposed, but she resented being called a child.
And the Frenchman had a frightened look. Was Papa threatening him? He seemed to
be protesting about something, swearing he could not remember. Remember what?
`Juliette!' The
door had been opened suddenly. 'What do you think you are about?'
Juliette
straightened up, scarlet-faced, to face her mother. Lady Martindale's usually
even features were pinched and her dark eyes betrayed something that might have
been anger but which could equally have been fear. She did not look like the
handsome, youthful mother whom everyone teasingly likened to a sister. It
frightened Juliette a little.
`Nothing, Mama,
but why is Lieutenant Veillard being grilled by Papa in such a rag-mannered
way? He has done nothing very bad.' She tried to peer past her mother to see
what was happening in the room, but her ladyship came out into the hall and
shut the door firmly behind her.
`That is for
your papa to judge. Now, run along. Find some sewing to do.'
`I don't feel
like sewing, I am too agitated.'
`Agitated?' Her
ladyship was displaying signs of that herself. 'Why should you be agitated?'
`Because of
what has happened. There is something smoky going on and I want to know what it
is.'
Her mother took
a deep breath and her next words were said in her usual well-modulated voice.
'There is nothing going on, Juliette. Your papa is concerned that the
lieutenant should have taken such liberties. He is simply trying to find out
why and it is very impertinent of you to call him rag-mannered. Have you no
respect?'
`I beg pardon,
Mama. I did not mean that, but he does seem somewhat up in the boughs. And you
are not yourself at all.'
`That is
enough, Juliette. Now, run along do, and no more listening at keyholes or I
shall have to tell your papa.'
Reluctantly
Juliette returned to her room and fetched out her needlepoint, but she was
eaten with curiosity. What were the two men saying to each other'? The
lieutenant would surely not confess that he had kissed her. Supposing he
offered for her? No, he would not do that.
Even if he were
so presumptuous, her father would soon put him right. She was a considerable
heiress, being her father's only child, and was expected to make a good
marriage. An offer from a defeated French officer, who could not even afford to
buy a new suit of clothes, would never be entertained.
She sighed. He
was such a romantic figure, with his classic good looks and Gallic charm, not
stiff at all, like so many young men of her acquaintance who treated her as if
she were made of porcelain and would break at a touch. She had expected the
painting to portray her like that, but instead it had given her a robust,
rather coquettish appearance, almost like a courtesan. She giggled suddenly.
That was what had so infuriated her papa. Oh dear, poor Lieutenant Veillard!
It was at
supper that night she learned that the lieutenant had been sent back to the
camp and, more importantly, that she was to go to London for the Season. 'It is
time you came out,' her mother said. 'We were wrong to postpone it last year.'
`But, Mama, you
were not at all well. You said it would wear you out.'
`So I did, but
that was last year.'
It was obvious
that her parents intended to separate her from the lieutenant as soon as
possible. It was a deal of fuss over nothing at all. She liked the young man,
had even encouraged him to talk about himself, which was how the kiss had come
about, but she had no wish for a closer relationship with him, nor, indeed,
with any young man of her acquaintance.
Now she was
going to have a Season and would be expected to choose a husband from the eligibles
about town before the end of it, fortune hunters, most of them. To her mind the
whole process was nothing but a gamble and the odds of coming out of it with
any chance of lasting happiness were very long indeed. And marriage would mean
leaving her beloved Hartlea. Her protests that she did not want to go were met
with stern implacability by her father.
'You will go,
Juliet, and you will deal with the offers we allow you to receive with decorum.
Your mama will ensure that you are seen in all the right places and with the
right people.'
`Did the
lieutenant offer for me, Papa?'
Her father
stared at her in astonishment. 'You surely have not developed a tendre for that
young man?'
`No, but I
thought that was why...' She stopped in confusion.
`Whatever gave
you that idea?' He paused and looked at her closely. 'He has not been taking
liberties with you, has he? I'll thrash him within an inch of his life, if he
has.'
`No, Papa,
nothing like that.' She wasn't at all sure what 'taking liberties' meant, but
she guessed that kissing had something to do with it and she didn't want the
lieutenant to be in more trouble than he already was.
`I'm glad to
hear it. It seems to me the sooner you are suitably married the better.'
`I don't
understand. What have I done?' she cried in real distress. 'How have I
displeased you?'
His voice
softened. 'You've done nothing, dear child. I am a little put out by other
things. Now finish your supper. Tomorrow you may start packing, though your mama
will supervise the purchase of a new wardrobe when we arrive in town. You will
need that if you are to take well.'
The thought of
shopping cheered Juliette and she soon forgot her father's apparent
irritability. He had an important position at the Horse Guards which he never
spoke of, but it meant he was often away from home and when he did return was
weary beyond imagining, as if the whole conduct of the war rested on his
shoulders. Her mama had often asked him to give it up because it took such a
toll of his health, but he always smiled and said he could not, not until
Napoleon was defeated, but a few days at Hartlea would soon put him to rights.
He loved his
country home above everything, saying it was where he felt most at peace and
where he could recoup his strength. Now he was proposing to spend the summer in
London, at the beck and call of anyone who thought they had need of him, and
all because of Lieutenant Veillard and that portrait. It was a mystery she
intended to solve.
In no time at all, the family was established at their
London home in Mount Street and the shopping was done, resulting in an array of
gowns for mornings, afternoons and evenings, carriage dresses and riding
habits, not to mention cloaks, pelisses, bonnets, shawls, shoes, half-boots,
petticoats and stockings, which cost her father a small fortune.
Within days of
arriving Juliette and her mother were receiving and paying calls and filling up
their diaries with engagements - visits to the opera and the ballet, concerts,
routs, dances, carriage rides in the park, museum visits. The Viscount seemed
to view the move as an opportunity to spend more time at Horse Guards on the
conduct of the war and only accompanied them when Lady Martindale insisted that
his absence would cause gossip.
`Everyone knows
how important he is to the War Department,' Juliette said. 'And if his work
helps to bring the war to a speedy conclusion, then I suppose we must decline
Lady Carstairs's invitation.'
They were
sitting in the morning room, having finished breakfast, and were discussing
their engagements for the week. Lady Martindale, in a simple taffeta gown of
deep blue, looked much younger than her forty-odd years but there was a frown
creasing her brow which had been more evident of late.
Juliette in
pale lemon muslin looked fresh and innocent, as became a young lady in her
come-out year, but she was far from the silly, empty-headed,
just-out-of-the-schoolroom miss that seemed to typify other young ladies in her
position. Her father had always encouraged her to seek enlightenment, to
question and ponder, to read improving books.
Now, according
to her mother, she must suppress her natural intelligence and not put herself
forward because it was not becoming; men contemplating marriage did not look
favourably on young ladies who voiced opinions of their own.
`Yes, of
course, dear, but he is wearing himself out.' Her mother picked up the
gilt-edged invitation card that had arrived that morning. 'He needs a little
light relief. And I do think he should be there to see the young men who dance
with you.'
`You are
worried about fortune hunters, is that it? You think I shall fall into the arms
of the first rake who asks me to stand up with him. I am not such a fribble,
Mama. Sometimes I wish I were as poor as a church mouse and not the daughter of
a viscount, then I could marry for love.'
`Don't say such
things, Juliette. You do not understand what it is like to be poor and pray God
you never do, but to deny your father...'
`Deny Papa! Oh,
Mama, how could you think I would do that? He is the dearest man and I think it
is a shame he has to work so hard. But how are we to go to the ball without
him? Won't two ladies on their own cause raised
eyebrows?'
`Certainly they
would, but we shall not go on our own. Your father has arranged for Mr
Devonshire to escort us.'
`Mr Devonshire?
Who is he?'
`He is a very
close friend of your papa and has been for many years. I know very little more
than that.'
With that
Juliette had to be content. That Mr Devonshire would be a poor substitute for
her beloved father she did not doubt. He was sure to be old and fat and pompous
and if he took his escort duties seriously, her enjoyment was bound to be
curtailed.
She realised how wrong she had been in her conjecture on
the evening of the ball when Mr Devonshire arrived in a hired carriage to
escort them.
Juliette was
wearing a gown of the finest silk gauze in a pale blue-green, which covered a
slip of matching satin. Its puffed sleeves were ruched with a darker green
silk, which also decorated the high bodice. The skirt hung straight over her
hips down to feet shod in satin slippers.
Her hair had
been piled up in a classical Greek style, threaded with ribbon on which had
been sewn clusters of tiny pearls. More pearls made up her necklace, with a
single large drop hanging between the cleft of her breasts. She looked the
picture of girlish innocence. Hearing the sounds of their escort being greeted
by her mother in the hall, Juliette picked up her reticule and fan and made her
way down to join them.