Vice (24 page)

“You never know when it might be you,” Rosamund added glumly.

“Some of the bawds will make an interest-free loan if they like one of the girls who’s in trouble,” Lilly said. “But Lucy made a lot of enemies when she was doing well for herself, and now she’s down on her luck, none of the bawds will lift a finger.”

“And the jailers at the Marshalsea are really cruel.” Emma shuddered. “They torment the prisoners and won’t give them food or coal or candles if they can’t pay the most outrageous sums. And Lucy doesn’t have a penny to her name.”

“But how much does she need?” Juliana’s mind raced. She’d seen enough in her few days in London to find Lucy’s plight appalling but believable. After all, the duke had gone to great pains to show her how easy it was for an
unprotected girl to slip into the sewer. And once in, there was no way out.

“She needs the forty pounds to free herself from Mother Haddock,” Rosamund replied. “The girls at Russell Street have put together ten pounds, and we hope the other houses will contribute too.”

“Wait here.” Juliana sprang to her feet, spilling champagne down her bodice. She brushed at the drops impatiently. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She put down her glass and whisked herself from the parlor.

Tarquin was crossing the hall on his way to the front door when she came racing down the stairs, holding her skirts well clear of her feet.

“My lord duke, I need to speak with you, it’s most urgent.”

He regarded her impetuous progress with a faint smile. Her eyes glowed with a zealot’s fire, and her tone was vehement. “I’m at your service, my dear,” he said. “Will it take long? Should I instruct the groom to return my horse to the mews?”

Juliana paused on the bottom step. “I don’t believe it should take long … but then again it might,” she said with a judicious frown. “It rather depends on your attitude, sir.”

“Ahh.” He nodded. “Well, let’s assume that my attitude will be accommodating.” He turned back to the library. “Catlett, tell Toby to walk my horse. I’ll be out shortly.”

Juliana followed him into the library, closing the door behind her. It seemed simpler to come straight to the point. “Am I to have an allowance, sir?”

Tarquin perched on the arm of a sofa. “I hadn’t given it any thought, but, of course, you must have pin money.”

“How much?” she asked bluntly.

“Well, let’s see …” He pulled on his right earlobe with a considering frown. “You already have an adequate wardrobe, I believe?” He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Yes, of course,” Juliana said, trying to restrain her impatience. “But there are—”

“Other things,” he interrupted. “I do quite understand that. If you were to take your place at court, of course, two hundred pounds a year would be barely sufficient for personal necessities, but since that’s not going to happen, I would have thought—”

“Who said it wasn’t going to happen?” demanded Juliana, momentarily deflected from her original purpose.

Tarquin looked perplexed. “I thought it was understood. Surely you don’t wish to enter society?”

“I might,” she said. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t have the option.”

Tarquin’s perplexity deepened. He’d had a very clear idea in his head of how Juliana would conduct herself under his roof, and joining the exclusive court circles had not been part of it. He remembered how she’d seemed to encourage Lucien’s company that morning—another contingency he hadn’t considered. Was it just mischief on her part? Or was she going to be more trouble than he’d bargained for?

“Let’s leave that issue for the moment,” he said. “I suggest we settle on fifty pounds a quarter at this stage. I’ll instruct my bankers accordingly.” He stood up and moved toward the door.

“Well, could I have forty pounds now, please?” Juliana stood between him and the door, unconsciously squaring her shoulders. She had never been given money of her own and had never dared ask for it before. But she reasoned that since she was now a viscountess, she was entitled to make some demands.

“Whatever do you want such a sum for?”

“Do I have to tell you how I spend my pin money?”

He shook his head. “No, I suppose not. Are you in some difficulties?”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “But I have need of forty pounds … well, thirty I suppose would do … but I need it immediately.”

“Very well.” Still clearly puzzled, Tarquin went to the desk and opened the top drawer. He drew out a strongbox,
unlocked it, and selected three twenty-pound notes. “Here you are,
mignonne.”

“That’s sixty pounds,” she said, taking the notes.

“You
may have need of a little extra,” he pointed out. “Will you give me your word you’re in no difficulties?”

“Yes, of course, how should I be?” she said, tucking the notes into her bosom. “Thank you very much. I’m very much obliged to you, my lord duke.” Spinning on her heel, she half ran from the library, again holding her skirts clear of her feet.

Tarquin stood frowning for a minute. Did that urgent request have anything to do with her visitors from Russell Street? It seemed likely. Highly likely, and he wasn’t at all sure that he approved of Juliana’s subsidizing Elizabeth Dennison’s harlots. But she did have the right to some money of her own, and he didn’t have the right to dictate how she should spend it. He found he’d lost interest in his ride and stood in fiercely frowning silence in the middle of the room.

“There, that’s forty pounds.” Juliana placed two of the bills on the table in her parlor before the astounded eyes of her friends. “So you won’t need to spend your own money for Lucy’s bail. Shall we go at once?”

“But … but is this your own money, Juliana?” Even the down-to-earth Lilly was astonished.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said airily. “The duke gave it to me as part of my allowance. I wasn’t sure whether I was to have one or not, but Lord Quentin said His Grace was generous to a fault, so I thought I’d put it to the test. And there you are.” She indicated the riches on the table with a grandiose flourish, rather spoiling the effect by adding, “It isn’t as if he can’t afford it, after all.”

“Well, I for one won’t question such good fortune,” Lilly said, tucking the notes into her beaded silk muff. “And I know Lucy won’t.”

“Then let’s go at once.” Juliana energetically strode to the door. “Do you know how to get there? Can we walk?
Or should I order the carriage?” she added with another grand gesture.

“We can’t go ourselves,” Rosamund protested, shocked.

“But you have a footman downstairs.”

“It’s still no place for ladies,” Emma explained. “The jailers are horrid and rude, and they’ll ask for all sorts of extras before they’ll release Lucy. Mr. Garston will go for us. They won’t intimidate him.”

“They won’t intimidate me,” Juliana declared. “Come, let’s go. We’ll hail a hackney, as there’s not a moment to lose. Heaven only knows what miseries Lucy’s enduring.”

This consideration overrode further objections, although her companions were still rather dubious as they followed her down the stairs, where they collected the Dennisons’ footman, Juliana told Catlett that she expected to be back for dinner, and they stepped out into the warm afternoon.

W
here are you off to, Lady Edgecombe?” Quentin was coming up the front steps as they emerged from the house. He bowed courteously to her companions.

“To the Marshalsea,” Juliana said cheerfully. “To bail someone out.”

“To the Marshalsea?” Quentin stared at her. “Don’t be absurd, child.”

“The footman will accompany us,” she said, gesturing to the flunky behind her.

“The footman may accompany your friends, but Lady Edgecombe does not go to a debtors’ prison,” Quentin stated.

“Truly it would be best to ask Mr. Garston to go for us, Juliana” Emma put in, laying a tentative hand on Juliana’s arm.

“Tarquin would flay me alive if I permitted it,” Quentin declared.

Juliana regarded him steadily. “I understood I was free to go where I please.”

“Not to the Marshalsea.”

“Not even if you accompanied me?”

“Juliana, I have not the slightest desire to visit a debtors’ prison.”

“But you’re a man of the cloth. Surely you have a duty to help your fellow man in need? And this
is
an errand of mercy.” Her voice was all sweet reason, her smile cajoling, but Quentin was aware of a powerful determination behind the ingenuous facade.

“Why not follow your friend’s suggestion and ask this Mr. Garston to go for you?”

“But that will take time. And that poor girl shouldn’t languish in that place a minute more than necessary. I heard that the jailers torture the inmates for money, when of course they can’t have any funds, because if they did, they wouldn’t be there in the first place.” Her eyes sparked with indignation and her cheeks were pale with anger, all pretense of ingenuous cajoling vanished. “You have a duty, Lord Quentin, to help those in trouble. Don’t you?”

“Yes, I like to think so,” Quentin said dryly. He was uncomfortably reminded that as a canon of Melchester Cathedral, he hadn’t spent much time tending a flock. He was beginning to wonder why he’d ever felt Juliana needed protection and guidance. At this moment she hardly seemed like anyone’s victim.

“We have the money,” Juliana continued. “All forty pounds of Lucy’s debt. And if the jailers demand more, I shall tell them to go hang,” she added with a flashing eye. “If we allow them to get away with extortion, they’ll do it to everyone.”

“I’m sure you will keep them in line,” Quentin murmured. “I pity the man who tries to stand in your path.”

“Oh, you sound just like the duke,” Juliana said. “So toplofty. But I tell you straight, my lord, you won’t persuade me out of this.”

“You are right that I am obliged to help those in trouble.” His mouth took a sardonic quirk that made him look even more like his half brother. “I am also obliged to keep people
out
of trouble. And I assure you, my dear Juliana,
you will be up to your neck in hot water if Tarquin discovers you’ve been roaming around a debtors’ prison.”

Juliana was standing on the top step, half facing the open front door. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Lucien crossing the hall toward the drawing room. “If my husband doesn’t object, I fail to see why the duke should,” she said with a flash of inspiration. “I do beg your pardon for teasing you, Lord Quentin. Of course you mustn’t trouble yourself over this for another minute.”

She gave him a radiant smile and turned to the three young women. “I’ll be back in an instant. Wait here for me.” She hurried into the house, leaving Quentin staring uneasily after her, unsure whether he’d heard her aright.

“Oh, dear,” Emma said. “Do you think Juliana is perhaps a little impetuous?”

“I fear that ’a little’ is something of an understatement, ma’am,” Quentin said. “Surely she’s not intending to enlist Edgecombe’s support?”

“I believe so, my lord,” Rosamund said, her brown eyes wide and solemn in her round face.

“Excuse me.” Quentin bowed briefly and strode into the house in search of Tarquin, leaving the women still on the steps.

Juliana had followed Lucien into the drawing room and closed the door behind her. “My lord, I need your leave to go on an errand,” she stated straightaway.

“Good God! What’s this?” Lucien exclaimed.
“You
are asking
me
for permission?”

“Indeed, my lord.” Juliana curtsied. “You are my husband, are you not?”

Lucien gave a crack of laughter. “That’s a fine fabrication, my dear. But I daresay it has its uses.”

“Precisely,” she said. “And since you are my husband, yours is the only leave I need to run my errand.”

Lucien’s harsh laugh rasped again. “Well, I’ll be damned, m’dear. You’re setting yourself up in opposition to Tarquin, are you? Brave girl!” He flipped open an enameled snuff
box and took a liberal pinch, his eyes like dead coals in his grayish pallor.

“I’m not precisely in opposition to His Grace,” Juliana said judiciously, “since I haven’t consulted him on the matter—indeed, I don’t consider it his business. But I
am
consulting
you
, sir, and I would like your leave.”

“To do what?” he inquired curiously.

Juliana sighed. “To go to the Marshalsea with bail for a friend of my friends.”

“What friends?”

“Girls from the house where I was living before I came here,” she said a touch impatiently, hoping that the duke wouldn’t suddenly appear, summoned by Lord Quentin.

Lucien sneezed violently, burying his face in a handkerchief. It was a few minutes before he emerged, a hectic flush on his cheeks, his eyes streaming. “Gad, girl! Don’t tell me Tarquin took you out of a whorehouse!” He chuckled, thumping his chest with the heel of one hand as his breath wheezed painfully. “That’s rich. My holier-than-thou cousin finding me a wife from a whorehouse to save a family scandal. What price family honor, eh!”

Juliana regarded him with ill-concealed distaste. “You may believe what you please, my lord. But I am not and never have been a whore.”

Lucien raised a mock-placatory hand. “Don’t eat me, m’dear. It doesn’t matter to me what you were … or, indeed, what you
are.
You could have serviced an entire regiment before dinner, for all that I care.”