Vice (9 page)

B
ella pranced ahead of Juliana, down the curving staircase to the front hall. Juliana proceeded much more slowly, one hand resting with apparent negligence on the banister, although in fact her fingers were curled over it as if it were a lifeline.

Mr. Garston came forward with a stately tread as she reached the bottom of the stairs. To her astonishment he bowed. “’Ow nice to see you downstairs, miss. If ye’d care to follow me.”

Her circumstances had definitely altered in the last hours. Juliana merely inclined her head and followed him to a pair of double doors at the rear of the hall. He flung them open and announced in ringing accents, “Miss Juliana.”

“Ah, my dear, welcome.” Elizabeth Dennison was all affability, as if the altercation in Juliana’s bedchamber had never occurred. “Oh, yes, how very fetching that gown is. The color is perfect, isn’t it, ladies?” She came toward her, extending her hands in welcome. “Let me present you to our little family.”

Taking Juliana’s hand warmly, she drew her forward to the oval table where ten young women stood at their chairs. She recognized Lilly and Emma from the encounter
in the hall on her first day, Names and faces of the others blended with the speed of the introduction, but she managed to mark Deborah and take note of her hair. Bella was right that it didn’t have the sparking vitality of her own. For some reason the recognition was satisfying. Juliana began to wonder what was happening to her. She rarely gave a passing thought to her appearance, and yet here she was, examining the other girls as if they were some sort of rivals. Rivals for what?

Lord of hell! She was beginning to think like a whore. It must be something to do with the atmosphere in the house.

She curtsied politely to each woman, receiving a similar salute in return, and she was aware that she was being assessed as shrewdly as she was assessing them.

“Sit down, my dears.” Elizabeth waved a hand around the table. “Now we’re all assembled, there’s no need to stand on ceremony. Juliana, take your place beside Mr. Dennison.”

The seat of honor? Juliana took the chair to Richard’s right. He drew it out for her and bowed her into it as if she were indeed the guest of honor.

A footman moved around the table filling wineglasses. “Will you taste the partridge, Juliana?” Lilly inquired, deftly carving the breast of a bird on a platter before her.

Juliana noticed that most of the girls were occupied with one of the serving platters, filleting carp swimming in parsley butter, carving ducks, pigeons, and partridges.

“Are you skilled at carving, Juliana?” inquired Richard. “We consider it a necessary domestic art for a well-educated young lady of fashion.”

For a whore?
Juliana was tempted to ask, but she managed not to. It was not appropriate to insult her fellow diners even if she was engaged in a conflict with their keepers. “My guardian’s wife also considered it necessary,” she said neutrally. The fact that she could no more carve a bird elegantly than she could sew a straight seam was neither
here nor there. She was well versed in the principles of both, just too ham-fisted to do either skillfully.

She took a sip of wine and listened to the conversation. The women in their rich gowns chattered like so many bright-plumaged birds. They all seemed to be in the greatest good humor, told jokes, discussed both their customers and the prospects of other women who’d left the house for secure establishments with some member of the nobility.

Juliana said nothing, and no one tried to draw her into the conversation, but she was aware of sidelong glances as they talked, as if they were assessing her reactions. She wondered whether this display of conviviality had been put on for her benefit … whether they’d been instructed to try to persuade her that they led charming, amusing lives under the Dennisons’ roof and had only the brightest of futures to look forward to. If so, it was making not a dent in her prejudice and did nothing to relieve her suspicion and apprehension.

Richard Dennison also said little, leaving it up to his wife to direct the conversation. But Juliana felt his eyes were everywhere, and she noticed that some of the girls would hesitate in their speech if they felt him looking their way. Their whoremaster clearly exerted a powerful influence.

She could find no fault with the dinner, though. The first course was removed with a second course of plover’s eggs, quail, savory tarts, Rhenish cream, a basket of pastries, and syllabub. Juliana quashed her apprehension for the time being and ate with considerable appetite, remembering how she had sat in her chamber trying to identify the various toothsome aromas wafting from the kitchens. Boiled beef and pudding, steak-and-kidney pie, stewed fish, were all very well for filling one’s belly, but they did little to titillate the palate.

Eventually, Mistress Dennison rose to her feet. “Come, ladies, let us withdraw. Our friends will be arriving soon. Lilly, dear, you should touch up your rouge. Mary, there’s a tiny smudge of sauce on your sleeve. Go to your maid and
have it sponged off. There’s nothing more off-putting to a gentleman than a slovenly appearance.”

Involuntarily, Juliana’s hands went to her hair, escaping from its pins as she’d known it would.

“Did Bella not tell you we wished you to leave your hair loose?” inquired Richard, still seated at the table as the ladies rose around him. He poured port into his glass and glanced up at Juliana.

“Yes, but I prefer it like this,” she responded evenly. There was an almost imperceptible indrawing of breath in the room.

“You must learn to subdue your own preferences in such matters to those of the gentlemen, my dear,” Elizabeth said gently. “It was a most specific request that you leave it loose this evening.”

“No one’s preferences have more weight than my own, madam,” Juliana replied, her throat closing as her heart thundered in her ears. She would not submit to them without a fight.

To her astonishment Elizabeth merely smiled. “I dareswear that that will change quite soon. Come.”

Juliana followed them out of the dining room and into the long salon she’d peeped into that first morning. It was candlelit with tall wax tapers, although the evening sun still shone through the windows. There were flowers on every surface, the scent of lavender and beeswax in the air. A long sideboard carried decanters, bottles, and glasses; there was both tea and coffee on the low table before the sofa, where Mistress Dennison immediately took her seat. The girls ranged themselves around her, took teacups, and sat down. An air of expectancy hung in the room.

Juliana refused tea and walked over to a window overlooking the street. Behind her the murmur of voices, the soft chuckles, filled the air. She heard Lilly and Mary return and Mistress Dennison approve of their adjustments. Someone began to play the harpsichord.

Along the street strolled two gentlemen coming toward the house. They swung their canes as they talked, and their
sword hilts showed beneath their full-skirted velvet coats. When they reached the house, they turned up the steps. The front door knocker sounded. A whisper of tension rustled around the room. The girl on the harpsichord continued to play, the others shifted on their chairs, rearranged their skirts, opened fans, glanced casually toward the door as they waited to see who their first guests would be.

“Lord Bridgeworth and Sir Ambrose Belton,” Mr. Garston announced.

Mistress Dennison rose and curtsied; the other women followed suit, except for Juliana, who drew back against the embroidered damask curtains. Deborah and a pale, fair girl she remembered as Rosamund fluttered toward the two gentlemen. Juliana recalled that Bella had said Lord Bridgeworth was Deborah’s particular gentleman. Presumably Sir Ambrose and Rosamund made a similar pair.

The door knocker sounded again and a party of six gentlemen were announced. Juliana drew even farther back into the shadows, watching the scene as she nervously pushed loosening ringlets back into their pins. One of the new arrivals caught sight of her and bent to say something to Mistress Dennison. Juliana distinctly heard “His Grace of Redmayne” in amid Elizabeth’s reply. Then Elizabeth turned with a smile and beckoned.

“Juliana, Viscount Amberstock wishes to be acquainted with you.”

It seemed she had little choice. Juliana moved reluctantly from the semiconcealment of the curtains and crossed the room, taking tiny steps, feeling as insecure on the high heels as a baby who was just learning to walk.

“Redmayne’s a lucky dog,” the viscount boomed, taking her hand and raising it to his lips as he bowed with a lavish flourish. Juliana curtsied in silence, averting her eyes. “Good God, ma’am, is the wench too shy to speak?” the viscount exclaimed to his hostess.

“Far from it,” Elizabeth replied calmly. “Juliana has a very ready tongue when it suits her.”

“But it belongs to Redmayne, what?” The viscount
laughed merrily at this risqué sally. “Ah, well, the rest of us must pine.” He dropped Juliana’s hand. She curtsied demurely and returned to her place by the window.

“You will annoy Mistress Dennison if you remain apart in this way.” Emma spoke softly as she drifted casually up to Juliana in a mist of pink spider gauze.

“I find that a matter of indifference.”

“You won’t if they become really angered with you,” Emma said, frowning. “They look after us very well, but they expect cooperation. It’s hardly unreasonable.”

Juliana met Emma’s frowning regard and read both curiosity and a desire to be helpful in her dark-brown eyes. “But I am here against my will,” she explained. “I see no reason why I should cooperate. I wish simply to be allowed to leave.”

“But, my dear, you don’t know what you’re saying!” Emma protested. “There are bawds and whoremasters out there who will take every farthing you earn in exchange for the right to ply your trade in a shack in the Piazza. They charge five shillings for a used gown and shawl, and they’ll squeeze the last drop of blood from your veins for the wine and spirits that you must have for the customers. If you refuse, or can’t pay, then they’ll throw you into the Fleet or the Marshalsea and you’ll never be released.”

Juliana stared at her, both horrified and fascinated. “But I have no intention of becoming a whore,” she said at last. “Not here, nor anywhere.”

Emma’s frown deepened. “But what else is there for any of us?” She gestured around the room. “We live in the lap of luxury. Our clients are noblemen, discriminating, considerate … for the most part,” she added. “And if you play your cards right, you could find a keeper who’ll treat you well and provide for your future.”

“But I’m not here because I wish to be,” Juliana tried again.

Emma shrugged. “Are any of us, dear? But we count our blessings. You should do the same, or you’ll find yourself lying under the bushes in St. James’s Park every night. Believe
me, I know…. Oh, here’s Lord Farquar.” With a little trill of delight—that may or may not have been feigned Emma hastened across the room toward an elderly man in a snuff-sprinkled scarlet coat.

Five minutes later Garston announced the Duke of Redmayne. Juliana’s stomach dropped to her feet. She turned away from the room and stared out into the gathering dusk on Russell Street.

Tarquin stood in the doorway for a minute and took a leisurely pinch of snuff. His eyes roamed the room, rested on the averted figure in green by the window. Her hair blazed in a ray of the sinking sun. He couldn’t see her face, but there was a rigidity to the sloping white shoulders. As he watched, a ringlet sprang loose from its pins and cascaded down the slender column of her neck. She remained immobile.

He strolled across the room to his hostess. “Elizabeth, charming as always.” He bowed over her hand. “And the ladies … a garden of delights.” He raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the attendant damsels, who curtsied as his gaze swept over them.

Elizabeth glanced pointedly over her shoulder to Juliana before raising an expressively questioning eyebrow. His Grace shook his head and sat down beside her on the sofa. “Leave her for the moment.”

“She is as obstinate as ever, Your Grace,” Elizabeth said in a low voice, passing him a cup of tea.

“But I see that you persuaded her to dress and come downstairs.”

“With difficulty.”

“Mmm.” The duke sipped his tea. “You were obliged to coerce her?”

“To point out the realities of her situation, rather.”

The duke nodded. “Well, I’m glad she’s not stupid enough to ignore those realities.”

“Oh, I don’t believe Miss Juliana is in the least stupid,” Mistress Dennison declared. “She has a tongue like a razor.”

The duke smiled and laid his cup on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, madam, I’ll go and make my salutations.” He rose and strolled across to the window.

Juliana felt his approach. Her spine prickled. A thick strand of hair worked its way loose from the knot and slid inexorably down her neck. Automatically her hands went to her head.

“Allow me.” His voice at her shoulder was deep and dark, and although she’d been expecting him, she jumped visibly. “Did I startle you?” he inquired gently. “Curious … I could have sworn you knew I was here.” His hands put hers aside and moved through her hair.

It took Juliana a moment to realize that he was removing the pins. “No!” she exclaimed, reaching for his hands. “I will not wear it loose.”

“Your hair seems to have a different idea,” he commented, capturing both her wrists in one hand. “It really seems to have a mind of its own, my dear Juliana.” His free hand continued its work, and the fiery mass fell to her shoulders. “There, now, I find that infinitely more desirable.”

“I am not in the least interested in what you find desirable, Your Grace.” She tugged at her imprisoned wrists and they were immediately released.

“Oh, I hope to change that,” he responded, smiling as his hands on her shoulders turned her to face him. “You look ready to thrust a dagger into my heart!”

“I would like to twist it like a corkscrew in your gut,” she declared in a savage undertone. “I would carve my initials on your belly and watch you hanged, drawn, and quartered! And I would laugh at your agonies.” She brushed her hands together with the air of a task well completed as she delivered the coup de grace, her eyes sparking with triumph as if she really had disposed of him in such an utterly satisfying fashion.