Midnight Mistress (32 page)

“I know,” Meg whispered. “Much as I try not to, I still occasionally think about St. Juste.” Actually, it was more than occasionally. When Juliana had returned, she’d told Meg all about the vicomte d’ Aubigny-sur-mer, including the words he’d spoken about his feelings for Meg. Since then not a night had gone by when Meg didn’t dream of the brave and honorable Frenchman taking her hand and leading her down a flower-strewn aisle to a church altar. But the wonderful vision died as soon as she woke and remembered that her Frenchman was neither brave nor honorable, just one of the loathsome villains who had kidnapped her dearest friend. And her future, as always, was to be lived as a penniless, unloved old maid. She blinked, coming perilously close to crying herself.

Juliana got up from the dressing table, shaking herself roundly. “Look at the pair of us! Blubbering like a pair of blue-footed boobies. My father used to say that regrets were a waste of time. He would have had us keelhauled for behaving in this manner, and he’d have been quite right.”

She turned to the window and pushed aside the curtain, looking out at the crowded, lushly planted park across the street. “A few days after my father’s death, I stared out at this very park. It was all skeleton trees and gloom, not a hint of life anywhere. Now look at it—filled with people and overflowing with green leaves and blossoms. Life is always changing course, Meg, and we must do our best to change with it. But
our future is not so very unpleasant. I have asked Rollo to allow me to raise the children in the country, away from the rumors and prying questions of the
haute ton
. And you, my dear Meg, will you come and live with us?”

“You will not miss the social whirl of London? Or running the Marquis Line?”

For a moment, Juliana’s confident smile wavered. “I do love the line, and wish I could continue with father’s dream, but that future is not to be. Rollo has promised that he will not sell off the ships, and I believe he will honor that pledge. And as for missing the society of the Upper Ten Thousand—you are worth more than the whole of the silly lot put together. We shall be as happy as larks. In fact, I quite suspect the larks will be jealous.”

“Perhaps we shall,” Meg answered, almost believing it.

“Depend on it. In the meantime—oh heavens, look at the time on the mantel clock. It lacks but an hour until we meet the dressmaker and you
know
what Madame Bovier is like if one is late. In all likelihood I should end up being married in a proper stylish potato sack! Then we have lunch with the countess of Arlington, an ‘at home’ with Lady Sterling, tea with Mrs. Jolly to discuss the wedding plans, dinner at the Woolriches’, the new play at Covent Garden—and somewhere in the midst of this I must buy Jamie a new riding crop.…”

“Julie, you could make a whirlwind seem lazy. We shall not have a moment to breathe.”

“Or to regret. Father was right—life is too short to waste on lamenting. I have a boy who needs me, a baby who’ll need me soon, and the world’s most wonderful friend. And if either of us wastes another precious minute thinking about those traitorous privateers again, we should pledge to—” She formed her fingers into an inexpert fist. “Well, we should deliver each other a handy bunch of fives!”

Laughing, the women stepped away from the window,
each silently vowing that the dangerous and despicable Connor Reed and Raoul St. Juste were absolutely and completely out of their lives forever.

Below in the crowded park, under the spreading branches of one of the large oak trees, two men in cloaks watched the curtain fall back in place over the bedroom window. They said nothing, but the clean-shaven one dropped his half-smoked cigar to the pavement and ground it ruthlessly under his heel.

The wedding day drew near. With her period of mourning nearly at an end, and curiosity about her unexpected engagement the talk of every scandal broth in Mayfair, Juliana once again found herself at the heart of London society. Balls were not considered entirely successful unless she made an appearance. Speculation about the design of her wedding dress commandeered more space in the papers than the war with Napoleon. And her intended Lord Albany, the former English spy and acting head of the Marquis Line, was rumored to be in the running for a position of some considerable influence with the War Office.

Juliana was again the reigning queen of the Season, but every passing day felt like another tug of the noose around her neck. She had made her decision—the only decision she felt was possible in her position. Yet every night she dreamed of a privateer with pale, wounded eyes, accusing her of betraying his love by marrying another.

A week before the wedding, the Jollys hosted a dinner party of some twenty-odd friends. The perpetually wrinkled Mr. McGregor was seated beside Grenville’s groomsman, Lord Renquist, who appeared afraid to even glance in the solicitor’s direction for fear he would somehow damage his dandy image. The commodore sat at the head of the table, his naval rig gleaming like a spit-polished vessel, though it could be argued that his smile outshone even his brass buttons.
Even Jamie had secured a place at the table beside Meg, his bright grin closely resembling the expression of a cat who had eaten a canary.

The other end of the table was commandeered by Mrs. Jolly, whose unprecedented appearance would no doubt be the talk of every Mayfair salon for weeks to come. Lord and Lady Marchmont were there discussing, as always, the weather, and also in attendance was the ever glum Mr. Feathergill, who had recently been passed over for yet another promotion. Rice and Caldwell were there from the Admiralty, along with Mr. Hamilton and his newly affianced Miss Peak. The two were certainly a match for each order, Juliana thought as she watched the pair discuss in detail the importance of the latest dance step. But then, that was what her future held as well. Dance steps, the latest fashion magazine, the newest society scandal … and the war and the fate of the brave soldiers, sailors and merchant captains were of no consequence whatsoever.

By and large, it was a warm and companionable gathering, but Juliana could not seem to keep her mind on the conversation. The group of friends reminded her so completely of the day in January when Connor had come to the Jollys’ house, when she had treated him so rudely, then followed him to the docks to apologize. So much had changed in her life, and yet nothing had changed at all. She was still the pinnacle of London society, still one of the wealthiest women in the country. And she was still hopelessly in love with Connor.…

“A toast,” Grenville said as he rose from his seat, smiling his impeccably handsome grin. “To my bride-to-be, the loveliest woman in London.”

Glasses were raised and cheers were made. Juliana schooled her features into a look of sincere pleasure, the same one she’d counterfeited at countless interminable card parties and soirees.

Lord Renquist pushed back his chair and stood up. “To
Lady Juliana, successful in society, in business, and now in love.”

Juliana’s smile wavered, but she pasted it back in place and gave Renquist an appreciative nod.

Mr. McGregor rose as well. “I’m not one for speeches, but the lass were as good an employer as ever there was. The lads miss you to a man. You’re a yar schooner in a fair wind, and that’s a fact. And I wish the same bonny success with yer marriage that you had with your business.”

The cheers were a little less strong, but Juliana’s smile grew wider, and for the first time that evening she felt genuine tears in her eyes.

Jolly bounded up, and hoisted his glass so rigorously that it nearly spilled. “Capital toast, McGregor. Here’s to Juliana. Here’s to the king. And while we’re at it, here’s to whoever catches that villain who’s been smuggling guns to Bonaparte.”

A groan suffused the table at the sight of Jolly making yet another social blunder. The gathering might have shared his sentiment, but a party was hardly the place for a political statement. At least, that’s what everyone thought—except Juliana. Until that moment, she had not realized that the notorious spy was still at large. “Guns? But I thought that when Conn—I mean, I thought the spy was put out of commission months ago.”

“Not likely,” McGregor quipped. “The cad’s as slippery as a sea snake and has men everywhere. It is rumored that he is using ships to smuggle English guns to France.”

“But that is heinous!”

“Most certainly,” Grenville intoned as he casually buttered a roll. “But hardly unique. With the volume of ships passing through the ports a few plans are bound to slip through.”

“This cannot be allowed to continue,” she fired back, horrified at his indifference. “Perhaps I can help. I could review the shipping manifests, and help make certain that nothing irregular occurs—”

Her fiancé raised his hand, silencing her. “This would be entirely inappropriate. Such behavior would be unseemly in a woman of your station.”

“Unseemly? Our country is being compromised, and it is up to all of us to do our part. I know the business, and the people on the docks are my friends. And I know everyone at the Marquis Line. We worked together for months—”

“Now they work for me,” Grenville interjected smoothly. “And I fear it would be … confusing for them if you came by the offices. Now, Mr. Feathergill, I believe you had a toast.”

Mr. Feathergill might have, but Juliana did not stay to hear it. Claiming fatigue, she rose from the table, waving Meg to remain seated as she left the dining room and went to the sitting room, where she sank to the couch. Frustration that had been building in her for weeks came to a head.

She’d made a bargain to protect her child, but now she saw what that bargain would truly cost. Pride. Self-respect. And, most of all, her birthright. Her father had left his business to her. But she had given up that responsibility to buy a name for her child. And given up her future to a man she could never love.

The creak of a wheelchair alerted her to Mrs. Jolly’s approach. “I thought I might find you … yes, Henry, just leave me here, and please shut the door behind you. I would like to speak with Lady Juliana. Alone.”

Juliana wiped the sheen of tears from her eyes. As far as Mrs. Jolly was concerned, she was a happy bride-to-be, who knew nothing of her dire circumstances. “Forgive me for leaving so abruptly. I was feeling somewhat tired, and I—”

“Is it the babe?”

Juliana paled. “But how—?”

“Honestly, my dear, did you really think you could hide such a thing from me?”

“I am not … I cannot … oh, Mrs. Jolly.” Juliana threw herself into her arms and sobbed out the tears she’d been
battling for months. “I’m sorry … wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you would hate me.”

“Nonsense,” the woman soothed, stroking the girls hair. “You are as dear to me as any daughter. That is why I made a point of writing to your cousin, and why I was so pleased when you said that he had offered for you. I have always hoped for you to make a marriage with a gentleman as fine and upstanding as he is.”

Juliana shook her head. “He is fine and upstanding. But I cannot love him. I thought I could, but … no, it is not possible. He cares more for social convention than he does for the safety of our country … or for me. He will have me boxed and banded like some fancy hat, and keep me in his cupboard on display. How could I endure such a life …” She closed her eyes and bit back another rising sob. “I know Connor is a villain and a traitor—perhaps even a murderer. But I love him still. I cannot possibly marry another.”

“I am afraid it is the only thing that
is
possible. My dear, I shall tell you a story—something I have told to no one, not even my son.” She glanced at the door to the sitting room, as if to make certain it was securely shut. “Years ago I fell in love. The man was far beneath my station, but that hardly mattered. I believed everything he told me, and allowed him to carry me off to Gretna Green.”

Surprise dried Juliana’s tears. “You, Mrs. Jolly? But you are so proper.”

“I was seventeen, my dear, and twice as willful as you. But I paid for my indiscretion tenfold. On the way to the anvil there was a terrible carriage accident. When I woke days later I found that I’d lost the use of my legs, and the man who’d sworn to love me all his life had taken the first mail coach back to London.”

Juliana’s own distress paled beside what Mrs. Jolly had endured. “The monster. He should have been drawn and quartered.”

The woman’s mouth ticked up. “He married a shrewish heiress from Surrey, which I believe was a worse fate. But my own reputation was in great jeopardy. I would have been ruined, except for a few valiant friends who stood by my side. The most noble of these was my dear Robert, Horatio’s father. I’d always thought him a buffoon, but by giving me his name and protection he silenced the rumors. He might have been a bit buffle-headed, but he had a heart as big as the world. And, in time, I came to have a true and abiding affection for him.”

Juliana folded her hands in her lap, sitting very still. “You think that my situation is the same—that I will eventually develop feelings for Grenville, and that … Connor never loved me.”

Hortensia Jolly covered the girl’s tightly clasped hands. “I’ve no crystal ball, my girl. I cannot tell what the future holds for your feelings or your heart. But, for what it is worth, I believe that the captain did care for you. I spoke to him one night about you … yes, I know you weren’t aware of it, but it happened all the same. In fact, I must admit to be quite surprised when I found that he was a traitor. I am rarely so wrong in my judgments … but it’s of no consequence. If he is alive at all, he is nowhere near England. And even if he were, he could never offer you an honorable marriage. Grenville’s offer is the only thing that can redeem your reputation. You must think of what would be best for your child.”

Slowly, Juliana nodded. “Of course you are right. That is the only thing that truly matters.”

“In years to come you will see that you’ve made a wise decision. You will come to care for your husband as deeply as I cared for Robert, I am sure of it,” Mrs. Jolly proclaimed. “Now, go and dry those pretty eyes and come back to the party.”