Midnight Mistress (9 page)

Connor stared into his mug, but it wasn’t the murky ale he saw, but a long-ago moonlit night. His grim mouth gentled with a smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

The Frenchman stroked his mustache. “But of course.
Only last month there was that
très magnifique
tavern wench in Gibraltar who—”

“Not
that
kind of love. I mean the kind the poets write about—when your life is consumed by wanting one woman. When you live for her smile. When you die when she cries. You would do anything, be anyone, risk everything to keep her safe. And you would give up your soul just to hear her say, one more time, drat she loves you.”

Raoul stopped stroking his mustache. He stared at his friend for a long while, then shook his head. “No, I have never been in love like that. I do not think I should want to be.”

“You won’t. But when it happens, you won’t have a choice. Hell, you won’t even know what hit you. The first time I saw Juliana …”. Connor gripped his mug and downed the rest of the sour-tasting liquor in a single gulp. “I was an idiot, a boy in love with a dream. Now she has only contempt for me. But she won’t talk—pride alone will keep her from admitting that she was bested by an inferior. She’ll go back to her balls and parties, and forget she ever met me again.”

Raoul raised an eyebrow. “And you,
mon ami
? Can you forget her so easily?”

“Think I can’t? Ha!” Connor pushed his chair back, feeling a pleasant, fuzzy confidence begin to glow inside him. “I’ll forget her before first light—see if I don’t. There’s plenty of women in the sea. Blondes. Brunettes. No redheads. All willing and winsome. Not spoiled. Not stuck-up. Can have my pick. Can have—”

He stood up and the world began to wobble. “Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink.”

“I warned you,” Raoul said as he placed a steadying hand on his arm. “
Mon Dieu
, your head will ache like the devil tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? What about now? His temples pounded like the stone under a mason’s hammer. But better his heart than
his head. Not that his heart ached. Not over her. Plenty of other women in the world—including the well-endowed barmaid who gave him a wink as Raoul helped him to the door. Cheered, he grinned at his friend. “She fancies me. And she’s blond. Told ya—can have my pick. Already forgot the other one. Already forgot Juliana’s name. Let her have her parties. Let her marry one of those pompous asses. Don’t care. Wasted half my life protecting her. Not anymore. She’s on her own from now on. She’s—”

The bell sounded. Everyone in the room went still as the tavern keeper cleared his throat and called out the name of the wrecked ship. “The
Lady Anne
, out of Kingstown bound for Southampton. All hands lost.”

“Poor devils,” Raoul muttered, crossing himself. He looked at Connor’s face and saw that it was alabaster white. “My friend, a shipwreck is a terrible thing, but the crew is past our help. Indeed, we have problems of our own. The Admiral—”

“To hell with the Admiral,” Connor growled, suddenly sober. “That ship was Albany’s. God in heaven, it belonged to Juliana’s father!”

It was a bonny winter day, with the sun glancing off the new blanket of snow like a thousand diamonds. Chickadees lighted on the sill outside the windows where Juliana sat, chirping merrily, leaving tiny, bold footprints in the untouched snow. On another day, Juliana would have been delighted by their antics, but on this afternoon she barely saw them. She leaned her forehead against the cold pane and stared out the window, the bright world blotted out by the terrible sorrow weighing down her heart.

Father would hate me to feel this way
. The marquis of Albany had loved life, and had bit it off in huge, risky, joyous hunks. During their last voyage together he’d stood at the wheel with his daughter beside him, with the wind at their backs and the cold, crisp spray in their faces. “If I ever don’t make it back to safe harbor, I want you to remember me this way,” he’d said as he cheerfully steered the ship into the fighting waves. “Remember that I lived my life doing what I
loved, and no man can ask for more than that. I expect you to keep people from saying too many silly things about me, and to see that my bonny ships stay clear of reefs and shoals. Most of all, I want you to marry up with a good man and have a bunch of fat, happy children. Never waste a minute of your life on regrets, Julie. Not a minute. And I expect you to shed not one tear for me.”

As always, Juliana’s father had expected far too much from her.

During the two weeks since the news of the
Anne
’s disappearance had reached London, she’d received a flood of notes and letters, most of them from people who barely knew her father, who said many things that the marquis would have considered very silly. She had no idea how his “bonny ships” were faring. Indeed, since she’d learned of the fate of the
Anne
, she’d hardly left her bedchamber. Marriage to any man, good or not, was not even on the horizon. And as for not shedding a tear—well, during the last fortnight it seemed as if she had done little else.…

“My dear, I do not believe you have heard a word that I have said to you.”

Juliana turned from the window and met the gaze of the elderly woman who sat propped against an expanse of satin pillows, her Irish lace cap tied under her chin with military precision, her expression one of profound rebuke. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jolly. I was not attending.”

“I can see that,” Hortensia Jolly commented as she put down the letter she’d been reading aloud. “Apparently the prime scandal between Mrs. D. and the young lieutenant is lost on you. Well, perhaps it is for the best,” she acknowledged as she laid the letter onto a pile of correspondence by her bedside. “It lacks barely a half hour until your father’s will is to be read. Though I think it is unfortunate that the disagreeable Mr. McGregor must do the reading instead of your father’s regular solicitor. The man has a reputation of squeezing a farthing till it screams.”

“How did you know that Mr. McGregor—?” Juliana stopped midsentence, her eyes lighting on the stack of letters on the nightstand and the larger pile on the vanity. Mrs. Jolly had been bedridden for a good portion of her life, but she had turned her disability into an invaluable asset. Born into the well-connected Sommes-Fitzgerald family that could trace its bloodlines back to Eleanor of Aquitaine, she had grown up in the heart of London society—a position strengthened when she married the much-decorated, if somewhat dull, Captain Sir Robert Jolly. Her bedchamber was as well appointed as any sitting room, and her custom-designed bedclothes were as grand as any evening gowns. Her confinement allowed her to turn down all but the choicest callers, and gaining an invitation to her rooms was almost as sought after as a voucher to Almack’s. Yet, despite her confinement, she was more aware of what was happening on the streets of London than most of the people who walked them. It was rumored that she could tell you not only what the regent had for breakfast, but also which merchant sold the kippers and what hens laid the eggs. Over the years, Juliana had developed a healthy respect for her knowledge. She had also found it prudent not to delve too deeply into her sources.

Juliana rose from her chair and made a show of smoothing the skirt of her black crepe dress. Trying to keep her voice light, she stated, “Whoever reads the will, I believe it is a silly waste of time. It is too soon. Only a fortnight. They found the
Anne
’s debris, but they never found any bodies. My father could still be alive.”

The woman’s mouth curved into a sad smile. “My girl, I lost a father and a husband to the sea. I know exactly what you are feeling, twice over. God knows, I wish there was even a bit of doubt. But the Admiralty agrees that the chances of finding anyone alive in these waters are very slim. You must face the truth, my dear. Your father is gone, and you must go on with your life as he would wish you to.”

Juliana bit her lip. “I know. ’Tis just that I miss him so. There is no one who knows me as he did. No one—”

Untrue
, her mind whispered. There was one person who had spent almost as many years with her as her father had, one person who knew her almost as well as he did.

One person who had not bothered to send anything more than the most perfunctory note of condolence since her father’s death.

She shook off the thought as she realized Mrs. Jolly was talking. “… cannot be expected to offer for you now. After all, you are officially in mourning. ’Tis unfortunate that you must miss the better part of the upcoming Season, but by June you will be able to put off your colors and resume your station in society. By this time next year I fully expect that you will have made an advantageous match.”

Juliana stared at the usually compassionate woman in shock. “My father has just died. I don’t give a fig about finding an advantageous match.”

“Which is exactly why
I
must. Your father charged me and the commodore to look after you, a charge that is in no way diminished by his death. Part of that responsibility entails finding you a suitable husband. You must know that is what he hoped for you.”

Reluctantly Juliana nodded. Since her father’s death, her need for a family had grown stronger. She felt so alone. And yet, the thought of marrying any of the
suitable
men she knew somehow left her feeling even more alone. “I cannot think of such things right now.”

“It seems to me that you have not been able to think of ‘such things’ for a good long while, considering the number of proposals you’ve turned down this last year.” Mrs. Jolly’s eyes narrowed cannily “Tell me, my dear. Is there anything I should know of on this matter?”

The timely knock from the commodore announcing Mr. McGregor’s arrival saved Juliana from answering.

The downstairs drawing room was the largest room in the Jolly household, but it was filled to the bursting point. The marquis had been as generous as he was wealthy, and he never forgot a kindness or an obligation. People from all walks of life crowded into the room, from the lowliest kitchen maid, to street merchants, to silk garbed gentry who looked at the rabble in alarm. There was even a sharp-nosed reporter from the
Morning Post
, who had come to chronicle the eminent marquis’s final wishes for his readership. It was an unusual sight, and one that might have brought a smile to Juliana’s lips under other circumstances.
I hope you are watching this, Father. You would enjoy it
.

The commodore led Juliana to the front of the room to a seat beside Meg. Meg took Juliana’s hand and squeezed it tightly. The gesture of comfort brought a lump to Juliana’s throat. Self-consciously, she glanced away at the crowd—and caught sight of a dark-haired boy disappearing behind a gaggle of kitchen servants and street vendors. Juliana thought he was probably one of the bootblacks or a child of one of the merchants. Still, she nudged Meg and nodded toward the door to the hall. “ ’Tis likely my imagination, but I thought I just saw the boy we met on the docks, the one who knew Con—”

“My dear Lady Juliana, I am inconsolable over your gweat loss.”

“Um, thank you, Lord Renquist,” Juliana replied as she looked in surprise at the gentleman. Renquist wore an elegant bottle green coat and a nattily powdered wig. He looked as if he’d dressed for a ball, not a will reading. Reluctantly Juliana offered him her hand. “I did not expect to … have the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Of couwrse not,” he oozed as he enveloped her hand in his. “And I should not pwesume to be here, save that I was entweated to attend by your cousin Gwenville.”

It
would
be Grenville. Juliana’s cousin was still in Sicily, and had replied to the news of her father’s death with a terse letter that he would be returning to London as soon as it was convenient. His indifference did not surprise Juliana—the only time her father had heard from Grenville during the past few years was when he wanted an advance on his allowance. The fact that he’d sent someone in his stead did little to mollify Juliana, especially since that someone was the supercilious Renquist. No doubt the man was here to catalog Grenville’s inheritance. She was more than a little tempted to say as much, but Meg spoke first.