And if she no longer knew herself, she knew the duke even less.
Chapter 13
It was noon when Juliana left her apartments, dressed for the day in a wide-hooped yellow silk gown opened over a green-sprigged white petticoat. She felt very much the fashionable lady appearing at such a disgracefully late hour and dressed in such style. Lady Forsett, a firm believer in domestic industry, would have disapproved mightily. Ladies of the house didn't put off their aprons and dress for the day's leisure until just before dinner.
The thought made her chuckle and she gave a little skip, recollecting her position when she caught the eye of a curtsying maidservant who was clearly trying to stifle her grin. "Good day to you," Juliana said with a lofty nod.
"My lady," the girl murmured, respectfully holding her curtsy until Lady Edgecombe had passed her.
Juliana paused at the head of the stairs, wondering where to go. She had seen the mansion's public rooms yesterday and was a little daunted at the prospect of sailing down the horseshoe stairs and into the library or the drawing room. Strictly speaking, she was only a guest in the house, although her position was somewhat ambivalent, whichever way one looked at it. Then she remembered that she had her own private parlor.
She opened the door onto the little morning room, half-afraid she would find it changed, or occupied, but it was empty and just as she remembered. She closed the door behind her and thought about her next move. A cup of coffee would be nice. Presumably she had the right to order what she pleased while she was there. She pulled the bell rope by the hearth and sat down on the chaise longue beneath the window, arranging her skirts tastefully.
The knock at the door came so quickly, it was hard to imagine the footman who entered at her call could have come from the kitchen regions so speedily. But he appeared immaculate and unhurried in his powdered wig and dark livery as he bowed. "You rang, my lady."
"Yes, I'd like some coffee, please." She smiled, but his impassive expression didn't crack.
"Immediately, madam. Will that be all?"
"Oh, perhaps some bread and butter," she said. Dinner wouldn't be until three, and the morning's activities had given her an appetite.
The footman bowed himself out, and she sat in state on the chaise, wondering what she was to do with herself until dinnertime. There were some periodicals and broadsheets on a pier table beneath a gilt mirror on the far wall, and she had just risen to go and examine them when there was another light tap on her door. "Pray enter."
"Good morning, Juliana." Lord Quentin bowed in the doorway, then came in, smiling, to take her hand and raise it to his lips. "I came to inquire after you. Is there anything I can do for you… anything you would like?"
"Employment," Juliana said with a rueful chuckle. "I'm all dressed and ready to see and be seen, but I have nowhere to go and nothing to do."
Quentin laughed. "In a day or two you'll have calls to return, and I understand Tarquin is procuring you a riding horse. But until then you may walk in the park, it you'll accept my escort. Or you could visit a circulating library and the shops. There's a sedan chair at your disposal, as well as the chaise. But if you prefer to walk, then a footman will accompany you."
"Oh," Juliana said faintly, somewhat taken aback by such a variety of options. "And I suppose I may make use of the duke's library also?"
"Of course," Quentin responded. "Anything in this house is at your disposal."
"Did His Grace say so?"
Quentin smiled. "No, but my brother is openhanded to a fault. We all live on his bounty to some extent, and I've never known him to withhold anything, even from Lucien."
Juliana could believe in the duke's generosity. It was one thing about him that she felt was not prompted by self-interest. She had a flash of empathy for him, thinking how painful it must be for him to sense when his generosity was abused.
"Do you live here, my lord?"
"Only when I'm visiting London. My house is in the cathedral close in Melchester, in Hertfordshire, where I'm a canon."
Juliana absorbed this with a thoughtful nod. Canons were very important in the church hierarchy. She changed the course of the subject. "Why does my husband live here? Doesn't he have a house of his own?"
The footman appeared with the coffee, and Quentin waited to answer her. Juliana saw that there were two cups on the tray. Obviously, the servants made it their business to know where their masters were in the house.
"It was part of the arrangement Tarquin insisted upon," Quentin told her after the footman had left. He took a cup from her with a nod of thanks. "For your benefit. Obviously, you would be expected to reside under the same roof as your husband. Lucien's own establishment is uncomfortable, to put it mildly. He's besieged by creditors. And, besides, Tarquin can keep an eye on him if he stays here."
"Ensure he doesn't molest me?" Juliana raised an eyebrow.
Quentin flushed darkly. "If I believed that Tarquin would not protect you, ma'am, I would not be a party to this business."
"Would you have a choice?" she inquired softly. "Your brother is very… very persuasive."
Quentin's flush deepened. "Yes, he is. But I like to believe that he could not persuade me to do something against my conscience."
"And this manipulative scheme is not?" Juliana sounded frankly incredulous as she took a piece of bread and butter from the plate. She regretted the question when she saw how distressed Quentin was. She bore him no grudge- indeed, sensed that he would stand her friend and champion without hesitation if she asked it of him.
"How can I say it isn't?" he said wretchedly. "It's an abominable design… and yet it will solve so many embarrassments and difficulties for the family."
"And the family interest, of course, is supreme?"
"For the most part," he said simply. "I'm a Courtney before I'm anything else. It's the same for Tarquin. But I do believe he will ensure that you don't suffer from this… and…" He paused uncomfortably. "Forgive me, but it does seem to me that you could benefit from this scheme if you don't find Tarquin himself distasteful "
Juliana was too honest to lie. She set down her cup, aware that her cheeks were warm. "No." she said. "It's all very confusing. I hate him sometimes and yet at others…" She shrugged helplessly.
Quentin nodded gravely and put down his own cup. Taking her hands in a tight clasp, he said earnestly, "You must understand that you may count on me. Juliana, in any instance. I have some influence over my brother, although it may seem as if no one could have."
His gray eyes were steady and sincere resting on her face, and she smiled gratefully, feeling immeasurably comforted. It was the first real statement of friendship she'd ever been given.
Another knock at the door interrupted the moment of tense silence, and the butler appeared. "Lady Melton and Lady Lydia, madam," he announced. "I took the liberty of showing them into the drawing room."
"Thank you, Catlett," Quentin replied swiftly. "Lady Edgecombe will be down directly… Don't worry," he said to Juliana with a quick smile as the butler departed. "I'll lend you my company for the ordeal."
"Will it be one?" Juliana examined her reflection in the mirror and patted her hair with a nervous hand.
"Not at all. Lydia has the sweetest nature in the world; and Lady Melton is not too much of a gorgon."
"The duke seems not inclined to marry Lady Lydia," Juliana said, licking her fingertip and smoothing her eyebrow. "He said it was a marriage of convenience." She caught sight of Quentin's expression in the mirror behind her, and her heart jumped at the bleak frustration, stark in his eyes. Then he'd turned aside and opened the door, holding it for her. Vividly now, she remembered his studied indifference at the theater, an indifference that she'd been convinced had masked a deep tension.