"So both he and the viscount are your lovers." Lilly smoothed her silk gloves over her fingers, her hazel eyes sharply assessing.
"Not exactly."
"La, Juliana, don't be so mysterious!" Emma cried. "Everyone wants to know how you managed such a piece of amazing good fortune. There's nothing strange about being shared… particularly when you're provided for with settlements. You are, of course?"
"Yes." Juliana decided that it would be simpler to let them believe that she was shared by the duke and his young cousin. It wasn't a total fabrication, anyway. "I'm well provided for, and I suppose you could say that I belong to both the duke and the viscount." She rose and pulled the bell rope. "Will you take ratafia, or sherry… or champagne?" she added with wicked inspiration. "Do you care for champagne?"
"La, how wonderful," Lilly declared. "You can order such things for yourself in this house?"
"Anything I please," Juliana said with a hint of bravado as the butler arrived in answer to the summons. "Catlett, bring us champagne, if you please."
"My lady." Catlett bowed and left without so much as a flicker of an eyelid.
"See," Juliana said with a grin. "I have the right to command anything I wish."
"How enviable," Rosamund sighed. "When I think of poor Lucy Tibbet…"A cloud of gloom settled over Juliana's three visitors, imparting a cynical, world-weary air to the previously bright and youthful countenances.
"Lucy Tibbet?" she prompted.
"She worked in one of Haddock's millinery shops," Emma said, her usually sweet voice sharp as vinegar. "Keep away from Mother Haddock if you value your life, Juliana."
"She's every bit as bad as Richard Haddock," Rosamund said. "We all thought when he died, his wife would be easier to work for. But Elizabeth is as mean and cruel as Richard ever was."
Catlett's arrival with the champagne produced a melancholy silence broken only by the pop of the cork and the fizz of the straw-colored liquid in the glasses. Catlett passed them around and bowed himself out.
"What's wrong with a millinery shop?" Juliana sipped champagne, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles tickled her palate.
"It's a whorehouse, dear," Lilly said with a somewhat pitying air. "They all are in Covent Garden … so are the chocolate houses and coffeehouses. It's just a different name to satisfy the local constables. We can't call them whorehouses, although everyone knows that's what they are."
The others chuckled at Juliana's quaint ignorance. "The Haddocks rent out shops and shacks in the Piazza . . . usually for three guineas a week. They pay the rates and expect a share of the profits."
"Not that there ever are any profits," Lilly said. "Lucy spent ten pounds last week on rent and linen and glasses that she had to buy from Mother Haddock, and she had only sixpence for herself at the end of the week."
"She'd given Richard a promissory note before he died for forty pounds," Rosamund continued with the explanation. "He'd bailed her out of debtors' prison once, and she was supposed to pay him back every week. But she can't do that out of sixpence, so Mother Haddock called in the debt and had her thrown into the Marshalsea."
"We're having a collection for her," Lilly said. "We all try to help out if we can."
"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?"