Читать книгу An Independent Woman - Candace Camp - Страница 6

JULIANA HAD NOT EXPECTED to see him again.

She had heard that Nicholas had come into the title and returned to England, which had surprised her. All her life, she had thought that it was Nicholas’s uncle who was the heir, not him. Certainly, no one had ever treated him like the future earl. She had assumed that their paths would never cross. After all, he was an earl now, and wealthy, and she was a paid companion to a woman who moved only on the edges of that rarefied circle of society to which he belonged.

There had been an instant, when she had first heard the murmurs of Nicholas’s return from America and his sudden elevation into the inner sanctum of polite society, that she had thought with an upsurge of an almost painful excitement that she would see him once more. Time, and an application of reason, had led her to realize that was unlikely.

Even though they had once been close, it had been many years ago. If he even thought of her, it would be only as a dim memory from his past, a person from a time and place he doubtless recalled with little fondness. Her time at Lychwood Hall had been unhappy, but his had been even bleaker. Juliana suspected that he had done his best to put the past behind him. He would not seek her out. Only a foolish romantic would hope that he would.

And there was little chance that they would accidentally run into each other. Her employer, Mrs. Thrall, however much she might like to think she was a member of the upper echelon of London society, was in reality a very small fish swimming in the outer, eddying rings of that pond. The family was at best acceptable country gentry come to the city, and it was only the undeniable beauty of Clementine, Mrs. Thrall’s daughter, that got them any sort of notice.

Tonight, however, the Thralls had received an invitation to Lady Sherbourne’s ball, a huge crush of an affair, so large that it pulled in many lesser members of Society. Juliana understood that it was only the sheer numbers of invitees that had made it possible for them to be here. Mrs. Thrall, of course, did not. She had been crowing for the past week about Lady Sherbourne having taken them under her wing.

Because of the size of the party, Juliana had harbored a small flicker of hope, barely acknowledged, that Lord Barre would appear. But she had not really believed it, deep down. After all, from the gossip she had managed to glean, sitting quietly listening to Clementine and her giggling friends, Nicholas rarely attended any party. His reclusive-ness, of course, simply added to his mystique.

But there he was. Juliana looked up from her perusal of Clementine sweeping around the floor in the arms of one of her many admirers, and there, standing at the top of the wide staircase leading down into the ballroom, was Nicholas Barre.

Her heart skittered in her chest, and for an instant, she felt as if she could not breathe. He was handsome, more handsome even than she remembered—filled out now into a man, with broad shoulders that needed no extra padding from his tailor, and long, muscled legs. He stood, looking out coolly over the mass of people below him, confidence, even a certain arrogance, stamped on his features. His hair was thick and a trifle shaggy, jet-black in color and falling carelessly beside his face. His eyes appeared as black as his hair, accented by the straight slashes of his black brows.

He did not look like other men. Not even the black formal coat and snowy white shirt could camouflage the hint of wildness that clung to him. Wherever he went, Juliana thought, he must immediately be the center of attention. She wondered if he was aware of that.

Perhaps he had become accustomed to it. He had always been one set apart. Dangerous, they had called him. And wicked. Juliana suspected that the same appellations were still directed at him.

She realized suddenly that she was staring, and she glanced quickly away. What was she to do? She swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists in her lap.

She remembered the last time she had seen him—the planes and angles of his face stark white in the moonlight, his eyes great pools of darkness. He had been only sixteen then, leanly muscular in a way that suggested the powerful male body he would grow into. His hair had been longer and unkempt, tousled by the wind and his impatient fingers. There had been a hardness to his face even then, a certain wariness that bespoke much about his past.

Juliana had clung to him, holding his arm with both hands as though she could make him stay, her twelve-year-old heart breaking within her. “Please,” she had begged. “Don’t go….”

“I can’t, Jules,” he had replied, frowning. “I have to go. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“But what will I do?” she had asked plaintively. “It will be so horrid here without you. No one but them…” Her voice invested the word with disgust.

“You’ll be all right. You’ll get through it. They won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” she had whispered, tears filling her eyes. She knew that no one ever harmed her as they did him. There were no angry cuffs of the hand, or days spent without meals or companionship, alone in her room, as there were for Nick. But the thought of life without him beside her was dull and flat, almost unbearable.

From the time she and her mother had come to Lychwood Hall when she was eight, Nicholas had been her only friend, her closest companion. They had been drawn together naturally, the two outsiders on the Barre estate, disdained by Nicholas’s aunt and uncle and their children. Charity children, both of them, and often reminded of it, they had formed a firm alliance, closer than a boy of twelve and a girl of eight would normally have been. And if, as he had grown up, racing toward adulthood, he had moved farther from her in interests and activities, there had always remained that special bond between them.

“Can’t I come with you?” she had asked without hope, knowing that his answer would be a refusal.

He shook his head. “They’d come after me for sure if I took you with me. This way, perhaps, I have a chance of getting away from them.”

“Will you come back? Please?”

He had smiled then, a rare wondrous smile that few besides her had seen. “Of course. I’ll make lots and lots of money, and then I shall come back and take you away. You’ll be rich, and everyone will call you ‘my lady.’ And Seraphina will have to curtsey to you. How’s that?”

“Perfect.” Her heart had swelled with love for him even as she knew, deep inside her realistic soul, that he was unlikely to return, that he would disappear from her life just as her father had.

“Don’t forget me,” she had said, swallowing her tears, refusing to act like a baby in front of him. She reached up, taking the simple leather thong from around her neck, and held it out to him. A gold signet ring dangled from it, simple and masculine.

Nicholas had looked at her in surprise. “No. Jules—that was your father’s. I can’t take that. I know how much it means to you.”

“I want you to have it,” she had replied stubbornly. “It’ll keep you safe. Take it.”

Finally he had taken it from her hand. Then, with a last halfhearted smile, he had vanished into the night, leaving her alone in the darkening garden.

She had not seen him again for fifteen years.

Juliana cast another glance toward the top of the staircase. Nicholas was no longer there. Cautiously she looked around the room, but she could not spot him anywhere in the crowd. She returned her gaze to her lap, wondering how she could manage to get out of here without his seeing her.

Her stomach was twisted into knots, partly with excitement, but mostly with fear. She did not want him to see her, did not want to have to face the fact that he might snub her…that he might not even recognize her.

Nicholas Barre had meant too much to her for her to bear a snub. She had loved him as only a child can love. After he ran away from the estate, she had not let her memories of him fade. For a long time she had held his promise in her heart, hoping he would reappear and take her away—from her mother’s sadness, from Crandall’s cruelties and Aunt Lilith’s petty sniping, from Seraphina’s casual assumption that Juliana was there to do whatever she asked. As Juliana had grown into womanhood, it had been Nicholas’s image that had fueled her adolescent dreams, becoming the hero on a white charger who would come riding up to Lychwood Hall and sweep her up before him on his horse, carrying her away from the life she disliked and bestowing upon her his name, as well as fabulous jewels and fashionable clothes.

Of course, she had not been so foolish as to keep those dreams long. She had grown up and had made her own life. Long ago she had stopped believing—and then finally stopped even wishing—that Nicholas would return and seek out his childhood friend. Even when she had heard that he had returned to London from whatever far-flung place he had been, she had not thought he would come for her…or at least she had firmly squashed the little germ of an idea before it even grew full-size in her mind.

After all, when he had promised to return, they had been of more or less equal station—unwanted relatives, living on the Barres’ charity—or, at least, so she had thought. But now he was Lord Barre and reportedly quite wealthy in his own right, as well as having inherited his grandfather’s estate. It would be foolish in the extreme, she knew, to even hope he would look her up. Promises made at the age of sixteen rarely lasted.

She had experienced the bitter reward of being proved right. It had been two months since she had heard that Nicholas was in London again, and he had not come to her. She was too realistic to think that if he ran into her tonight, he would greet her with cries of delight. Heavens, he probably would not even recognize her as the child he had once known.

But Juliana did not want to have to face that situation. She did not want to see him look at her with the blank expression of lack of recognition. Worse, she did not want to see him see her, recognize her, and then turn away, not acknowledging the bond. Almost as bad would be having him converse with her with the stiff formality of a stranger, or the faintly harassed look of someone caught in a social situation he wished he could get out of.

She must get away from the party, she thought, but that was far more easily said than done. Mrs. Thrall had hired her as a companion primarily because she wanted help watching over her lively, headstrong daughter. Clementine was both beautiful and spoiled, accustomed to getting her way. She was also foolish enough to think that she could ignore the dictates of Society. Unwatched, she was likely to flirt more than was considered proper, or to dance with the same bachelor more than twice. Juliana had even once caught her attempting to slip out an opened French door into the darkened gardens beyond with an ardent suitor.

And since Mrs. Thrall was a rather indolent woman, she used Juliana as Clementine’s primary chaperone. Mrs. Thrall liked to think that this tiresome duty was a gift she bestowed upon her companion, pointing out to Juliana how nice it was that she got to attend all these balls. Frankly, Juliana would have preferred spending the evening curled up with a book or playing games with the Thralls’ younger—and far more likeable—daughter, Fiona. It was no pleasure to sit, as plainly dressed as a wren among peacocks, against the wall with the mothers and wallflowers, watching people dance and enjoy themselves.

Mrs. Thrall would be highly displeased if Juliana were to plead a headache or other illness and wish to leave the party, and she certainly had no desire to listen to her employer complain that she was attempting to ruin the grandest ball of her daughter’s career. Moreover, she had little hope that Mrs. Thrall would send her home, even with a lecture. She was far more likely to tell Juliana to simply bear up like a proper British gentlewoman…and then send her off to fetch a cup of punch.

The best course, she thought, would be to simply keep her eyes glued on Clementine. That way her gaze could not happen to meet Nicholas’s, and she would be able to avoid seeing the expression that would come over his face. It was unlikely that Lord Barre would look over at the duennas watching their charges, and even if he did, if she was not watching, at least she would not know if he then turned away without speaking.

“Juliana?” A deep masculine voice cut through the air, filled with surprise and—surely she could not be mistaken—delight, as well.

Juliana’s head snapped up. Despite the years between them, she knew the voice immediately. Nicholas Barre was walking rapidly toward her, a smile lighting his handsome face.

“Nicholas!” The word came out breathlessly, and without realizing it, Juliana rose to her feet.

“Juliana! It is you!” He stopped in front of her, so tall she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, his dark eyes alight, a smile curving his full, firm lips. “I can scarcely believe it! When I think of all the time that I have looked for you…” He reached out his hand and, somewhat shakily, she gave hers to him.

“I—I’m sorry. I should say Lord Barre,” she went on hastily.

“I beg you will not,” he replied. “I would think you no longer counted yourself my friend.”

Juliana blushed, unsure what to say. She felt unaccustomedly shy. Nicholas was at once so familiar and so different, the traces of the boy still evident in the man, yet far removed from what he had once been.

“I am surprised you recognized me,” she told him. “It has been so long.”

He shrugged. “You have grown up.” His eyes swept briefly, almost involuntarily, down her form. “Still, your face is much the same. I could scarcely forget it.”

There was a loud, admonitory clearing of a throat from the chair beside Juliana, and she started. “Oh, I am so sorry. Lord Barre, please allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Thrall.”

Juliana half turned toward her employer. “Mrs. Thrall, Lord Barre.”

The middle-aged woman simpered, extending her hand to Nicholas. “Lord Barre, what a pleasure. No doubt you wish to meet Clementine, but I am afraid she is out on the dance floor. Her dance card is always full, you know.”

“Mrs. Thrall.” Nicholas gave the woman a polite bow, his dark eyes summing her up quickly before he turned back to Juliana. “I hope that you will give me the honor of a waltz, Juliana.”

Juliana knew that her employer would doubtless frown on her shirking her duty in that way, but she wanted quite badly to accept his invitation. She never got to dance at any of the parties they attended; she could not count the number of times she had sat, toes tapping, heart aching, watching the other couples swirl merrily around the floor.

“I would love to,” she said recklessly, then turned toward her employer. “If you will excuse me, Mrs. Thrall.”

She expected at best a scowl from the other woman, with a deferred lecture about the impropriety of her taking to the floor with young bachelors when she should be overseeing Clementine. But she hoped that Mrs. Thrall would not have the gall to flatly refuse, right in front of one of the peers of the land.

To her surprise, the older woman smiled benignly at her and said, “Yes, of course. That sounds like an excellent idea. No doubt Clementine will be back when you return.”

Nicholas bowed toward Mrs. Thrall and extended his hand to Juliana. She took it, letting him lead her out onto the dance floor, struggling to control the happy excitement fizzing within her.

“Who the devil is Clementine?” he murmured, bending his head closer to hers.

Juliana could not suppress a giggle. “She is Mrs. Thrall’s daughter. She is making her debut this year.”

“Good Gad, another one,” he commented darkly.

Juliana, more accustomed to listening to the gushings of the besotted suitors of Clementine Thrall, could not help but feel a small spurt of amusement.

Nicholas turned to her, putting his hand lightly on her waist and taking her other hand in his. She felt a little breathless, her nerves jumping with excitement, as the music began and they swept out onto the floor. There had been few times when Juliana had waltzed—there had been no Season in London for her, and paid companions were rarely asked to dance—and she was eager, yet scared that she would make a mistake.

For the first few moments she was too aware of following the steps to pay much attention to anything else, but gradually she gave herself up to the rhythm of the music and found herself swirling about the room quite easily. She cast a glance up at her companion. It seemed like a dream, she thought, to be here with Nicholas after all these years.

As if he had read her thoughts, Nicholas said to her, “You know, I’ve had the very devil of a time trying to find you.”

“I’m sorry,” Juliana replied. “I did not realize you were looking for me.”

“Of course I was. Why would I not?”

“It has been a long time,” she replied. “I was only a child when you left.”

“You were my only friend,” he told her simply. “That is difficult to forget.”

His words were true, of course. When she had met him, she had thought that he was the most alone person she knew. At twelve years of age, his reputation as a rebel and troublemaker was firmly established, and even then, there had been a certain hardness in his face that closed out others. But Juliana, herself feeling cast adrift in the world after the death of her beloved father, had felt an affinity with the dark, brooding boy. She had glimpsed in his onyx eyes a lurking loneliness, a vulnerability, that had spoken to her.

“We were the outcasts of Lychwood Hall,” she agreed now, keeping her voice light.

“I told you I would come back, you know,” he reminded her.

“So you did.” And she had lived on it for years, she thought, until she had grown old enough to be wiser. “But I did not hear from you.”

“I was not a very good correspondent,” Nicholas admitted wryly.

Juliana chuckled. “That, sir, is an understatement of the grossest sort.”

“I did not want them to know where I was,” he said, shrugging.

“I know.” Even as a child, she had understood that. “I never expected you to write,” she told him honestly.

“Somehow I thought you would still be there,” he went on.

“At Lychwood Hall?” Juliana asked, surprised.

“Foolish of me, I know. Of course you wanted to get away from them, too.”

“My mother died while I was away at school with Seraphina,” Juliana told him. “After that, there was little to hold me there.”

“I inquired there after you,” he went on. “My uncle is dead now, but my aunt replied. She told me you had gone abroad to live several years ago, and she did not know where you were.”

Juliana raised a brow. “Her memory must be shockingly short, then. I have been back in England for some years now. I send Aunt Lilith a courtesy note every year at Christmas.”

“I suspected her lack of knowledge was terribly convenient. I set my business man to looking for you. Of course, I told him you were in Europe, so it is little wonder that he got no results.” He gave her a quizzical look. “If you have been in London, why have I not seen you anywhere?”

Juliana smiled faintly. “Companions, I’m afraid, are rarely seen.”

“Companion?” Nicholas frowned. “You? Juliana, no…”

“What would you have me do?” Juliana lifted her chin a little defiantly. “I had to make my way in the world somehow, and I did not like the idea of being a governess. My sewing is not good enough to make a living as a seamstress. And call it unseemly pride, but I did not want to seek employment below stairs.”

His mouth tightened. “Don’t be absurd. None of those positions are worthy of you.”

“I could not remain living on Trenton Barre’s charity. Surely you, of all people, can understand that. You set out on your own. So did I.”

“It is different for a woman,” he pointed out.

“Alas, I am quite aware of that. There are very few ways by which a female can support herself—and even fewer that are considered respectable,” Juliana replied tartly. “Believe me, I would much rather have done something exciting—or even just somewhat interesting. Women, however, are given little choice in the matter.”

He smiled a little. “I had forgotten how fiery you can be about one of your causes. Nay, please, do not bristle at my words. I meant no criticism. I am very glad of your passion and dedication. After all, I was once one of your causes.”

Juliana relaxed, smiling. “No, ’tis I who should apologize. You expressed only concern about me, and I became as prickly as a porcupine. I am well aware that I cannot change the world. I am also well aware that none of the fault lies at your feet.”

“I wish that I had known. I should have. I should have realized.”

“And what could you have done?” Juliana asked him, her tone light and teasing.

“I should have helped you. I should—” He stopped, unexpectedly at a loss.

“You see? It was not in your hands. If you are going to say that you would have sent me money to help me live, I am sure you can see that that would scarcely have been considered proper. I should not have cared for any of the labels given to a woman who lives off a man’s largesse.”

“None would dare think that of you,” Nicholas said decisively.

Juliana chuckled. “I am glad you think so. In any case, there is no reason to feel sorry for me. My life has been mostly pleasant. I was companion for several years to a most intelligent and generous woman, Mrs. Simmons, until she became too frail to live alone and moved in with her son and family. She treated me more like a niece or a ward than an employee. I dined with her and slept in a very nice room, and in return I had to do little more than spend several hours a day in enjoyable conversation and help her keep track of her correspondence. We traveled to the continent—and I can tell you that it was far more enjoyable than when I accompanied Seraphina and Aunt Lilith on their tour after she finished school.”

Nicholas winced. “I should think so. That sounds more like torture than travel.”

“Yes, and all the more so given that Aunt Lilith kept reminding me of my good fortune in being given the opportunity to broaden my horizons with them.”

“No good deed is left unheralded with them,” Nicholas agreed.

“It is so good to talk to you!” Juliana blurted out. “No one else would understand exactly how it was. How obligated one was made to feel for every mouthful of food and every stitch of clothing.”

“And how ungrateful you were for the wonderful opportunity of being allowed to associate with them,” he added.

“Just so.” Juliana smiled at him.

It was odd, she thought, that she should feel so instantly comfortable with him again, as if all the years that had separated them meant nothing. He was once again Nicky, her protector against Crandall’s mean tricks and bullying tactics, her confidant and friend.

And yet, at the same time, she was very aware of how different it all was. They were no longer children. He was a man now, large and hard and almost overpoweringly masculine. Being swept around the room in his arms was a far cry from sitting beside him on the bank of the brook, dangling their bare feet in the water. There was an elemental excitement in being so close to him, feeling his hand spread upon her waist. She could not help but think that he was virtually a stranger to her now, someone whose thoughts and deeds she had no knowledge of, whose past fifteen years were a mystery to her.

The music finally swept to a close. They stopped and stepped apart. Juliana looked up at Nicholas. She was a little breathless, and she knew it was not just from the exertion of dancing.

He offered her his arm, and they walked back to where Mrs. Thrall sat waiting for them. Juliana saw with a flicker of irritation that Clementine now stood with her mother. The girl was the picture of English beauty—dainty and dimpled in her demure white ball gown, blue-eyed and blond-haired, her dewy complexion touched with soft pink color along her cheeks.

Men were drawn to her china-doll loveliness, and Clementine had achieved a certain success this Season. However, she had not yet caught the eye of any titled gentleman, and Juliana suspected that she and her mother were hoping to correct that omission right now. Mrs. Thrall had obviously been gleeful at meeting Lord Barre, and Juliana felt sure she had drawn her daughter off the dance floor so that she could meet Nicholas when he brought Juliana back to her seat. One glance at the young gentleman waiting with them, scowling, confirmed Juliana’s suspicion.

“Juliana!” Mrs. Thrall said, beaming at Juliana as if she were her dearest friend. “And Lord Barre. Please allow me to introduce you to my daughter Clementine.”

Clementine looked up at Nicholas with a fair semblance of girlish shyness, dimpling into an enchanting smile. “My lord. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you.”

Juliana clenched her teeth, somewhat surprised by the stab of dislike she felt for the girl.

“Miss Thrall.” Nicholas smiled and bowed to Clementine, casting a glance and a nod toward the young gentleman behind her.

Clementine opened her fan and plied it gently, gazing limpidly at Nicholas over the top of it.

Nicholas turned back to Juliana. “I hope you will allow me to call on you, Miss Holcott.”

Juliana smiled. “Of course—that is, I mean…” She turned toward Mrs. Thrall. “If you will permit it, madam.”

“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Thrall bared her teeth in a smile so wide it was almost frightening. “We would be honored for you to visit our house.” She told him the address, adding with a deprecating titter, “Not the most fashionable address, I fear. “Tis Clementine’s first Season, you know, and I did not realize how far in advance one must let a house to obtain a truly good address.”

“I am sure that the presence of such fair ladies makes any place fashionable,” Nicholas replied diplomatically.

Clementine and her mother simpered at this remark, and Juliana was aware of a strong and no doubt childish resentment. Nicholas was hers, she wanted to cry out.

But, of course, that was absurd. Nicholas was not, could not be, hers.

Nicholas took his leave of them, with a bow and impartial smile to them all. As soon as he was out of sight, Clementine and her mother swung to Juliana.

“You did not tell me you knew Lord Barre!” Mrs. Thrall exclaimed, her tone a mixture of accusation and delight.

“I was not sure he would remember me,” Juliana replied. “It has been many years since we have seen one another.”

“But how do you know him?” Clementine pressed, moving closer to Juliana and turning her back rudely on the young man who stood with them.

“We were friends as children,” Juliana explained. “I…lived near his family.” It was, she thought, too complicated to explain the relationship between them, and, moreover, she had little desire to expose her history to their curiosity.

“It is generous of him to seek you out,” Mrs. Thrall went on, unaware, as she usually was, of the rudeness of her words.

Juliana, accustomed to the petty stings of being employed as a companion, ignored the disdain inherent in the other woman’s words. “He is a generous man,” she allowed dryly.

“Of course, he doubtless wanted to meet Clementine,” the older woman went on placidly, explaining the oddity of a nobleman acknowledging someone of as little status as Juliana. “It is quite fortuitous, really, that he knew you and could gain an introduction.”

Juliana swallowed her anger, looking away from her employer. She reminded herself that Mrs. Thrall was a woman of little sense and a deficient upbringing. She did not mean to be rude and hurtful—frankly, Juliana thought, she did not consider Juliana’s feelings enough to intend to hurt her—and she did not know what she was talking about. Nicholas had come over because he was glad to see her, not because he wanted to meet Mrs. Thrall’s daughter.

But as the evening wore on and Juliana watched Clementine flirt with her bevy of admirers, and take to the floor time and again to dance, her certainty began to erode. The girl was obviously devastatingly appealing to men, whereas she herself…

She looked down at her plain dark gown and sighed. She was dressed like a governess, her hair pinned into a plain knot. A companion was not paid to attract attention—especially in this case, where Mrs. Thrall would have squelched any semblance of a beauty that might compete with her own daughter. How could any man’s eyes not be drawn to Clementine rather than to her?