Читать книгу Wayward Widow - Nicola Cornick, Nicola Cornick - Страница 10

‘We are relying on you, Martin.’ Davinia Havard, mother of the bride, fixed her nephew with a menacing look. Over her shoulder, Martin could see his sister Araminta, pulling an apologetic face at him. Now Araminta was gesturing widely to indicate that she had tried to calm their aunt, but to no avail. Martin grinned back sympathetically. He and Araminta had always been close. The only children of Philip Davencourt’s first marriage, they had been natural allies, and Martin was grateful for Araminta’s uncomplicated support and affection.

They were in church and there were only ten minutes to go before Eustacia’s wedding service began. The conversation was therefore being conducted in discreet hisses from Mrs Havard and polite whispers from Martin in reply. Mrs Havard had penned her nephew in a pew and was leaning over him, keeping him in his place by her sheer bulk and force of personality. Martin shifted, crossing one leg over the other in an assumption of ease and wishing his aunt would back away a little. She smelled very strongly of camphor and it always made his nose itch.

‘I am at your service, of course, Aunt Davinia,’ he whispered politely, ‘but I am a little at a loss. Precisely what task do you wish me to perform?’

Davinia Havard gave a long sigh. ‘I am depending on you, Martin—’ she stabbed him in the chest with one stubby finger in emphasis ‘—depending on you to prevent that appalling woman Juliana Myfleet from ruining Eustacia’s wedding. I knew it was a mistake to permit her to attend! Lady Lestrange has just told me what she did last night at the dinner given for Andrew Brookes. Have you heard?’

‘Heard?’ Martin murmured. He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I fear I saw what happened rather than merely heard about it!’

There was a sharp intake of breath from both his listeners. Araminta, his staunch supporter, looked both reproachful and amused. She leaned forward and added her own hissing whisper to the conversation.

‘Martin! Surely you were not at one of Emma Wren’s orgies? How could you have had such poor taste?’

‘I left before the actual orgy,’ Martin whispered, giving his sister the ghost of a grin. ‘I merely stayed for the hors d’oeuvres. I made the mistake of thinking that “stimulating”, when applied to Mrs Wren’s dinners, meant that the conversation would be good.’

Araminta stifled a laugh. Davinia Havard looked disgusted. Martin immediately regretted the impulse that had led him to joke. Unlike Araminta, their aunt had no sense of humour.

‘Then you know what that Myfleet creature is capable of, Martin! I am sure that she will do something unspeakably vulgar and my poor little Eustacia will be humiliated on her wedding day!’

Martin grimaced. To his surprise he felt a strong surge of irritation to hear Juliana referred to as ‘that Myfleet creature’ in so disparaging a way. He struggled with his annoyance.

‘I am sure that you are letting your imagination run away with you, Aunt Davinia,’ he said coolly. ‘I am persuaded Lady Juliana intends no such thing.’

His aunt gave him a darkling look. ‘I will remind you of that when she disrupts the proceedings and makes us a laughing-stock! Martin…’ Her voice dropped even further in an attempt at conciliation. ‘Perhaps it is fortunate that you are a man of the world. I know I can rely on you to deal with the creature, should anything untoward arise.’

By now almost every member of the congregation was studying them with ill-concealed curiosity as they craned their necks to try and eavesdrop the conversation. Andrew Brookes was sitting across the aisle, looking thoroughly sick and jaded, and Martin felt a sharp stab of anger followed by resignation. At least the man had turned up for the wedding, even if he was still warm from a courtesan’s bed.

Martin took his aunt’s arm and shepherded her firmly into her own pew. He bent close to her ear.

‘It may be that your fears are all for nothing, Aunt Davinia, for I do not see Lady Juliana amongst the congregation. Nevertheless, should the situation arise, I shall do what I can.’

Mrs Havard collapsed nervelessly into her seat. ‘Thank you, Martin dear. There is so much to worry about at a time like this.’

Martin pressed her hand, feeling a rush of affection. ‘Do not worry. Eustacia will be here in a moment and then everything will progress smoothly, I have no doubt.’

Mrs Havard groped in her reticule for her smelling salts. Somewhere in the congregation, someone tittered at the sight of the mother of the bride in such a state. Martin, deploring the fashionable and malicious crowd who had gathered to see his cousin wed, made a mental note that if and when he married, it would be in the most private ceremony imaginable. This public show was a sick mockery. Most of the people there cared little for Eustacia’s happiness and were only present for the entertainment. He strode back to his sister’s side, a heavy frown on his face.

‘I cannot believe that any of Aunt Davinia’s fears are like to materialise, Minta,’ he complained.

Araminta put a soothing hand on his arm. ‘Martin, surely you know that with Aunt Davinia, it is simply easier to agree? Then, in the unlikely event of Lady Juliana Myfleet…um…unveiling herself in the church, we shall all be confident that you will handle the situation!’

Martin groaned, resisting the temptation to put his head in his hands and garner even more public attention. For a moment, his mind boggled at the thought of Lady Juliana Myfleet slowly peeling off her clothes before the altar. He boggled even more at the idea of physically grappling with a nude woman in a place of worship. If she chose to display herself as she had done the previous night, the entire congregation would be riveted…

‘Martin!’ Araminta said sharply.

Martin sighed. ‘Minta, I have four children here to keep an eye on. It is asking too much to expect me to act as nursemaid to Lady Juliana Myfleet as well. I do not know why she was even invited if she is Andrew Brookes’s mistress. It seems the most shocking insult to Eustacia.’

Araminta sighed and edged closer to him along the pew. ‘I suspect that tells us what sort of a man Andrew Brookes is.’

‘Surely you knew that already!’

‘I knew, but Aunt Davinia did not.’ Araminta sighed again. ‘For all her bluster she is quite naïve in the ways of the world, Martin. Apparently Brookes put forward the names of his guests and Aunt Davinia accepted them at face value. She almost had an apoplexy when she discovered the truth!’

Martin shook his head. ‘If they had not had the folly to marry Eustacia off to Brookes in the first place…’

‘I know.’ Araminta made a slight gesture. ‘He is sadly unsteady, but he is the son of a Marquis and Eustacia cares for him.’

‘And which of those factors weighed most heavily with Havard when he was agreeing the match?’ Martin asked sarcastically. He had little time for his uncle, who was an inveterate social climber. Martin had always believed that Justin Havard had married into the Davencourt family to further his social ambitions and now he was selling his daughter off in the same manner. A fortune here, a title there…it was the manner in which a man like Havard might make himself influential.

Araminta was looking at him with resignation. ‘You are too principled, Martin.’

‘I beg your pardon. I was not aware that that was possible.’

Araminta gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Everyone has to bend a little. As a future Member of Parliament, you should know that.’

Martin did know. He just did not like it. He heaved a sigh.

‘In the unlikely event of Lady Juliana Myfleet causing a disturbance, I promise to carry her bodily from the church. But in return, you must promise to keep an eye on Daisy.’

Araminta bent over to kiss his cheek. ‘And Maria and all the rest of the brood. I promise. Thank you, Martin! You are truly kind.’

‘Let us hope I am not called upon to fulfil my pledge,’ her brother said darkly.

Lady Juliana Myfleet slid into a pew at the back of the church and bent a brilliant smile on the young groomsman who had offered his escort. She was not sitting at the back in order to be discreet but simply because she was late. The decision of what to wear, demure green or shocking scarlet, had been a difficult one. In the end she had chosen the low-cut scarlet, embellished by the silver crescent moon necklace that she always wore and a matching silver bracelet.

Her obscure position at the back of the church did not prevent her from being recognised by her acquaintance. She had chosen to sit alone, but there were people she knew in the congregation, both friendly faces and those less so. She could see her brother Joss and his wife Amy sitting next to Adam Ashwick, his new wife Annis and his brother Edward. Edward Ashwick smiled at her and sketched a bow. Juliana felt her heart unfreeze a little. Dearest Ned. He was always so kind to her, despite the fact that he was a vicar and she was such a fallen angel.

Other members of her acquaintance were less kind. Already several heads were turning and bonnets nodding as the members of the ton passed on the delicious gossip about her activities at the party the previous night. Juliana smiled slightly. No doubt the tale had grown as it was whispered around the clubs and passed from there to the houses of the nobility. It was amazing how quickly a story could travel. Now the staid dowagers would have another reason to tut when she passed by, another story to add to the shocking list. Her father had heard of them all—the outrageous tricks, the extravagant gambles, the parade of supposed lovers. There were many who thought that Juliana and Andrew Brookes had had a love affair, but Juliana knew better. He had squired her about town for a few months, but there had been nothing more to it than convenience and entertainment. It meant that she had an escort and Brookes had a beautiful woman on his arm, and neither of them saw any reason to complain at that.

Juliana found it amusing that Brookes now looked supremely uncomfortable as he waited for his bride. His fair, florid face was flushed, as though he had imbibed too freely to give him the Dutch courage to go through with the wedding. He was running a finger around the inside of his neck cloth as though he found its constricting folds stifling. Juliana cynically reflected that Brookes probably found the whole idea of marriage oppressive, even with a fortune of fifty thousand pounds to sweeten the pill. Still, the marriage bed would not be cold before he was returning to his latest inamorata.

As Juliana settled the skirts of her exquisite scarlet silk dress about her and tilted her bonnet to a demure angle, she reflected that money would never be enough to hold a man of Brookes’s stamp. She almost felt sorry for Miss Havard. A small, sneaking feeling of sympathy touched Juliana’s heart, then fled as swiftly as it had come. One made one’s bed—and then one lay in it. There was no place for sentiment in modern marriage.

A man was watching her. He was standing in the shadow of the open door, where the sun cast a blinding arc of light on to the flagstone floor. Juliana was attuned to male admiration and she could tell that this man was studying her intently. She flicked him a glance from under the brim of her hat, then felt her stomach drop. It was Martin Davencourt.

She met his eyes. They were very dark blue and contained a look of cold dislike as they swept over her from the feather in her hat to the tips of her bright red pumps. It was easy to read his thoughts. He was deploring her deliberate choice of scarlet and the attention she was drawing to herself. Juliana conceded that it had not been subtle, but then she had not intended it so. It was only now, confronted with Martin Davencourt’s disgust, that she wished she had chosen the green and faded into the background.

For a frozen moment they stared at each other and then Juliana dragged her gaze away with a little jerk and fixed it on the carved angel high on the organ screen. She was trembling with surprise and anger, and she knew that her colour had risen. She was blushing. That rarely happened to her. How dared he have that effect on her? Normally disapproval only made her behave all the more outrageously.

The bride had arrived, a winsome little girl with blonde curls. Juliana grimaced. She hated these milk-and-water misses. The Season was full of them these days, with their simpering manners and their giggles and their innocence. The bride was dressed simply in white muslin, with a white shawl over her gown. The hem of the gown and the edge of the shawl were embossed with white satin flowers and the shawl was shot through with primrose yellow thread. She looked pretty and excited. Six small bridesmaids in white dresses with white ribbons on their straw bonnets, jostled and milled about in the doorway. Out of the corner of her eye—for she was certainly not looking at him—Juliana saw Martin Davencourt bend down with a smile and touch the cheek of the smallest bridesmaid. She remembered that Emma had said he had several younger sisters. Juliana gave a small, unconscious sigh.

The bride began her progress up the aisle and Juliana admired the look of pure terror that came and went on Andrew Brookes’s face. This is it, she thought. Brookes is caught in parson’s mousetrap at last. It happened to all the eligible rakes eventually. There was only Joss’s friend Sebastian Fleet left, if one discounted utterly ineligible libertines like Jasper Colling. Soon she would have no one to escort her about town. At least Brookes had made no bones about the fact that he was marrying for money. Both Joss and Adam had been odiously mawkish and had actually fallen in love with their brides. Juliana had no time for such sentiment. She had tried that and found it wanting.

She shifted a little on the pew, wishing that she had not come. It was one thing to cause a stir by attending the wedding of a supposed lover, but it was quite another to be obliged to sit quietly during the tedious proceedings. No one was looking at her now, for their attention was on the bride and groom. Juliana tried not to sneeze. For several minutes she had been aware of a large urn full of lilies that was placed on a plinth to her right. The lolling stamens were loaded with rich, orange pollen and looked vulgarly fecund. Juliana wondered if Eustacia would prove similarly blessed. Brookes had never wanted children. He had said that they were a tedious interruption to pleasure. Juliana had agreed with him, but when she had seen Martin’s tiny sister she had felt a pang…

Juliana sneezed and buried her nose in her handkerchief. Her throat felt thick with the pollen and her eyes had started to water. It was undignified. She was afraid that she would start to look ugly soon. She sneezed again, twice. Several people turned to hush her. The vicar was droning on about the reasons for marriage. Juliana’s memory suddenly presented her with the image of herself standing before the altar, a young débutante of eighteen, fathoms deep in love. Edwin had gripped her hand in his so tightly and she had smiled at him with a radiance that paled the sun. Eleven years ago…If only he had not left her…

The obstruction in Juliana’s throat suddenly seemed like a huge lump of stone and her eyes were streaming so much that she could not see properly. She knew that she had to escape.

She got to her feet and started to edge out of the pew towards the main door, treading on peoples’ toes as she went. She could not really see where she was going, and when she tripped over the end of the pew and someone caught her arm and steadied her, she was grateful.

‘This way, Lady Juliana,’ a low voice said in her ear. Her arm was seized in a firm grip and she was guided towards the door.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Juliana said.

She knew that she was outside when she felt the sun on her face and a soft breeze caressing her skin. Her eyes were still streaming and she was tolerably certain that she would be left looking red and watery, like a rabbit she had once owned as a child. It could not be helped. She had suffered from the hay fever for years, but it was unfortunate that she had had to experience an attack in public.

She felt her nose run and groped desperately for her handkerchief. One large blow was all the delicate cambric could take. It simply was not up to the task. As Juliana hesitated between the twin shame of wiping her nose on her sleeve or leaving it to drip, a large, white gentleman’s kerchief was pressed into her hand. Juliana grabbed it gratefully.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said again.

‘This way, Lady Juliana,’ the gentleman repeated. His grip on her arm increased as he urged her down the church steps. Juliana stumbled a little and felt one of his arms go about her. She drew breath to protest, for this was downright improper, but it was already too late. Through streaming eyes she saw a carriage draw up before them, then the door was thrown open and the gentleman bundled her inside. She did not have time to scream. She barely had time to breathe before the gentleman had leaped in beside her and the coachman gave the horses the office to move off. Tumbled on the seat, out of breath, her skirt rucked up about her knees, her eyes still blinded by tears, Juliana strove to regain her balance and her dignity.

‘What in God’s name do you think you are doing?’

‘Calm yourself, Lady Juliana.’ The gentleman sounded amused. ‘I am abducting you. Surely that is all par for the course for a lady of your reputation? Or do you prefer to do the kidnapping yourself?’

Juliana sat up straighter. She recognised that voice with its undertone of mockery. Now that her vision was clearing she could see her companion’s face. She sat up straighter.

‘Mr Davencourt! I did not request your escort anywhere! Kindly instruct your coachman to halt the horses so that I may get down.’

‘I regret that I cannot do that,’ Martin Davencourt said imperturbably. He had taken the seat across from Juliana and now sat negligently at ease, watching her with casual indifference. Juliana felt her blood fizz with irritation.

‘Pray, why not? It seems a simple enough request.’

Martin Davencourt shrugged. ‘Did you ever hear of an abduction ending so tamely? I do not think so. I cannot let you go, Lady Juliana.’

Juliana felt as though she was going to explode with annoyance. Her eyes were still streaming, her head ached and this insufferable man was acting as though one of them was mad and she knew which one. She tried to speak calmly.

‘Then the least that you can offer me in all courtesy is an explanation. I can scarce believe that you make a habit of abducting ladies like this, Mr Davencourt. You would be in Newgate if you did, and besides, you are far too respectable to do such a thing!’

Martin tilted his head to look at her. ‘Is that a challenge?’

‘No!’ Juliana turned her face away haughtily. ‘It is an insult!’

She diverted her gaze to the window, where the London streets were slipping past. She briefly considered jumping from the carriage, but rejected the idea as foolhardy. They were not travelling quickly—London traffic seldom did—but it was still a reckless idea and she would end up looking untidy or, worse, twisting her ankle.

She glanced back at Martin Davencourt. Perhaps he had conceived a hopeless passion for her the previous night and thought to carry her off to press his attentions on her. Juliana had a certain vanity, but she also had common sense and she knew this was unlikely. Only a half-hour earlier, Martin had looked at her with contempt, not appreciation. He was looking at her again now. His gaze moved over her thoughtfully as though he was making an inventory of her features. Juliana raised her chin.

‘Well?’

A smile twitched Martin Davencourt’s firm mouth. There were sunburned lines about his eyes that suggested that he laughed often. There were also two long grooves down his cheeks that deepened when he smiled. With a jolt of memory, Juliana recalled the curious pull of attraction she had felt for that smile when she was a girl. It was very appealing. He was very attractive. Juliana was irritated to realise that she found him so.

‘Well what?’ Martin said.

His coolness set Juliana back a little. She cleared her throat.

‘Well…I am still awaiting your explanation, sir. I realise that you have been absent from London for a long time, but it is not customary to behave in such a manner, you know. Even I seldom get abducted these days.’

Martin laughed. ‘Hence the need to create a stir in other ways, I suppose. I do feel that disrupting your lover’s wedding is particularly bad ton, Lady Juliana.’

Juliana frowned. ‘Disrupting…Oh, I see! You thought that I intended to make a scene!’

Despite herself, Juliana could not help a smile. So Martin had thought that she was intending to act the discarded mistress, throwing herself before the altar in a last passionate, tearful farewell. She stifled a laugh. Andrew Brookes was scarcely worth such a scene even if she had been inclined to make one. She looked at Martin, her eyes bright with mirth.

‘You are mistaken, sir. I had no such intention—’

But Martin had seen her smile and misinterpreted it. His lips set in a hard line.

‘Save your breath, Lady Juliana. I thought that your escapade last night was outrageous enough, in all truth, but this is beyond everything. The scarlet dress…’ His gaze flicked her again. ‘The crocodile tears…You are a consummate actress, are you not?’

Juliana caught her breath. ‘Tears? I suffer from the hay fever—’

Martin looked out of the window as though her explanations were of no interest to him. ‘You may spare me your denials. We have arrived.’

Juliana peered out of the window. They were in a pretty little square with tall town houses that were much like her own. The carriage rattled through a narrow archway and into a stable yard. Juliana turned to look at Martin.

‘Arrived where? The only place at which I wish to arrive is my own doorstep!’

Martin sighed. ‘I dare say. I cannot leave you alone, however, so I have brought you to my home. I promised my aunt that I would keep an eye on you and prevent you from ruining the wedding.’

Juliana sat back. ‘Your aunt? I collect that you mean Miss Havard’s mama?’

‘Precisely. She heard that you were Brookes’s mistress and was afraid that you would do something outrageous to ruin her daughter’s wedding day. It seems that she was quite right.’

‘I see.’ Juliana took a deep breath. ‘I thought that I was inventive, Mr Davencourt, but your imagination far outruns mine. Still, with such madness in the family, who can be surprised? I assure you that you—and Mrs Havard—are quite mistaken.’

‘I would like to believe you,’ Martin said politely, ‘but I fear that I cannot take the risk. If I let you go now, you would surely be in time to ruin the wedding breakfast.’

‘Perhaps I could dance on the table,’ Juliana said sarcastically, ‘unveiling myself as I did so!’

‘You did that last night, as I recall.’ Martin Davencourt’s gaze pinned her to the seat. ‘Now do you come inside willingly or must I carry you? It would be undignified for you, I fear.’

Juliana glared at him. ‘I never do anything undignified.’

Martin laughed. ‘Is that so? What about the time you visited Dr Graham’s famous nude mud baths in Piccadilly and insisted on the servants taking the bathtub outside? That must have provided quite a spectacle for the populace! How decorous was that?’

‘The mud-bathing was for the good of my health,’ Juliana said haughtily. ‘Besides, one would hardly bathe with one’s clothes on. Think of the dirtiness.’

‘Hmm. Your argument is unconvincing. And what about the occasion on which you dressed as a demi-mondaine to trick Lord Berkeley into betraying his wife? Was that dignified? Was it even kind?’

‘That was only a jest,’ Juliana said sulkily. She was beginning to feel like a naughty child receiving a telling off. ‘Besides, Berkeley did not fall for it.’

‘Even so, I doubt that Lady Berkeley found the joke prodigiously amusing,’ Martin said drily. ‘I hear she cried for several days.’

‘Well, that is her problem,’ Juliana said, her temper catching alight. ‘And what a bore you are proving to be, Mr Davencourt! What do you do for entertainment? Read the newspaper? Or is that too dangerously exciting for you?’

‘Sometimes I read The Times,’ Martin said, ‘or the parliamentary reports—’

‘Lud! I might have known!’

Martin ignored her. A footman opened the carriage door and let the steps down. Juliana accepted Martin’s hand down on to the cobbles with a certain distaste, removing herself from his grip as quickly as possible. The whole situation seemed absurd, but she could not immediately see what she could do about it. Martin Davencourt was disinclined to listen to her explanations and by now she was so angry with him for his accusations that she was unwilling to elucidate anyway. They were at an impasse.

She looked about her with some curiosity. They were in a neat brick coach yard at the back of the row of town houses and now Martin guided her towards a door leading into the building. His hand was warm on the small of her back, his touch decisive.

A strange sensation crept through Juliana. Annoyed with herself, she retorted, ‘Smuggling me in through the back door, Mr Davencourt? Are you afraid that I will kick up a fuss if you allow anyone to see me?’

‘I certainly do not trust you,’ Martin said, with the hint of a smile. He held the door open for her. ‘This way, Lady Juliana.’

The door closed with a quiet click behind them and the stone-flagged passage was cool after the sunshine outside. As Juliana’s eyes adjusted to the dimness she saw that Martin was leading her into a wide hallway floored in pale pink stone and decorated with statues and leafy green plants. Most of the light came from a large cupola set above the stair and the sunlight filtered through the leaves, making dancing shadows on the floor. It was charming and restful.

‘Oh, how pretty!’ Juliana had spoken before she thought and now she saw that Martin was looking a little surprised at her unfeigned enthusiasm. He also looked pleased.

‘Thank you. I was very pleased when the reality matched my plans.’

Juliana looked at him in surprise. ‘But surely you did not design it yourself?’

‘Why not? I assure you it was not difficult. I saw plenty of Italian palaces to inspire me when I was travelling. My sister Clara helped with the colours and the design. She has a flair for these things.’

Juliana sighed. She, too, had travelled in Italy, but the sights that she had seen had been as far removed from palaces as it was possible to be. Lodging houses with flearidden beds and damp running down the walls; stinking canals where rotten vegetables and the decaying corpses of dogs floated together…The heat, the smell, the noise…and the constant, drunken ranting of Clive Massingham, who had run away with her to escape his debts, only to abandon her within two weeks of their wedding.

Juliana shuddered.

Martin opened a door for her and Juliana preceded him into a small drawing room. It was painted in lemon and white and consequently seemed full of light. The rosewood furniture complemented it perfectly. Juliana reflected that Clara Davencourt must indeed have an eye for style.

‘May I offer you some refreshment, Lady Juliana?’ Martin asked, with scrupulous courtesy.

Juliana gave him a level stare. ‘I will take a glass of wine, thank you. Or will my stay be a protracted one? Perhaps I should request an entire dinner?’

Martin smiled. ‘I hope that you will not have to stay here too long—’

‘Oh, you hope it, too! Well, that is an encouragement!’ Juliana gave him a wide smile. ‘I shuddered to think that you intended to inflict your company on me for hours!’

Martin sighed. ‘Please sit down, Lady Juliana.’

Juliana sat on the rosewood sofa, jumping up a moment later as something sharp pressed into her hip. Investigation proved that it was a small, wooden sailing ship, a child’s toy. She placed it carefully on the table.

‘My sister Daisy’s boat,’ Martin said. He passed her a glass of wine. ‘I do beg your pardon, Lady Juliana. Daisy leaves her toys all over the house. Ships are a particular favourite with her at the moment for I have been telling her about my travels.’

He broke off abruptly as though he had just remembered that he was not chatting to an acquaintance but that there was another purpose to their engagement. A rather strained silence descended.

After several minutes had passed, the exquisite white gold clock on the mantel struck twelve. They both jumped at the loud chime.

Juliana was starting to feel amused.

‘I do believe, Mr Davencourt, that now you have me you are not sure what to do with me! It occurs to me that as we are to be here some little time we might get to know each other better, so why don’t we—?’

‘No!’ Martin did not wait for her to finish. He was scowling. ‘I have no wish to take up your offer, Lady Juliana. Besides, my younger brother is returning from Cambridge shortly—’

‘Then perhaps I may talk to him, if you do not care to speak with me,’ Juliana said neatly. She saw with satisfaction that she had actually put him to the blush. Caught, fair and square.

‘Talk! I thought that you meant—’ Martin Davencourt stopped abruptly.

‘You thought that I meant to proposition you again.’ Juliana rearranged her silken skirts demurely about her and took a sip of wine. She watched him over the rim, a smile in her eyes. ‘My dear Mr Davencourt, I do assure you that I can take a hint as well as the next person. Besides, you yourself suggested that you were not an appropriate conquest for me and that I should be more particular.’

‘I suppose that I deserved that.’ A faint, self-deprecating smile touched Martin Davencourt’s mouth. He looked rueful. Juliana rather liked him for it. She could not help herself. So many men were so proud that they could not bear to be caught out, but Martin had the confidence to admit when he had been worsted.

‘As you do not care to be seduced by me,’ she continued sweetly, ‘why do we not talk about old times? How long ago was it that we met at Ashby Tallant? Fourteen years? Fifteen?’ She put her head on one side and gave him an appraising look. ‘I might have guessed that you would turn out like this. A dull boy so often becomes a dull man, although I suppose that you have improved in looks at least.’

Martin did not appear remotely insulted by this backhanded compliment. He laughed. ‘You have changed, too, Lady Juliana. I thought you such a sweet child.’

‘Either your memory is faulty or your judgement was not sound at the age of fifteen,’ Juliana said. ‘I am sure that I was exactly as I am now. Though I am surprised that you remember me at all, sir, for you were forever damming the stream or building fortifications or doing whatever it is that boys do.’

Martin smiled. ‘I am sure that we both found the other tiresome, Lady Juliana. Adolescent boys and girls seldom have much common ground. You were interested only in balls and dancing and you fell asleep when I tried to explain to you Nelson’s battle plan at Trafalgar—’

‘And you could not have performed the quadrille to save your life,’ Juliana finished. ‘I dare say that we had little in common then and nothing in common now.’ She smoothed her scarlet skirts and yawned ostentatiously. ‘This is going to be an unconscionably long hour or so, is it not?’

Martin sat back in his chair and studied her thoughtfully.

‘Indulge my curiosity then, Lady Juliana. Did you truly imagine that Andrew Brookes would leave Eustacia at the altar for you? Or were you merely seeking to cause trouble?’

Juliana sighed. So they were back to that again. She knew that he had not believed her before.

‘Mr Davencourt,’ she said, with heavy patience, ‘you do not strike me as a stupid man so I shall repeat this only once. Your suspicions of me are false. I had no scheme to wreck your cousin’s wedding, still less to keep Brookes for myself. Why, I have exhausted all his potential! I assure you I would not have him if he were packaged in gold!’

She saw a flicker of a smile in Martin Davencourt’s eyes, but it vanished as swiftly as it had come. His blue gaze was keen on her face. ‘Yet he was your lover.’

The colour came into Juliana’s cheeks. She raised her chin. ‘He was not. And even had he been, I would not have stooped so low as to spoil your cousin’s wedding day.’

Martin looked thoughtful. ‘No? Love can prompt one to all kinds of irrational acts.’

‘I am aware. But I doubt that you are, Mr Davencourt. I think it unlikely you have ever fallen in love. No doubt you would consider it too dangerous.’

Martin laughed. ‘You are mistaken, Lady Juliana. I am sure that all young men fall in love at some point in their salad days.’

‘But not when they have reached the age of discretion?’ Juliana pulled a face. ‘I expect you are too old for that sort of thing now.’

Martin sat back in his chair. ‘Touché, Lady Juliana. I confess that I have not felt any partiality for a lady for many years. And better that way. Matters such as marriage are best conducted with a clear mind. But we were speaking of your past loves, not mine.’

‘No, we were not,’ Juliana snapped. ‘I have no desire to rehearse my past history, nor to debate morality with you, sir. I find that men are tiresomely hypocritical on such matters.’

‘Are we? You mean that you dislike the double standard that is so often applied?’

‘Of course I do! What right-thinking woman would not dismiss it as unreasonable? A tenet that says a man may behave as a rake without censure, yet if a woman does the same she is branded a whore? It has to be a man who made that rule, do you not agree?’

Martin laughed. ‘I concede that it is unjust, but there are plenty of people, women as well as men, who believe in it.’

Juliana turned her shoulder. ‘I am aware. Let us change the subject, or I fear I shall become very ill-tempered.’

‘Very well. Let us return to the case in point.’ Martin sighed. ‘If I have made a mistake about your intentions at the wedding, then I apologise, Lady Juliana. It was an honest mistake.’

‘Based on a ridiculous assumption,’ Juliana said.

‘Not quite ridiculous. Not after your behaviour last night.’

‘I do wish you would stop raising that!’ Juliana said furiously. She felt very frustrated. ‘Last night was intended as a jest. As for my tears at the wedding, if you suspect that I am deceiving you about my hay fever—’ she invested the words with a heavy sarcasm ‘—then approach me with that vase of roses from the mantelpiece and I will sneeze for as long as it takes to convince you.’

She put her wineglass down and got to her feet. ‘I do believe that we have exhausted this topic, Mr Davencourt. Certainly I am becoming quite dreadfully bored of your company. I assume that I am free to go now?’

Martin made a slight gesture. ‘Of course.’

‘You are not concerned that I will return to disrupt the wedding breakfast?’

‘I think not. You have said that that is not your aim and I believe you.’

Juliana inclined her head frigidly. ‘Thank you. Then it would be helpful of you to procure me a hack. I do believe it is the least you can do.’

Martin got to his feet. ‘I will send for the carriage for you.’

He came across to her and looked down into her face for a moment. ‘Hay fever,’ he said slowly. ‘When I saw you in the church I was so sure that you were crying…’

He raised a hand and gently brushed away the smudge of a tear on her cheek with one thumb. Juliana felt her pulse skip a beat.

‘Andrew Brookes is not worth anyone’s tears,’ she said abruptly.

Martin’s hand fell. He stepped back. Juliana felt relieved. Just for a second he had completely undermined her defences.

‘I share your opinion of Brookes, Lady Juliana,’ he said, ‘but I want Eustacia to be happy. It would be a shame for her to be disillusioned so early in her marriage.’

‘It will happen to her sooner or later,’ Juliana said, moving towards the door, ‘and you would be a simpleton to think otherwise. Andrew Brookes is not capable of fidelity.’

Martin pulled a face. ‘I bow to your superior knowledge of the gentleman, Lady Juliana. You sound very cynical. Do you then believe all men faithless?’

Juliana paused, swallowing the confirmation that instinctively rose to her lips. There was something about Martin Davencourt that always seemed to demand an honest answer. It was disconcerting.

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘Where a man truly loves I believe he may be faithful. But there are some men who are not capable of love or fidelity, and Brookes is one of those.’

‘I hear that it is your preferred type. Brookes, Colling, Massingham…’

Juliana had herself in hand again. ‘Lud, I do not choose men for their fidelity, Mr Davencourt. What an odd notion! I choose them for their entertainment value.’

‘I see,’ Martin said, heavily ironic. ‘Then I had better detain you no further. I cannot imagine that you will find what you are seeking in this house.’

Juliana grimaced. ‘No. Nor can I.’ She paused. ‘The wedding service will be over now, I suppose.’

‘Indeed.’ Martin checked the white gold clock on the mantle. ‘Do you have regrets about letting Andrew Brookes go after all, Lady Juliana?’

‘No,’ Juliana said pleasantly. ‘I was merely concerned about your sister Daisy—the little bridesmaid? She will be wondering where you are.’

There was a pause. For a second Juliana saw a quizzical look in Martin’s eyes, as though she had surprised him.

‘My sister Araminta is taking care of Daisy and the other girls,’ he said. ‘Besides, she is in such high good spirits to be a bridesmaid that I am sure she will scarcely miss me.’

‘I doubt that,’ Juliana said, feeling a small pang for Daisy Davencourt. ‘I assure you that children notice these things.’

She realised that her tone had been more wistful than she had intended. Martin was still watching her with speculation in his eyes. His perception unnerved her. She gave him a bright smile.

‘If you will excuse me, sir, I will leave. So many more marriages to blight, you know! I cannot afford to waste time here. Although…’ her voice warmed as a thought struck her ‘…perhaps it will enhance my bad reputation for it to be known that you whisked me away from the wedding service. Yes, I do believe I shall encourage that rumour. We were overcome with wild passion and could not restrain ourselves.’

‘Lady Juliana,’ Martin said, a thread of steel in his tone, ‘if I hear for one moment that you are putting that story about I shall denounce it—and you—publicly.’

Juliana opened her eyes wide. ‘But this is all your fault, Mr Davencourt, with your ridiculous suspicions of me! Most young ladies would take advantage of their abduction to oblige you to marry them!’

Martin’s lips twitched. ‘Doing it too brown, Lady Juliana. I cannot imagine that you would wish to marry me even for a minute!’

‘No, of course not. But the very least you could do is permit me to use it to enhance my poor reputation.’

‘Certainly not.’

Juliana pouted. ‘Oh, you are so stuffy! But I suppose you are correct in one sense—no one would believe in a hundred years that I could possibly be attracted to you!’

They stared at one another for a long moment, but before Martin could respond there was the sound of voices and footsteps on the tiled floor of the hall. The door was flung open and a gentleman burst in.

‘Martin, I’ve—’ He stopped abruptly, looked from Martin to Juliana and back again. ‘I beg your pardon. I had thought you to be at the wedding, and when Liddington said that you were home I did not realise you had company.’

‘I was at the wedding and I do have company,’ Martin said. He smiled slightly. ‘Lady Juliana, may I make you known to my brother Brandon? Brandon, this is Lady Juliana Myfleet.’