Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 63
“Bennett, please have a bath sent up. As you can see, I need it,” she said, moving directly for the wide marble center staircase of the town house.
“Miss Fiori, you will excuse me,” he hesitated and she turned to face him, waiting. “You have a visitor.”
Excitement flared, brief and breathtaking, as her instant thought was that Simon had called. But, no . . . there was no way he had beaten her to Ralston House—not unless he’d fled the scene of his engagement upon the announcement. As lovely as that would have been, she knew better than even to think it. Simon would never do anything so scandalous.
She ignored the fact that earlier in the evening, they’d engaged in a rather shockingly scandalous interlude.
“A visitor? For me?”
The butler’s face grew dark, betraying an emotion that Juliana did not like. “Yes, milady. Your mother.”
Dread settled, heavy and cold. Juliana shook her head. “No. I am too tired to deal with her tonight. She can wait for Gabriel.”
“She says she is here for you.”
“Well, I am not receiving. She will have to try again.”
“I am impressed. You have grown into quite the strong-willed young lady.”
Juliana froze at the words, spoken in perfect, calm Italian behind her. She met Bennett’s gaze, filled with regret, and waved him off with what she hoped was a reassuring smile before she turned to face her mother.
Whom she had not spoken to for a decade.
Her mother’s gaze scanned over her, taking in her destroyed coiffure, ruined gown, and the clumps of unidentifiable muck sticking to her, and Juliana was instantly reminded of what it was like to be Louisa Hathbourne’s daughter—when not the recipient of cool disinterest, one was showered with distaste. She’d never been good enough for her mother. All those times she’d tried to prove herself worthy of Louisa’s love . . . of her pride . . . she’d never received it.
“Do not for a moment think that you had anything to do with my character.”
“I would not dream of it, Juli.”
The diminutive—a favorite of her father’s—sent a shock of sorrow and anger through Juliana. “Don’t call me that.”
Her mother moved from the doorway to the receiving room, extending one arm to Juliana. “Will you join me? I would like to speak with you. I have been waiting for quite a long while.”
“And how does it feel to be the one waiting for someone to return? I imagine it is quite a novelty.”
Louisa’s smile was small and secret. “I deserved that.”
“And much more, I assure you.”
She considered ignoring her mother’s request. Considered finding her bedchamber and letting the older woman stew in the receiving room until she got bored and went away.
But somewhere, deep inside, Juliana was still that ten-year-old girl. The one who rushed to do her mother’s bidding in the hope that, today, she would be worthy of her attention.
She hated herself as she followed her mother into the receiving room. Hated herself as she took a seat across from her. Hated herself as she waited for this woman who had taken so much from her took more.
Time she did not want to give.
“I am sorry about Sergio. I did not know that he had passed away.”
Juliana wanted to scream at her father’s name on this viper’s tongue. Instead she matched her mother’s calm, and said, “How could you? You never looked back once you left.”
Louisa dipped her head once, acknowledging the hit. “You are right, of course.”
Apologize. Juliana thought, the words a scream in her mind. Don’t you regret it?
They sat in silence for a long moment, until Juliana was ready to leave. If Louisa thought she would carry the conversation, she was horribly wrong. She was just about to stand when her mother spoke again.
“I am happy you found Gabriel and Nick.”
“So am I.”
“Ah, so you see, something good did come of having me as a mother.” There was self-satisfaction in the words. Of course there was. Louisa had never shied away from pointing out the good things about herself.
Perhaps because there were so few of them.
“Is this the moment when I am to tell you how grateful I am that you left me? That you left them?”
At least she knew not to respond to that. “What would you like me to say, Juli?”
Her voice turned to steel. “First, I would like you to stop using that name.”
“Why? I had a part in naming you. We both called you that.”
“Only one of you deserved to.”
A look of boredom crossed Louisa’s face. “Nonsense. I gave you life. That gives me as much right as anyone to call you whatever I like. But, very well, Juliana, answer the question.” She switched to English. “What would you like from me?”
I want you to explain it. I want you to tell me why you would leave me. Why you would leave us. Why you would return.
Juliana gave a little humorless laugh, then answered in English. “The very idea that you would ask that of me is ridiculous.”
“You want me to apologize?”
“It would be an excellent beginning.”
Louisa’s cool blue gaze, so like her own, seemed to look through her. “We will be here a very long time if that is what you want.”
Juliana shrugged one shoulder. “Excellent. Then we are done.” She stood.
“Your father used to do that, too. The shrug. I am surprised that England has not beaten it out of you. It is not the most polite of mannerisms.”
“England does not have a hold on me.”
“Miss Fiori, you will excuse me,” he hesitated and she turned to face him, waiting. “You have a visitor.”
Excitement flared, brief and breathtaking, as her instant thought was that Simon had called. But, no . . . there was no way he had beaten her to Ralston House—not unless he’d fled the scene of his engagement upon the announcement. As lovely as that would have been, she knew better than even to think it. Simon would never do anything so scandalous.
She ignored the fact that earlier in the evening, they’d engaged in a rather shockingly scandalous interlude.
“A visitor? For me?”
The butler’s face grew dark, betraying an emotion that Juliana did not like. “Yes, milady. Your mother.”
Dread settled, heavy and cold. Juliana shook her head. “No. I am too tired to deal with her tonight. She can wait for Gabriel.”
“She says she is here for you.”
“Well, I am not receiving. She will have to try again.”
“I am impressed. You have grown into quite the strong-willed young lady.”
Juliana froze at the words, spoken in perfect, calm Italian behind her. She met Bennett’s gaze, filled with regret, and waved him off with what she hoped was a reassuring smile before she turned to face her mother.
Whom she had not spoken to for a decade.
Her mother’s gaze scanned over her, taking in her destroyed coiffure, ruined gown, and the clumps of unidentifiable muck sticking to her, and Juliana was instantly reminded of what it was like to be Louisa Hathbourne’s daughter—when not the recipient of cool disinterest, one was showered with distaste. She’d never been good enough for her mother. All those times she’d tried to prove herself worthy of Louisa’s love . . . of her pride . . . she’d never received it.
“Do not for a moment think that you had anything to do with my character.”
“I would not dream of it, Juli.”
The diminutive—a favorite of her father’s—sent a shock of sorrow and anger through Juliana. “Don’t call me that.”
Her mother moved from the doorway to the receiving room, extending one arm to Juliana. “Will you join me? I would like to speak with you. I have been waiting for quite a long while.”
“And how does it feel to be the one waiting for someone to return? I imagine it is quite a novelty.”
Louisa’s smile was small and secret. “I deserved that.”
“And much more, I assure you.”
She considered ignoring her mother’s request. Considered finding her bedchamber and letting the older woman stew in the receiving room until she got bored and went away.
But somewhere, deep inside, Juliana was still that ten-year-old girl. The one who rushed to do her mother’s bidding in the hope that, today, she would be worthy of her attention.
She hated herself as she followed her mother into the receiving room. Hated herself as she took a seat across from her. Hated herself as she waited for this woman who had taken so much from her took more.
Time she did not want to give.
“I am sorry about Sergio. I did not know that he had passed away.”
Juliana wanted to scream at her father’s name on this viper’s tongue. Instead she matched her mother’s calm, and said, “How could you? You never looked back once you left.”
Louisa dipped her head once, acknowledging the hit. “You are right, of course.”
Apologize. Juliana thought, the words a scream in her mind. Don’t you regret it?
They sat in silence for a long moment, until Juliana was ready to leave. If Louisa thought she would carry the conversation, she was horribly wrong. She was just about to stand when her mother spoke again.
“I am happy you found Gabriel and Nick.”
“So am I.”
“Ah, so you see, something good did come of having me as a mother.” There was self-satisfaction in the words. Of course there was. Louisa had never shied away from pointing out the good things about herself.
Perhaps because there were so few of them.
“Is this the moment when I am to tell you how grateful I am that you left me? That you left them?”
At least she knew not to respond to that. “What would you like me to say, Juli?”
Her voice turned to steel. “First, I would like you to stop using that name.”
“Why? I had a part in naming you. We both called you that.”
“Only one of you deserved to.”
A look of boredom crossed Louisa’s face. “Nonsense. I gave you life. That gives me as much right as anyone to call you whatever I like. But, very well, Juliana, answer the question.” She switched to English. “What would you like from me?”
I want you to explain it. I want you to tell me why you would leave me. Why you would leave us. Why you would return.
Juliana gave a little humorless laugh, then answered in English. “The very idea that you would ask that of me is ridiculous.”
“You want me to apologize?”
“It would be an excellent beginning.”
Louisa’s cool blue gaze, so like her own, seemed to look through her. “We will be here a very long time if that is what you want.”
Juliana shrugged one shoulder. “Excellent. Then we are done.” She stood.
“Your father used to do that, too. The shrug. I am surprised that England has not beaten it out of you. It is not the most polite of mannerisms.”
“England does not have a hold on me.”
