Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 79
Georgiana squeezed her hand and smiled. “I was, too, for a while. But now I am here for as long as Nick and Isabel will have me, and Caroline is healthy, and I find it difficult to care.”
I find it difficult to care. In all the time that she had been in England, for all the times that she had scoffed at the disdainful words and glances from the ton, Juliana had never not cared. Even when she had tried her best, she had cared.
She had cared what Simon had thought.
Cared that he would never think her enough.
Even as she had known it to be true.
And she envied this strong, spirited woman who faced her uncertain future with such confidence.
“It may not be proper for me to say it,” Juliana said, “but they are idiots for casting you aside. The ballrooms of London could benefit from a woman with such spirit.”
Georgiana’s eyes gleamed with wry humor. “It is not at all proper for you to say it. But we both know that the ballrooms of London can hardly bear one woman with spirit. What would they do with two of us?”
Juliana laughed. “When you decide to return, my lady, we shall cut a wide, scandalous path together. My family has a particular fondness for children with questionable parentage, you see—” She trailed off, realizing that she had gone too far. “I am sorry. I did not mean to say that . . .”
“Nonsense,” Georgiana said, waving one hand in the air to dismiss the apology. “Caroline is most definitely of questionable parentage.” She grinned. “So I am quite happy to know that there is at least one drawing room where we will be received.”
“May I ask . . .”
Georgiana met her gaze with admiration. “You do not worry about propriety, do you, Miss Fiori?” Juliana looked away with chagrin. “It is an old tale, tiresome and devastatingly trite. I thought he loved me, and maybe he did. But sometimes love is not enough—more often than not, I think.” There was no sadness in the tone, no regret. Juliana met Georgiana’s amber gaze and saw honesty there, a clarity that belied her age.
Sometimes love is not enough.
They walked in silence back to the house, those words echoing over and over in Juliana’s mind.
Words she would do well to remember.
Chapter Sixteen
Lifelong companionship begins with softness and temerity.
Delicate ladies do not speak freely with gentlemen.
—A Treatise on the Most Exquisite of Ladies
The Guy is not the only one with a fiery temperament this autumn . . .
—The Scandal Sheet, November 1823
Most days of the year, the village of Dunscroft was a quiet place—the idyllic country life interrupted by the occasional loose bull or runaway carriage, but in the grand scheme of small English towns, there was little in the village worthy of note.
Not so on Bonfire Night.
All of Dunscroft had come out for the festivities, it seemed. It was just after sundown, and the village green was filled with the trappings of the celebration—lanterns had been lit around the perimeter of the greensward, bathing the stalls that lined the outside of the space in a lovely golden glow.
Juliana stepped down from the carriage and was immediately accosted by the smells and sounds of the carnival atmosphere. There were hundreds of people on the greensward, all enjoying one part of the fair or another—children in paper masks chased through the legs of their elders before tripping upon impromptu puppet shows or smiling girls with trays of candy apples.
There was a pig roasting several yards away, and Juliana watched as a group of young men nearby attempted to shake a living statue from his impressively rigid pose with their jesting and dancing. She laughed at the picture they made in their buffoonery, enjoying the welcome sensation.
“You see?” Isabel said from her side. “I told you that you had nothing to worry about.”
“I am still not certain,” Juliana replied with a smile. “I do not see the bonfire you promised.”
A pyre had been set up at the center of the town square, an enormous pile of wood topped with a sorry-looking straw man. The head of the effigy listed dangerously to one side, threatening that it would take a light breeze rather than a blazing fire to bring him down. Children were running in circles around the unlit bonfire, singing and chanting, and a fat baby sat off to one side, covered in sticky toffee.
Juliana turned to her sister-in-law with a smile. “This does not seem at all frightening.”
“Just wait until the children have eaten their fill of sweets, and there is a great inferno from which to protect them. Then you shall see frightening.” Isabel peered through the crowd of people, searching. “Most of the girls should be here already. The house was empty save for Nick and Leighton when we left.”
The mention of Simon set Juliana on edge. She’d been thinking of him all day—had spent much of the morning finding reasons to move in and out of rooms, to fetch things from near the nursery and visit her brother in his study, all to no avail.
He’d all but disappeared.
She knew she should be happy that he was keeping his distance. Knew she should not tempt fate. He had made his choice, after all—it was only a matter of time before he returned to London and married another.
Someone he thought highly of.
Someone who matched him in name and station.
And now, instead of doing her best to forget him, she was standing in the middle of a mass of strange Englishmen, wearing one of her most flattering frocks, and wishing that he was here.
Wondering why he wasn’t here.
Even as she knew he was not for her.
It should be easier—here in the country, protected from the rest of the world, from the scandal of long-missing mothers and illegitimate children, far from marriages of convenience and betrothal balls and whispers and gossip.
I find it difficult to care. In all the time that she had been in England, for all the times that she had scoffed at the disdainful words and glances from the ton, Juliana had never not cared. Even when she had tried her best, she had cared.
She had cared what Simon had thought.
Cared that he would never think her enough.
Even as she had known it to be true.
And she envied this strong, spirited woman who faced her uncertain future with such confidence.
“It may not be proper for me to say it,” Juliana said, “but they are idiots for casting you aside. The ballrooms of London could benefit from a woman with such spirit.”
Georgiana’s eyes gleamed with wry humor. “It is not at all proper for you to say it. But we both know that the ballrooms of London can hardly bear one woman with spirit. What would they do with two of us?”
Juliana laughed. “When you decide to return, my lady, we shall cut a wide, scandalous path together. My family has a particular fondness for children with questionable parentage, you see—” She trailed off, realizing that she had gone too far. “I am sorry. I did not mean to say that . . .”
“Nonsense,” Georgiana said, waving one hand in the air to dismiss the apology. “Caroline is most definitely of questionable parentage.” She grinned. “So I am quite happy to know that there is at least one drawing room where we will be received.”
“May I ask . . .”
Georgiana met her gaze with admiration. “You do not worry about propriety, do you, Miss Fiori?” Juliana looked away with chagrin. “It is an old tale, tiresome and devastatingly trite. I thought he loved me, and maybe he did. But sometimes love is not enough—more often than not, I think.” There was no sadness in the tone, no regret. Juliana met Georgiana’s amber gaze and saw honesty there, a clarity that belied her age.
Sometimes love is not enough.
They walked in silence back to the house, those words echoing over and over in Juliana’s mind.
Words she would do well to remember.
Chapter Sixteen
Lifelong companionship begins with softness and temerity.
Delicate ladies do not speak freely with gentlemen.
—A Treatise on the Most Exquisite of Ladies
The Guy is not the only one with a fiery temperament this autumn . . .
—The Scandal Sheet, November 1823
Most days of the year, the village of Dunscroft was a quiet place—the idyllic country life interrupted by the occasional loose bull or runaway carriage, but in the grand scheme of small English towns, there was little in the village worthy of note.
Not so on Bonfire Night.
All of Dunscroft had come out for the festivities, it seemed. It was just after sundown, and the village green was filled with the trappings of the celebration—lanterns had been lit around the perimeter of the greensward, bathing the stalls that lined the outside of the space in a lovely golden glow.
Juliana stepped down from the carriage and was immediately accosted by the smells and sounds of the carnival atmosphere. There were hundreds of people on the greensward, all enjoying one part of the fair or another—children in paper masks chased through the legs of their elders before tripping upon impromptu puppet shows or smiling girls with trays of candy apples.
There was a pig roasting several yards away, and Juliana watched as a group of young men nearby attempted to shake a living statue from his impressively rigid pose with their jesting and dancing. She laughed at the picture they made in their buffoonery, enjoying the welcome sensation.
“You see?” Isabel said from her side. “I told you that you had nothing to worry about.”
“I am still not certain,” Juliana replied with a smile. “I do not see the bonfire you promised.”
A pyre had been set up at the center of the town square, an enormous pile of wood topped with a sorry-looking straw man. The head of the effigy listed dangerously to one side, threatening that it would take a light breeze rather than a blazing fire to bring him down. Children were running in circles around the unlit bonfire, singing and chanting, and a fat baby sat off to one side, covered in sticky toffee.
Juliana turned to her sister-in-law with a smile. “This does not seem at all frightening.”
“Just wait until the children have eaten their fill of sweets, and there is a great inferno from which to protect them. Then you shall see frightening.” Isabel peered through the crowd of people, searching. “Most of the girls should be here already. The house was empty save for Nick and Leighton when we left.”
The mention of Simon set Juliana on edge. She’d been thinking of him all day—had spent much of the morning finding reasons to move in and out of rooms, to fetch things from near the nursery and visit her brother in his study, all to no avail.
He’d all but disappeared.
She knew she should be happy that he was keeping his distance. Knew she should not tempt fate. He had made his choice, after all—it was only a matter of time before he returned to London and married another.
Someone he thought highly of.
Someone who matched him in name and station.
And now, instead of doing her best to forget him, she was standing in the middle of a mass of strange Englishmen, wearing one of her most flattering frocks, and wishing that he was here.
Wondering why he wasn’t here.
Even as she knew he was not for her.
It should be easier—here in the country, protected from the rest of the world, from the scandal of long-missing mothers and illegitimate children, far from marriages of convenience and betrothal balls and whispers and gossip.
