Page 28 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)

Lady Juliana Carrington remained motionless as her maid adjusted the hem of her gown.

The full-length mirror that stood before her reflected the image of a poised young woman who seemed to have the world at her feet and yet, much of her life was filled with uncertainty.

She flexed her fingers nervously as Annie rose, giving her a small smile.

“Very good, milady. This was the perfect choice, and it complements your eyes beautifully.”

Juliana smiled, turning in place in order to admire the lavender gown she had selected. Despite the nerves that had plagued her since breakfast, she was confident in her appearance. The gentle beading about the bodice and soft folds of the fabric flattered her figure well.

“Thank you, Annie. Did you find the hairpin?”

The maid shook her head. “No, milady, but I have not seen Mr Harper yet. He told me he would search your mother’s jewellery box after he dressed the duke. I shall go to him directly.”

“Thank you, Annie.”

Juliana watched her maid whisk away onto the landing, the snap of the door loud against the quiet of her bedchamber. She listened to the crackle of the fire, and the gentle murmur of voices from below stairs, trying to slow her racing heart.

Her fingers moved to her neck, pressing gently against the chain of the locket that hung there.

What I wouldn’t give to have Mama here with me tonight.

She sighed, pulling the delicate chain outward and looking at the locket between her fingers. The oval shape was so familiar it might have been a part of her. The tiny scratches and imperfections on its surface were a comforting presence. The metal felt warm between her fingers. She kissed it gently, closing her eyes, trying to conjure the image of her mother and what she might say if she were standing before her now.

Juliana opened the locket, staring at her mother’s beloved face, frozen in time in the tiny painted portrait as though she had been captured there forever. The ivory surface glimmered in the firelight as she closed it, placing it back in its rightful place and sighing heavily. Twelve years, and it was still painful to think of her.

Walking to the window, Juliana looked out into the darkness of the night. The gentle glow of the candles in the drawing room bathed the lawn in a dim light as a fox darted away into the shadows. It was mid-April, but it had been unseasonably warm in recent days. The weather had brought on a plethora of picnics and garden parties amidst the frivolities of the London season, but Almack’s, tonight, would be one of the first major events she would attend.

She looked down at the lawn, hoping for another glimpse of the fox, even a glimmer of his eyes looking up at her in the darkness, but there was nothing. She took a deep breath, attempting to calm her fluttering nerves but they persisted despite her best efforts to quell them.

It was not so long ago that she would have anticipated Almack’s with relish, but all she felt tonight was concern.

Her father’s behaviour had become increasingly erratic over recent months. Juliana rarely saw him in any real capacity these days. The marquess was either buried in his ledgers or sitting opposite her at the dining table, his eyes reading over correspondence and papers, barely conversing with her at all. It was in those times that she missed her mother most of all. Her father’s distance was a fresh new pain she struggled to accept.

At eight years old, before her mother had left them, life was simpler. Juliana had been cheerful and carefree, living an existence filled with love and happiness. Then, when her mother had died, her father had become increasingly withdrawn.

For a time, that was simply the way of things. She understood his grief as she grew older, trying to manage as best she could with occasional visits and snatched conversations of an evening. She would read, learn about the ways of society from her friends and tutors and convince herself she was content.

Her debut had taken place without a great deal of fanfare following her seventeenth birthday, but she still felt out of place in the glittering ballrooms of the ton—never fully believing that she belonged in that world.

After her first, fairly uneventful season, she was satisfied that she had done all she could to uphold her reputation. But then the whispers began.

They were the kind of whispers that could go unnoticed on most occasions, but Juliana had always been an observant person, drawn to every detail, and she had quickly begun to notice the glances as she entered a room.

She did not understand what had occurred to cause the shift, but she knew that some scandal swirled around her family, and it had never truly faded. She still felt observed from all sides, as though something was hovering above her head, waiting to strike. She had often asked her father about it, but he refused to speak on the subject. Something had happened, but he would not tell her what.

Juliana’s jaw clenched as frustration bloomed in her chest. Her father’s decline had continued, and he had spent more and more time in his study, his hair growing gray with worry.

Juliana had begun to receive far fewer invitations to functions and often heard the servants gossiping about the ‘state of affairs’. She had even heard two footmen speaking about whether they should look for positions elsewhere— given the circumstances.

I wish Father would tell me what is happening. Does he think me so foolish that I do not notice how people look at us now?

She turned back from the window as Annie re-entered the room, a smile on her face as she brandished the hairpin. It was a simple design covered in purple stones that made up the shape of lavender flowers. The delicate shade of it was perfect for her ensemble, and Annie cooed over it as she placed it into Juliana’s hair.

“Now you are ready for anything,” she said, her eyes shining.

Juliana managed to return her smile, even as her chest tightened once more. If only that were true.

***

On the other side of London, Kenneth Rutley, the Duke of Farenstone, sat in his study glaring at the fire, his fingers gripping his brandy glass tight enough to shatter it.

His gaze moved to the portrait above the mantelpiece, nausea creeping through his gut at the familiar sight of his father’s face and the yawning space that the man had left in his life.

Kenneth knocked back the brandy in one swallow, muttering a low curse. He could not afford to have another drink before Almack’s or every insufferable lady he danced with would believe him a drunk. He set the glass to one side and rose, walking to the fire and leaning against the mantel.

He could not shake the anger that plagued him, black thoughts closing in on all sides. He was still in two minds as to whether attending tonight was a sensible decision, but he doubted he would have much choice if his sister had anything to do with it.

Kenneth had been travelling for much of the last two months and had had a dull season until now. He had been careful to attend the occasional event, to save face, but now he was back in London, he needed to ensure he was seen out and about as often as he could, particularly if he were to put his plans into action.

He was finally in a strong enough position financially to be able to relax his efforts to save his estate for a few short weeks, and now there would be nothing left to stand in his way against those who had wronged him.

I will find a way to destroy Lord Carwood and everything he represents. I shall have my revenge for my father, no matter how long it may take.

He glanced again at his father’s imposing countenance. He knew the late duke would approve of his intentions—Edmund Carrington, The Marquess of Carwood, had ruined him, had almost destroyed their whole family, in fact, and it had taken Kenneth the best part of three years to redress the balance.

“I will avenge you, Father,” he whispered solemnly. “If it is the last thing I do, I shall find a way to make him pay.”

There was a gentle knock at the door and Kenneth straightened, his eyes flicking to the empty glass on his desk, wishing he had had the sense to place it back. Before he could move to do so, however, his grandmother entered the room. Dignified as ever, Lady Verity Spencer looked the picture of regal elegance, even with a cane in her hand. Her soft gray hair was tied back in a graceful fashion, a lace choker about her neck, and bright diamonds in her ears.

Kenneth stood up a little straighter as her eyes scanned the room and alighted on the glass almost immediately. Her lips pursed, but there was gentle amusement in her expression as she looked at him.

“You will need to walk straight if you are escorting me this evening,” she said coolly, and Kenneth resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“One brandy, Grandmama, I will not disgrace you.”

“As if you ever could, dear boy,” she said, walking up to him and straightening his cravat. Kenneth endured it, hating to be fussed with, but her gray eyes were uncertain as she looked up at him. “Katherine has been speaking of nothing but this ball for weeks. I know you do not favour such things—”

“Not at all, I assure you,” he said automatically as the older woman scoffed.

“Please do not pretend for my sake, Kenneth,” she said sternly. “You do not lie to me. I have no illusions that you will be anticipating this evening with any great relish, but I know you will do your duty. I can always rely on you for that.”

He offered her his arm, and as she took it, he supported her weight as she leaned more heavily against him. “How is your back?” he asked.

“Not so bad,” Lady Spencer said evenly, “but not so good either. I believe the salts the physician gave me are helping.”

“And the tonic, are you taking it?”

She sighed. “It does me no good.”

“Grandmama, you are as stubborn as a mule.”

She chuckled. “I rather think that is the pot calling the kettle black, but no matter. I shall take it this evening. It is no use to me when I have an engagement, it makes me tired.”

“Very well then.” Kenneth moved them toward the door of the study. “Where is the fairy?”

“She is flitting about outside waiting for her brother, of course,” his grandmother said affectionately. “I shall never understand where that girl gets her energy.”

“I believe it comes with youth. I remember being seventeen and attending my first ball, but I did not have Katherine’s exuberance about it.”

“Well! You are only nine and twenty. Imagine being my age and trying to recall such things ,” she said with a wry smile.

As he opened the door of the study, his own lips curved upward at the corners when he saw his sister Katherine descending the stairs with a skip in her step. She was in a gown of pale pink this evening, her blonde hair tied back in long tresses about her head. She grinned down at them, looking just as excited as Kenneth had expected.

Her bright expression gave him pause—he could not recall the last time he had felt such joy at anything. Since he had returned to London, he had been mired in his plans for revenge.

How pleasant it would be to be carefree once more. I have no time for joy or excitement. Not until Carwood is ruined forever.

“You look very pretty,” he said sincerely as Katherine twirled in front of him, reminding him of their mother.

“Grandmama, you look beautiful!” Katherine said with her usual earnestness. Verity laughed, shaking her head at the girl as a servant informed them that the carriage was ready. Part of him dreaded the evening ahead of them, but it was a necessary situation.

Tonight, I will finally be able to put my plans into action. I have waited long enough.

***

Juliana tried to ignore the judgmental gazes of the matrons at Almack’s as she walked through the doors. Given the strange atmosphere surrounding her family of late, she was merely happy to have been granted an invitation.

The pale gray walls and floral ornamentation across the ceiling flickered in the light of hundreds of candles placed about the room. Dozens of couples, gentlemen, and ladies walked before her, the room a flurry of movement and noise as she glanced at her father.

The marquess stood beside her, his face a mask of indifference. His hair was longer than the fashion, curling about the base of his neck but still thick despite the streaks of gray within it. His sharp moustache and short beard gave him a distinguished air, but his eyes were tired.

“I think I see Lady Clara Beaumont,” Juliana said tentatively. As soon as she spoke, her father seemed to snap out of his reverie, and his gaze fell upon her. The marquess’s eyes softened just a fraction, and he released her arm, nodding.

“Very well, I did not know she had returned already.”

“Yes, she wrote to me last week to let me know she was back from Italy. I was not sure if she would be in attendance tonight.”

“Go to her, my dear. I shall look for some refreshment,” his eyes glazed over again as he moved through the crowds toward the refreshment table at the side of the room. There was a bright pink bowl of punch in the centre that looked very inviting indeed, but Juliana made her way to Clara before she could become distracted by such things.

It was good to see a friendly face. Clara’s dark hair stood out amongst the brunettes and blondes about the room; her bronzed skin and dark brown eyes all the more beautiful since her time in the Italian sun.

As Juliana moved toward Lady Clara, the same unease enveloped her; several pairs of eyes seemed to linger on her for longer than was necessary. Some men even stared at her quite impertinently as she made her way through the crowds. She swallowed, holding her nerve as she reached Clara and gripped her friend’s hands rather too tightly.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you have returned,” she said, forcing a smile. “How was your journey home? I did not know if I would see you tonight.”

“I insisted,” Clara said with a knowing smirk. “Papa is the greatest bore when he has been travelling. He refuses to do a thing for weeks on end once we are home. I am not prepared to wait out the remainder of the season in a chair before the fireplace for his benefit. Besides, I was desirous to see you. You look so beautiful I can hardly bear it.”

Juliana laughed. “Do be serious, Clara.”

“It is true. Every man in the room is staring at you. I feel like a shadow.”

“You speak such nonsense. You are a vision, as always,” Juliana’s gaze flitted about the room a little uncertainly. “Although, I am not sure it is our beauty, but my presence that is causing them to stare.”

Clara’s brow furrowed. “Has your father spoken any more of what you told me? You said in your letters that things had been strange the last few months.”

“Do you not see it? There are rumours all around us, I am sure, but he will not tell me what has happened.”

Clara’s frown deepened. “But you have received an invitation here . They would not have done so if there were a whiff of scandal against your name.”

“Mayhap not,” Juliana said softly. “Or perhaps it merely affects my father, and for now, they still wish to have me in their company. Who knows? But I feel ill at ease tonight. A strange feeling trails my path.”

“Let us hope that you will be asked to dance, then, to take your mind off things.”

Juliana smiled at her friend as they turned to look about the room at the men who were mingling in their vicinity.

Many of them were handsome, and the majority were rich, but without question, they were usually also superior and arrogant. Clara had often called her cynical, but Juliana understood the world in which they lived. The majority of the men who approached her were looking for a wife, and there was rarely any genuine feeling involved in their activities.

As she watched the bodies moving to and fro, there was a movement by the door, and a very different type of man entered, one she recognized all too well.

There was a general flutter in the room as many ladies noticed the Duke of Farenstone gracing them with his presence.

Kenneth kept his head held high as he walked through the door of Almack’s with Katherine and his grandmother on either side of him. The room was already packed with people, and he scanned it for his quarry, sure that Carwood would be in attendance if he wasn’t already in the card room.

Katherine was bouncing on the balls of her feet, looking about her with much excitement. His grandmother’s sharp eyes surveyed the throng with practised ease, taking in everything, as she always did, and every detail of those present.

He tried his best to mask the irritation he felt at the number of people who were already in the room before him. He was interested in only one individual, and the crush was unexpected.

“Lady Clara Beaumont has returned from Italy, brother, may we go and speak with her?” Katherine asked. “She told me of her travels at my debut and I long to know what the continent had to offer.”

Kenneth glanced at his grandmother, who dutifully pulled her arm free of his and gave him a nod as he walked across the room with his sister.

“Katherine, would you desist in pulling my arm to such a degree? It is not proper.”

Katherine deflated, the excitement fading from her instantly as though it had never been. Kenneth cursed his irritable tongue and sighed, pulling her a little closer to him.

“Forgive me,” he said gently. “I am out of sorts this evening. I know you are excited, but I would prefer that I am not pulled across the room.”

Katherine’s sad expression changed to a happy smile, and Kenneth felt his chest loosen at the sight. She was such a source of happiness and light in his life; he never wished to be the reason for her losing her enthusiasm.

“Is it always this crowded?” Katherine asked as they were jostled by those passing by.

“Usually, it settles down,” he said, drawing her closer to his body to protect her from the mingling crowd. “Everyone will dissipate once the dancing starts.”

As though on cue, the participants began to take their positions for the first dance of the evening. As they approached the group of women, Kenneth recognized Lady Clara Beaumont by her dark hair, and then his heart picked up as he noted her companion. That is Juliana Carrington. Carwood must be here if his daughter is in attendance, surely!

Lady Juliana Carrington was someone he had not spoken to at any great length, but they had moved in the same circles for a number of years. Kenneth, having been away for a large portion of the prior season, had not seen her for some time, and the transformation surprised him.

She had always been beautiful, with sharp features, her full mouth and wide eyes making her seem all the more ethereal as he looked at her. But it was the grace in her movements and her demeanour that surprised him now. She seemed more confident in herself, more poised. It was an agreeable change and one he intended to use to his advantage.

As they approached. Kenneth glanced about for her father, but Carwood was nowhere in sight, and Kenneth felt a surge of frustration, hoping Lady Juliana had not come as a companion to one of her friends.

As Katherine asked Lady Clara questions about Italy, Kenneth’s eyes were repeatedly drawn to Lady Juliana. A plan began forming in his mind, even as he recognized its dangers. He had no interest in undermining Carwood’s daughter in any physical sense, but if he were to draw closer to her, it could very well play a part in the man’s downfall.

After all, a marriage to a duke could be a lucrative thing for a man who only cares about lining his pockets.

Carwood is sure to be intrigued by my attention.

Katherine was deep in conversation as Kenneth turned to Lady Juliana. Her eyes were a very unusual shade of green as she glanced up at him, and he found himself surprised by their bright, clean colour.

“Are you engaged for this set, Lady Juliana?” he asked as the strains of a waltz began to spread through the room.

She raised her eyebrows, and Kenneth suddenly noticed that all the other ladies in the group were staring at them, wide-eyed, including his sister.

“I am not, your Grace, I thank you.”

He bowed, offering her his arm, and led her to the dance floor, trying not to dwell for any great length of time on the whispers that sprang up behind them as he did so.

Juliana held her breath as she made her way through the room, acutely aware of many eyes following them for quite a different reason than when she had first arrived. The invitation to dance with the Duke of Farenstone had been so unexpected she had hardly had any time to process it before she accepted.

She glanced up at him, the dark locks of his hair falling loosely over his forehead. He had a stoic face, very stern and severe, and she had rarely seen him smile. His hazel eyes were cold and calculating as he looked at the dance floor ahead of them and Juliana felt a wave of uncertainty as they reached it and turned to face one another.

All I have to do is dance with the man. It cannot do anything but improve my standing in society, even if he did seem to ask me as an afterthought.

Behind her, Juliana could see Clara standing up with Lord Nathaniel Harris, a man she knew was a close friend of the duke’s— had they planned this together?

The dance began as they moved in elegant, slow circles about the floor. She could discern nothing from her dance partner. His expression was blank; eyes focused on the crowd around them. She swallowed nervously, trying to think of something to say, feeling strangely off-balance in his presence. The duke’s dancing was impeccable, probably one of the best dance partners she had ever had, in fact, but his body was stiff against hers, giving nothing away.

“I do not believe I have been introduced to your sister, your Grace, is she recently out?” Juliana managed finally, after an interminable minute of complete silence.

The duke did not glance down at her, his fingers tightening a fraction against her own, but that was the only outward sign that he had heard her.

“Indeed.”

That was all he said. Juliana attempted to think of another question, but her mind went blank at the dismissiveness of his manner. Did he truly wish to dance with me? Why did he ask me if he was uninterested in making my acquaintance?

She glanced at Lord Harris and Clara, who were chatting amiably about the floor. As she was watching, Clara laughed easily, and she saw Lord Harris smile in response. Looking back at the duke, she found his gaze hovering just to the right of her ear, the hand at her back impersonal and firm.

I might as well be dancing with a plank of wood.

The waltz seemed never-ending. Juliana managed another couple of comments about the room and the elegance of the couples, but the duke gave her a single word in reply, his attention elsewhere.

As the dance came to an end, she felt flustered and out of sorts, wondering if she had somehow done wrong by him without her knowing it. She smoothed her features into a bland smile as he led her from the floor. The Duke of Farenstone might be known for his looks and fortune, but his personality left much to be desired.

Kenneth had finally spotted Edmund Carrington standing against a pillar at the side of the room and could feel the tension thrumming through him as he led Lady Juliana back toward her father. Kenneth caught the eye of his grandmother as he moved through the crowd, and she raised an arched brow at him, running her eyes curiously over Lady Juliana.

Never fear, Grandmama, this will all be for the greater good.

Kenneth kept her hand loosely in his as he walked across the marble floor toward Lord Carwood. The man seemed small in the wide space, hunched forward, heavy bags beneath his eyes, and his gaze furtive, darting about the room uncertainly.

Carwood did not notice them until right at the last moment, and his eyes widened comically as he saw his daughter walking beside Kenneth.

“Lord Carwood,” Kenneth remarked, injecting just enough coldness into his voice to be noted but not so much that it would be remarked upon.

Lord Carwood’s throat worked as he swallowed convulsively, giving his daughter a watery smile as she moved to stand beside him. Lady Juliana, for her part, appeared not to have missed the coldness in Kenneth’s tone, and she gave him an icy gaze of her own.

Like father like daughter, it would seem.

“Your Grace,” Lord Carwood said, his voice thin and quiet as he bowed to him. “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

It took all of Kenneth’s strength not to scoff in the man’s face. The hostility and tension between them felt almost like a physical presence, bearing down upon them as if a heavy burden of leaden chains were clasped about their throats. Kenneth could not tear his eyes away from Carwood’s soft gaze, wishing he could tell the man exactly what he thought of him.

I could plant a fist into his eye. Perhaps that will remind him of all I have had to endure over the past four years of misery.

“Your Grace!” came a jovial voice from behind him. “I thought that was you.”

Kenneth turned to see Lord Alistair Rutherford, the Earl of Rothbridge, and his wife, Cecilia Rutherford, approaching. Kenneth took a hasty step back, relieved by their sudden arrival, chastising himself for allowing his anger to get the better of his carefully constructed plans.

Lord Rutherford was a wiry man in his fifties, less stocky than Carwood’s wider frame, with short, wavy brown hair with streaks of gray through it. He had a long slender nose and light brown eyes, an easy smile on his lips as he bowed to Kenneth.

“How wonderful to see you again. It has been too long, my friend,” he slapped him on the shoulder and it reminded Kenneth how tense he was. He forced himself to relax, glancing at Carwood, who had retreated a little further, his face a mask of relief. “Lord Carwood, Lady Juliana, a pleasure to see you,” Rothbridge added with a genial smile.

Juliana curtsied, her gaze still cold as ice as she glanced up at Kenneth. His stomach rolled, wondering if his foolish hot-headedness had given too much away. He turned quickly.

“Lord Rothbridge, Lady Rothbridge.”

He bowed, trying to think of something to say, but an awkward silence fell between them all. Rothbridge’s eyes darted between Kenneth and Carwood curiously, and Kenneth flexed his fingers behind his back.

“My apologies, Lord Rothbridge,” Lord Carwood said suddenly. “I was just about to make my way over to an acquaintance. If you will excuse me.”

The man departed quickly, his gait stiff and uncomfortable as he eased his way through the crowds. Kenneth watched him go schooling his features into a mask of indifference.

Juliana watched the duke in confusion as he tracked her father across the room. Lady Rothbridge began to speak of the dancing and the plethora of couples in attendance but Juliana was only listening with half an ear. What is between the duke and Father? She could not fathom it. It was impossible to miss the tension between the two men—had they quarrelled, perhaps?

The duke murmured something as Lord Rothbridge asked about his journey, but his eyes were unfocused and distant, just as they had been about the floor.

Juliana watched him discreetly, observing the tightness of his jaw, the tired lines around his eyes, and the stiffness of his posture.

Despite his coldness toward her, Juliana was dismayed to find herself intrigued by the man.