Jane Feather - Vice

"Who is this lady?"

Mr. Thornton bowed with a flourish. "You see her before you, ma'am." He grinned mischievously.

Maybe it explained the pink satin. However, she was still confused. "My lord duke told you all of this?"

"It's not an unusual story, my lady. Any attempt by the women to demand basic rights of their so-called employers is always defeated. However"-he took the paper from her, tapping it against the palm of his hand-"we can make life uncomfortable for them with public ridicule and public outrage. Unfortunately, it's difficult for me to find out about all the horrors that go on. I didn't know about the case of Miss Lucy Tibbet, for instance. So I have a proposition for you, Lady Edgecombe."

Juliana perched on the arm of the sofa. She glanced at Tarquin, who was leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled against his mouth, his eyes resting on her face. "Not all members of our society close our eyes to injustice, mignonne. Mr. Thornton has a powerful voice in Covent Garden. I believe his methods are more effective than inciting harlots to rebellion and landing yourself in Bridewell."

"So you… you want to help too?" she asked with a doubtful frown. It seemed impossible to believe, but what else could he mean?

"Let's just say you've opened my eyes," he said wryly.

Juliana was so taken aback, she wasn't aware for a moment that Mr. Thornton had begun to talk again. He coughed pointedly to attract her attention and continued. "As I was saying, Lady Edgecombe, I understand you have friends in the Garden. Women who are in a position to know what goes on. If you can encourage them to confide in you, then I will have the material to make war."

"Act as a spy, you mean?"

"An informant," Tarquin said.

"I will also hold whatever funds you're able to collect," Mr. Thornton went on, "and take responsibility for disbursing them to those women in need. Their employers may quarrel with my apparent philanthropy, but they'll have no excuse to be avenged upon the women, so no one need fear reprisals." Mr. Thornton nodded his head decisively.

"I prefer to be doing things," Juliana said. "Just telling tales seems a little pathetic."

"But when you do things, Juliana, you fall head over heels into trouble," the duke pointed out. Bonnell Thornton chuckled, and Juliana flushed but didn't attempt to deny the truth.

"Your fault, mignonne, lies in overestimating your abilities to change the world," continued Tarquin. "You can't do it without assistance."

"That's what I said yesterday."

"And as you see, I took it to heart."

"Yes," she agreed slowly. It was still hard to believe her words could have had such an effect. She turned back to Bonnell Thornton. "Well, if you think this will work, Mr. Thornton, then of course I'll help however I can."

"Good. You will see that we can make a difference little by little… Well, I'll take my leave now. Your Grace…" He bowed to the duke, who rose politely and escorted him to the door. Juliana curtsied as the visitor took her bandaged hand gently and lightly kissed her fingertips. "Good day, Lady Edgecombe. I look forward to our association."

Tarquin closed the door after him, then turned back to Juliana. "I know you think it poor work, my dear, but believe me, it's the best you can do."

Juliana was not too sure about that. She could think of many ways in which she could become more actively involved in Mr. Bonnell Thornton's activities. But it would not be politic to mention them at this point. "I can't do Mr. Thornton's work without visiting my friends," she pointed out.

"No," he agreed, strolling to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of sherry. "But you won't forget to take Ted with you, will you?"

Juliana shook her head. "Why have you changed your mind?"

He set down the decanter and came across to her. Cupping her face between his hands, he brushed her eyelids with his lips. "You work the strangest magic, mignonne. I believe if you put your mind to it, you could melt a heart of marble." He ran his thumb over her mouth, his smile rueful. "I can't say I enjoy being the target of your reforming zeal." He kissed her as she was still searching for a response. "Go back upstairs now. You look exhausted."

She was suddenly feeling both queasy and overwhelmingly sleepy. Her brain couldn't get around his words. Were they really a declaration of some kind? A promise of some kind? She tried to find a response, but there was something in his eyes that told her he didn't want her to say anything. His hands on her shoulders were turning her toward the door. "Go to Henny, Juliana." And she went without a word.

She lay back on the chaise longue beneath the bedroom window while Henny took off her shoes and unlaced her bodice. Her hand drifted to her belly. This child would know only a guardian and an uncle. He would never know a father. All the loving tenderness in the world couldn't soften that fact. And once Tarquin knew she was carrying his child, it would no longer be exclusively hers, even in her womb. How long could she keep it to herself?

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"Henny says Juliana can't seem to wake up today." Quentin sounded worried as he stood before the library fire, lit against the damp chill of the rainy day. "Could she have suffered more than we saw?"

"I don't believe so." Tarquin sipped his port. "I believe there's something else behind it."

"What?" Quentin reached for his own glass on the mantel.

Tarquin yawned. "It's for Juliana to say. I daresay she'll tell me in her own good time." He stretched his legs to the tire. "There are times when an evening at home is most delightful."

"Particularly listening to that." Quentin gestured to the window where the rain drummed monotonously. "It's a foul night to be abroad."

"Yes, and the thought that my troublesome mignonne is tucked up safely in her bed is very comforting." Tarquin yawned again.

Quentin looked into his glass. "Will you hide this liaison from Lydia when she's your wife?" His voice was stiff, his eyes strained.

Tarquin looked up, the sleepy indolence vanishing from his eyes. "What do you mean, Quentin?"

"What do you think I mean?" Quentin jumped to his feet. The agony of his frustration was suddenly no longer bearable. "You will have both Juliana and Lydia under your roof. Will you conceal your true relationship with Juliana from Lydia?"

Tarquin stared at him in astonishment. Quentin's face was pale, his lips bloodless.

"I cannot endure it, Tarquin! I cannot endure that you would treat Lydia in such fashion. I love her, God help me. And I will not stand by and watch you ruin both our lives." His hands twisted themselves into impossible knots, his gray eyes burning holes in his white face.

"You… you and Lydia!" Tarquin stuttered. "You and Lvdia?"

"Yes."

"Lydia… Lydia knows how you feel?" He still couldn't seem to grasp this.

"Yes."

"And… and does she return your feelings?"

Quentin nodded.

"Dear God!" Tarquin ran a hand through his hair. "You and Lydia love each other? I know you've always had a special regard for her, but…"

"Sometimes, Tarquin, you are so damned blind you can't see the nose on your face!" Quentin declared, feeling suddenly purged, as if a great load had been taken from him. "It took Juliana five minutes to see-"

"Juliana!" Now he remembered her hints. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he muttered.

"I will not stand by and see you insult Lydia by keeping your mistress under the same roof," Quentin reiterated, his voice now strong.

Tarquin said nothing, merely stared into the fire. He was realizing that he couldn't imagine insulting Juliana in such fashion either. What in the devil's name was happening to him?

"Do you hear me, Tarquin?"