Nicola Cornick - Wayward Widow

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.’