Midnight Mistress Page 23

  “And what noble reason would there be, cousin, for the fact that your merchant ships have been transporting stolen documents to French foreign agents for the past three months?”

  For a long while, nothing moved in the courtyard save a lone bottle green fly that skipped from flower to flower. But in Juliana’s mind, thoughts whirled. Connor’s words of last night came back to her. You have no idea what I am capable of. As her manager, he would have had access to her cargo shipments and could have easily hidden documents inside them. What if the Admiralty dispatches were not the first secret papers he had stolen? What if he really was—? “No, I will not believe it. He would never abuse my trust in that way. Your information is false.”

  “No lass, ’tis all too true.”

  Startled, Juliana spun around, and saw a familiar rumpled figure at the courtyard entrance. “Mr. McGregor?”

  “I swear I dinna know, not until you’d gone missing. We searched through all the office papers, trying to find out some clue of why you’d disappeared. It wasn’t long before we came across the evidence of the captain’s dealings. Betrayed us all, he did. Since the first day. And it’s myself I blame for ever suggestin’ you bring that foul traitor into our fold.”

  “No, I am the one to blame,” admitted a large man who ambled to McGregor’s side. Commodore Jolly took off his naval hat, and fiddled dejectedly with the brim as he continued. “When McGregor brought me the proof, I could not believe it either. But there’s no doubt—the Admiralty’s put out warrants for the man’s arrest. He’s been in Boney’s back pocket for longer than anyone suspected. And when it became clear he’d kidnapped you—oh, my dear, we’ve been so worried.”

  The commodore folded her into his arms, but even his supporting embrace barely kept her from sinking to the ground. She might have her doubts about Grenville, but these men were her trusted friends. They would not lie to her. And if they were telling the truth, then Connor—

  “This is a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

  “I only wish it were,” Grenville answered, with something like real regret in his eyes. “But the charges against the man are mounting by the day. Larceny, transport of illegal goods, treason. There is even some evidence that he may be a murderer.…”

  “No!” She pushed out of Jolly’s embrace and backed into a corner of the courtyard. They had to be wrong, yet everything they said made sense—horrible, damning sense. How could she believe Connor in the face of all this evidence? Larceny. Treason. Murder. And yet, she had to believe in him. She must. I love you. Whatever happens, believe that I love you.

  His last words came back to her, lending her strength. “You are wrong. Connor is no hardened criminal, and I can prove it.” She reached into her skirt and pulled out the oilskin pouch. “He did steal the dispatches, but he gave them to me. He could not go through with handing them over to the French. ’Tis hardly the action of a seasoned villain.”

  Jolly blanched. McGregor gasped. Even Grenville’s confident expression lost some of its luster. Her cousin took the packet and began to unwrap it. “I do not understand this. But, if this is true, then it will go a long way toward proving his innoce—” His words died as he held the papers in front of her and thumbed through them one by one.

  They were nothing but blank sheets of parchment.

  Juliana spent most of the voyage home alone in her cabin, crying herself empty until there was nothing left inside her, not even sorrow. The constant concern of the commodore, Mr. McGregor, and her young protector Jamie, whom she had arranged to come with her to London, did nothing to ease her pain. When she reached London, she threw herself into the Marquis Line, working long hours with few meals and little sleep. She drove herself to the limit, filling her days and nights with work, fighting off the sleep that brought wonderful, terrible dreams of Connor’s smile, Connor’s touch, Connor’s kiss.…

  Not a fortnight had gone by before she collapsed to the ground.

  Despair and exhaustion had taken its toll on her. For weeks afterward she could barely leave her bed, and more than one physician doubted she would ever rise from it again. There was a part of her that wished she wouldn’t. But, just as it had after Connor’s first betrayal, her young body proved traitorously resilient. Gradually she began to improve, until even the most pessimistic doctors declared her out of danger. After a month in bed, she took her first tentative step across her bedroom carpet. And the man assisting her was the same one who had been at her side almost constantly since she had first fallen ill—her cousin, Rollo Grenville.

  On the first day of July in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and twelve, Commodore Sir Horatio Jolly and his mother, the honorable Mrs. Robert Jolly, will have the pleasure of bestowing the hand of their ward, the Lady Juliana Dare, in honorable marriage to Lord Rollo Grenville, the Sixth Marquis of Albany, in All Saints’ Church in Knights-bridge at noon …

  Juliana put down the Morning Post and stirred her morning chocolate. Odd. She genuinely thought that she would feel something when she finally saw the wedding banns in print. It was, after all, the most important step in a young woman’s life. Instead, she felt the same numbing emptiness that had filled her for the past three months.

  A young voice caught her attention. “But she told me I could see her first thing!”

  An instant later the door burst open and Jamie ran in, with Juliana’s agitated abigail close at his heels. “I’m sorry, my lady. I know the doctor said your were still to get rest in the morning, but the boy would not take no for an answer.”

  “It is all right, Lucy. I did tell him he could come in,” Juliana said as the boy wrapped his arms around her. In the months since she’d brought Jamie back from Portugal to live with her, he’d added a great deal of joy to the Jolly household. Though at first there were objections to a single young woman’s adopting an orphan, Juliana had held her ground. Now it was impossible to imagine the house without him.

  The commodore frequently took Jamie to his office at the Admiralty, and Mrs. Jolly, for all her grumblings about his “tar’s manners,” was quite taken with his scampish spirit and quick mind. Meg had begun giving him acting lessons. Already names of fine schools were being discussed. For his part, Jamie seemed as content to live on dry land as he was at sea. Apparently he was young enough to forget easily, though Juliana was somewhat surprised at how easily. Still, she was thankful that he never mentioned his former life on the privateer vessel, and seemed to have entirely forgotten the fact that his former mates and captain had deserted him.

  Unfortunately, Juliana could not seem to master that skill.

  “Are you coming to the park today? I want you to see how well I ride.”

  According to Meg, the boy sat a horse about as well as an upright sack of potatoes, but that was hardly important. In the last few months, Juliana had watched him begin to blossom into a confident young man, and she could not have been prouder of him if he’d ridden like a Corinthian. She brushed a rakish shock of hair off his forehead, trying not to see another’s face as she did so. I must learn to do this without thinking of him. I must.

  “So will you come?”

  “Dearest, I cannot. Today Aunt Meg and I must go to the mantuamaker to see about my wedding dress.”

  Jamie’s bright expression soured. “So you’re really gonna marry him.”

  “ ‘Going to marry him,’ sweetheart,” Juliana corrected. “And yes, I am. He is a fine gentleman, and he has been very kind to both you and to me.”

  “He wasn’t at first.”

  Juliana paused just a heartbeat before continuing. “No, he wasn’t. But a man can change. He was very attentive during my illness, and visited me almost every day. He gave up his commission and took over my duties at the shipping line. And since I have begun to get well again, he has taken me to balls and card parties, and done everything he can to make me forget … that is, to make my life pleasant. And he has promised to be a good father to you, and has already set aside a substantial amount for your
education.”

  “I would rather have a pony,” Jamie grumbled.

  Juliana hugged him tightly, wishing her own needs were as simple. “You shall have ponies by the score. But right now I must dress, or I shall miss my appointment. Now, one last hug and off with you.”

  Jamie complied, darting out of the door as quickly as he’d come in. Juliana watched him go, a bittersweet smile on her lips. The only time she’d felt alive in the last few months was when Jamie wrapped his arms around her. Surely it will not always be so. Once I am truly married, I will learn to feel something more than gratitude for Rollo. Then my life would at least be bearable—

  Her thoughts ended as a slim figure opened her door and stormed in with almost as much bluster as Jamie. “I cannot believe it. You are really going to go through with it.”

  “I would be a fool not to,” Juliana said as she slipped out of bed, avoiding Meg’s direct gaze. She sat at her dressing table and picked up her silver hairbrush. “My cousin is handsome, well respected by the War Office and his peers,” she commented as she began to brush her hair. “He has asked several times for my hand, even though he knows … well, even though he knows what I have been through. He has made it clear that he is devoted to me. I can think of no reason why I should not marry him.”

  “None, except that you do not love him.”

  Juliana gave an elegant laugh. “My dear, you prattle like a school chit. Our tastes and ideas march together, and I’ve no doubt we will make a superior couple. Love has nothing to do with making a suitable match.”

  “It does—when you are still in love with Connor.”

  Juliana’s hand stilled. “You promised never to mention his name.”

  “I kept silent for as long as I could. But now—” She bent over Juliana’s shoulder and met her friend’s gaze in the mirror. “Julie, ever since your illness I have watched you, and you are only going through the motions of living. Oh, no one else has noticed—you laugh at the appropriate times, and say all the right things. As far as your society friends are concerned, you are more popular than ever. But there is no spark of life in you. You have even lost interest in the Marquis Line.”

  Juliana’s hand tightened on her brush. Meg was right; she was no longer the girl who had left London. When she had returned from Portugal, news of ‘Captain Gabriel’s’ treachery had been the talk of every salon in Mayfair. All the friends he had once had turned their backs on him—indeed, it was almost impossible to find anyone who admitted knowing him. Her own behavior was the subject of nearly as much speculation, but her prolonged illness after her homecoming did much to sway public sentiment in her favor, and the Jollys’ unwavering support and her cousin’s constant attention did the rest. In time, several ripe scandals had replaced her own, and Grenville’s honorable marriage proposal had firmly relegated her questionable behavior to the realm of old news. As for Captain Gabriel—his name was never mentioned in polite society at all, except when the occasional report surfaced of some captain claiming to have sunk the notorious Archangel’s ship.

  She died a little every time she read one.

  “I do not know whether he is alive or dead,” Juliana said in a voice like brittle leaves. “If he is alive, and has not come for me by now—well, that is proof enough that I was nothing more to him than a pawn in his game of treachery. And if he is dead …” She bit her lip, fighting back the tears that she vowed she would never cry. “In any case, I must marry.”

  Meg knelt down beside her and put her hand on her arm. “But why so soon? It has been only three months since your ordeal, and only six since your father died. I will admit that I am not entirely unfond of Rollo—he has been most kind to you. But I cannot but feel that you deserve better than a marriage of convenience. At least give your heart some time to heal before you make such an important decision.”

  “I would, had I the time to spare.” She laid down her brush and covered her friend’s hand with her own. “I did not tell you before, but the truth will be apparent soon enough. The reason I was so ill, the reason I must marry so quickly … Meg, I am going to have Connor’s baby.”

  Meg’s grip tightened on Juliana’s arm. “Oh, my poor darling. What you must have endured … oh, the fiend! I wish him at the bottom of the ocean for using you so horribly!”

  “Nay, it was not like that. I knew what I was doing. I wanted—” She closed her eyes, unable to find the words that could make her friend understand. Those moments in Connor’s arms had been a lie on his part, but not on hers, and the babe they had made together was very real. She placed her hand over her still-flat stomach, cherishing the tiny life inside her with all the love that Connor had callously cast aside. “It does not matter what I wanted then. But I do want this child, Meg—more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I know it is not what you expected of me, and I shall understand if you turn away—”

  “Do not be a nodcock, this changes nothing between us. But, I must ask … do the Jollys know?”

  Juliana shook her head. “No, and I will do all I can to keep my predicament from them. They have been too kind to me for me to let my shameful behavior stain their reputations. The only one who knows the truth is Grenville. I could not accept his offer of marriage without telling him. He has promised to give me his name and protection, and I have promised to give him full control of the Marquis Line and the rest of my fortune. ’Tis a fair bargain. It is just—”

  Her voice broke as she once again skated dangerously close to tears. “I am sorry, my dear. I’ve struck a bargain, and I know it to be a good one. ’Tis just … well, I thought my life would turn out very differently.”

  “I know,” Meg whispered. “Much as I try not to, I still occasionally think about St. Juste.” Actually, it was more than occasionally. When Juliana had returned, she’d told Meg all about the vicomte d’ Aubigny-sur-mer, including the words he’d spoken about his feelings for Meg. Since then not a night had gone by when Meg didn’t dream of the brave and honorable Frenchman taking her hand and leading her down a flower-strewn aisle to a church altar. But the wonderful vision died as soon as she woke and remembered that her Frenchman was neither brave nor honorable, just one of the loathsome villains who had kidnapped her dearest friend. And her future, as always, was to be lived as a penniless, unloved old maid. She blinked, coming perilously close to crying herself.

  Juliana got up from the dressing table, shaking herself roundly. “Look at the pair of us! Blubbering like a pair of blue-footed boobies. My father used to say that regrets were a waste of time. He would have had us keelhauled for behaving in this manner, and he’d have been quite right.”

  She turned to the window and pushed aside the curtain, looking out at the crowded, lushly planted park across the street. “A few days after my father’s death, I stared out at this very park. It was all skeleton trees and gloom, not a hint of life anywhere. Now look at it—filled with people and overflowing with green leaves and blossoms. Life is always changing course, Meg, and we must do our best to change with it. But our future is not so very unpleasant. I have asked Rollo to allow me to raise the children in the country, away from the rumors and prying questions of the haute ton. And you, my dear Meg, will you come and live with us?”

  “You will not miss the social whirl of London? Or running the Marquis Line?”

  For a moment, Juliana’s confident smile wavered. “I do love the line, and wish I could continue with father’s dream, but that future is not to be. Rollo has promised that he will not sell off the ships, and I believe he will honor that pledge. And as for missing the society of the Upper Ten Thousand—you are worth more than the whole of the silly lot put together. We shall be as happy as larks. In fact, I quite suspect the larks will be jealous.”

  “Perhaps we shall,” Meg answered, almost believing it.

  “Depend on it. In the meantime—oh heavens, look at the time on the mantel clock. It lacks but an hour until we meet the dressmaker and you know what Madame Bovier is like if one
is late. In all likelihood I should end up being married in a proper stylish potato sack! Then we have lunch with the countess of Arlington, an ‘at home’ with Lady Sterling, tea with Mrs. Jolly to discuss the wedding plans, dinner at the Woolriches’, the new play at Covent Garden—and somewhere in the midst of this I must buy Jamie a new riding crop.…”

  “Julie, you could make a whirlwind seem lazy. We shall not have a moment to breathe.”

  “Or to regret. Father was right—life is too short to waste on lamenting. I have a boy who needs me, a baby who’ll need me soon, and the world’s most wonderful friend. And if either of us wastes another precious minute thinking about those traitorous privateers again, we should pledge to—” She formed her fingers into an inexpert fist. “Well, we should deliver each other a handy bunch of fives!”

  Laughing, the women stepped away from the window, each silently vowing that the dangerous and despicable Connor Reed and Raoul St. Juste were absolutely and completely out of their lives forever.

  Below in the crowded park, under the spreading branches of one of the large oak trees, two men in cloaks watched the curtain fall back in place over the bedroom window. They said nothing, but the clean-shaven one dropped his half-smoked cigar to the pavement and ground it ruthlessly under his heel.

  The wedding day drew near. With her period of mourning nearly at an end, and curiosity about her unexpected engagement the talk of every scandal broth in Mayfair, Juliana once again found herself at the heart of London society. Balls were not considered entirely successful unless she made an appearance. Speculation about the design of her wedding dress commandeered more space in the papers than the war with Napoleon. And her intended Lord Albany, the former English spy and acting head of the Marquis Line, was rumored to be in the running for a position of some considerable influence with the War Office.

  Juliana was again the reigning queen of the Season, but every passing day felt like another tug of the noose around her neck. She had made her decision—the only decision she felt was possible in her position. Yet every night she dreamed of a privateer with pale, wounded eyes, accusing her of betraying his love by marrying another.