lap, and awaited developments.
They came with the arrival of both Dennisons within ten minutes. Elizabeth, resplendent in a gown of tangerine silk over a sky-blue petticoat, sailed into the room, followed by a tall gentleman clad in a suit of canary-yellow taffeta, his hair powdered and curled.
Juliana, reasoning that she had nothing to lose by showing courtesy, rose and curtsied, but her eyes were sharply assessing as they rested on her visitors. She had never met Richard Dennison but guessed his identity from Bella’s descriptions.
“Now, what nonsense is this, child?” Elizabeth came straight to the point, sounding annoyed.
“I might ask the same of you, madam,” Juliana said evenly. Her mind raced. Could they force her into prostitution? Could they have her raped and ruined, so she’d have nothing further to lose? Her skin was clammy, but her voice remained steady, and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the Dennisons.
“There’s no need for discourtesy, my dear.” Richard Dennison’s voice was deep and mild, but the tone was belied by his keenly penetrating eyes. He stepped up to the bed. “Do you find fault with the gown … or the linen?”
“They are the garments of a harlot, sir. I am not a harlot.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, girl!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “This gown is the dernier cri at court. Everything here is of the best quality and design.”
“I thank you for your kindness, ma’am, but I will not take your charity.”
“This is not
my
gift, child, but—” She stopped abruptly as her husband coughed behind his hand, his eyes darting a warning.
Juliana bit her lip. If the clothes were not the gift of the Dennisons, then there was only one explanation. “I beg you will inform His Grace, the Duke of Redmayne, that I have no need of
his
charity either.”
“Why do you keep prating of charity, child?” demanded Richard. “You are being asked to perform a service in exchange for our hospitality and His Grace’s generosity.”
“A service I will
not
perform,” she stated, astonished at how firm she sounded when her knees were quaking like a blancmange and her palms were slippery with sweat. “I am not a whore.”
“As I understand it, His Grace is offering to make you a viscountess … a far cry from a whore,” Mr. Dennison observed aridly.
“There is a buyer and a seller, sir. I see no difference.”
“Obstinate ingrate,” declared Mistress Dennison. “HisGrace insisted you should have time to reconsider his offer without persuasion, but—”
“Madam!” Juliana interrupted passionately. “I ask only to be allowed to leave this house unmolested. If you will return my original garments, I will go as I came and be no trouble to anyone. Why would you keep me here against my will?”
“Because it is our considered opinion, my girl, that you don’t know what’s good for you,” Richard said. “How long do you think you’ll last on the streets? You have no idea how to go on in London. You have no money, no friends, no protection of any sort. In this house you have been offered all that and more. In exchange we ask only that you put on those clothes and come downstairs to dinner.”
Juliana felt the ground slipping beneath her feet as some of her assurance left her. Everything they said was true. She’d seen enough from her window to know that a sheltered life among county aristocracy had ill equipped her for the life of an indigent girl in London.
“Bella said I was to be presented in the drawing room,” she said. “I believe I know what that means.”
“I believe you do not,” Richard said crisply. “No demands will be made of you except for your company. You will not be required to entertain, except perhaps to play a little music and converse as in any civilized drawing room.”
“And the Duke of Redmayne … ?” she asked, hesitantly now.
Mr. Dennison shrugged easily. “My dear, the duke’s business is not ours. It lies with you, and he will deal
They came with the arrival of both Dennisons within ten minutes. Elizabeth, resplendent in a gown of tangerine silk over a sky-blue petticoat, sailed into the room, followed by a tall gentleman clad in a suit of canary-yellow taffeta, his hair powdered and curled.
Juliana, reasoning that she had nothing to lose by showing courtesy, rose and curtsied, but her eyes were sharply assessing as they rested on her visitors. She had never met Richard Dennison but guessed his identity from Bella’s descriptions.
“Now, what nonsense is this, child?” Elizabeth came straight to the point, sounding annoyed.
“I might ask the same of you, madam,” Juliana said evenly. Her mind raced. Could they force her into prostitution? Could they have her raped and ruined, so she’d have nothing further to lose? Her skin was clammy, but her voice remained steady, and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the Dennisons.
“There’s no need for discourtesy, my dear.” Richard Dennison’s voice was deep and mild, but the tone was belied by his keenly penetrating eyes. He stepped up to the bed. “Do you find fault with the gown … or the linen?”
“They are the garments of a harlot, sir. I am not a harlot.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, girl!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “This gown is the dernier cri at court. Everything here is of the best quality and design.”
“I thank you for your kindness, ma’am, but I will not take your charity.”
“This is not
my
gift, child, but—” She stopped abruptly as her husband coughed behind his hand, his eyes darting a warning.
Juliana bit her lip. If the clothes were not the gift of the Dennisons, then there was only one explanation. “I beg you will inform His Grace, the Duke of Redmayne, that I have no need of
his
charity either.”
“Why do you keep prating of charity, child?” demanded Richard. “You are being asked to perform a service in exchange for our hospitality and His Grace’s generosity.”
“A service I will
not
perform,” she stated, astonished at how firm she sounded when her knees were quaking like a blancmange and her palms were slippery with sweat. “I am not a whore.”
“As I understand it, His Grace is offering to make you a viscountess … a far cry from a whore,” Mr. Dennison observed aridly.
“There is a buyer and a seller, sir. I see no difference.”
“Obstinate ingrate,” declared Mistress Dennison. “HisGrace insisted you should have time to reconsider his offer without persuasion, but—”
“Madam!” Juliana interrupted passionately. “I ask only to be allowed to leave this house unmolested. If you will return my original garments, I will go as I came and be no trouble to anyone. Why would you keep me here against my will?”
“Because it is our considered opinion, my girl, that you don’t know what’s good for you,” Richard said. “How long do you think you’ll last on the streets? You have no idea how to go on in London. You have no money, no friends, no protection of any sort. In this house you have been offered all that and more. In exchange we ask only that you put on those clothes and come downstairs to dinner.”
Juliana felt the ground slipping beneath her feet as some of her assurance left her. Everything they said was true. She’d seen enough from her window to know that a sheltered life among county aristocracy had ill equipped her for the life of an indigent girl in London.
“Bella said I was to be presented in the drawing room,” she said. “I believe I know what that means.”
“I believe you do not,” Richard said crisply. “No demands will be made of you except for your company. You will not be required to entertain, except perhaps to play a little music and converse as in any civilized drawing room.”
“And the Duke of Redmayne … ?” she asked, hesitantly now.
Mr. Dennison shrugged easily. “My dear, the duke’s business is not ours. It lies with you, and he will deal
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