one had come after her, and no one had mentioned the matter to her again. Her chamber door was no longer locked, but on the one occasion she had ventured down to the hall, Mr. Garston had appeared out of nowhere and asked her in tones that brooked no argument to return to her chamber. She had been provided with everything she'd asked for: books, writing and drawing materials. But she was still unmistakably a prisoner in this topsy-turvy establishment that slept all day and awoke at night.
She would lie abed throughout the night listening to the strains of music from the salons, the bursts of feminine laughter, the sonorous male voices on the stairs, the chink of china and glass. Rich aromas from the kitchens wafted beneath her door, and she would entertain herself trying to identify the delicacies from which they emanated. Her own fare was the plain and plentiful food she assumed was served in the kitchens, but clearly the clients and the working ladies of the house dined very differently.
She would doze lightly throughout the night, usually falling deeply asleep at dawn as the door knocker finally ceased its banging and the sounds of merriment faded. As the sky lightened, she would hear voices in the corridor outside, soft and weary women's voices, the occasional chuckle, and once the sound of heart-wrenching weeping. The weeper had been comforted by a murmur of women, and then Mistress Dennison's voice had broken into the whisperings. Kindly but firm. Juliana had listened as she'd dispatched the women to their beds and taken the weeper away with her.
Apart from apprehension, which she fought to keep under control, Juliana's main complaint was boredom. She was accustomed to an active existence, and by the third day being penned in her chamber was becoming insupportable. She had asked no questions, made no demands for her freedom, stubborn pride insisting that she not give her captors the satisfaction of seeing her dismay. She would show them that she could wait them out, and when they saw she was adamant, then they would release her.
But on the early afternoon of the fourth day things changed. The little maid appeared in Juliana's chamber with her arms full of silk and lace.
'Y'are to dine downstairs, miss,' she said, beaming over the gauzy, colorful armful. 'And then be presented in the drawing room.' She opened her arms, and her burdens toppled to the bed. 'See what a beautiful gown Mistress Dennison 'as 'ad fashioned for ye.' She shook out the folds of jade-green silk and held it up for Juliana's inspection.
'Take it away, Bella,' Juliana instructed. Her heart was jumping in her breast, but she thought her voice sounded reassuringly curt and firm.
'Eh, miss, I can't do that.' Bella stopped admiring the gown in her hands and stared at Juliana. 'Mistress Dennison 'ad it made up specially for ye. It wasn't ready till this morning, so ye've been kept up 'ere. But now y'are all set.' She turned enthusiastically to the pile of material on the bed. 'See… fresh linen, two petticoats, silk stockings, and look at these pretty slippers. Real silver buckles, I'll lay odds, miss! Mistress Dennison 'as only the best fer 'er girls.' She held out a pair of dainty apple-green silk shoes with high heels.
Juliana took them in a kind of trance, measuring the heel with her finger. Her feet were unruly enough when they were flat on the ground; what they would get up to in these shoes didn't bear thinking of.
She dropped them onto the floor. 'Would you inform Mistress Dennison that I have no intention of wearing these clothes or of being presented… or, indeed, of anything at all.'
Bella looked aghast. 'But, miss-'
'But nothing,' Juliana said brusquely. 'Now, deliver my message… and take these harlot's garments away with you.' She gestured disdainfully to the bed.
'Oh, no, miss, I dursn't.' Bella dropped a curtsy and scuttled from the room.
Juliana sat down on the window seat, ignored her pounding heart, folded her hands in her 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. 'His Grace 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 directly with you. Mistress Dennison and I ask only that you dine with the other members of this household and take tea in the drawing room.'
'And if I refuse?'
A look of exasperation crossed Mr. Dennison's face, but he held up a hand as his wife seemed about to remonstrate. 'I think you know better than to do so,' he said. 'You are in need of a safe haven, and you have one here. But it seems reasonable to ask that you obey the rules of the house.'
Juliana turned away, defeated. The threat was clear enough. It wouldn't take the magistrates long to discover her true identity once they were told her story. The landlord of the Bell in Wood Street would remember that the Winchester coach had arrived at the same time as the York stage. Piecing together the rest would be easy for them.
'Come, my dear.' Mistress Dennison's voice was soft and cajoling. She laid a gentle hand on Juliana's arm. 'I'll ring for Bella and she'll help you to dress. The gown will set off your eyes and hair to perfection, I promise you.'
'That is hardly an incentive in these circumstances, ma'am,' Juliana said dryly, but she turned back to the room. 'If you are determined to have my maidenhead, then it seems there's little I can do to prevent it.'
'Don't be so untrusting.' Elizabeth scolded, patting her arm. 'My husband and I will force nothing upon you. Your business lies with the Duke of Redmayne, and you may negotiate with him however you please.'
Juliana's eyes narrowed. 'You would have me believe that you have no interest, financial or otherwise, in the duke's plans for me? Forgive me, ma'am, if I doubt that. A procuress expects to be paid, I'm sure.'
'What a stubborn, ill-tempered chit it is, to be sure,' Elizabeth declared to her husband. 'I wish His Grace joy of her.' She tossed her elaborately coiffed head in disgust and sailed from the room, followed by Richard.
Perhaps it was unwise to alienate those two on whom her present comfort and security depended, Juliana reflected with a rueful grimace. She went over to the bed and began to examine the garments. There was an apple-green quilted petticoat to pair with the jade-green gown, an underpetticoat and chemise of embroidered lawn, silk stockings and garters, a pair of ruffled engageantes to slip over her forearms, and those ridiculous shoes.
She sat on the bed and slipped one cotton-stockinged foot into a shoe. It fitted perfectly. Presumably they'd used her boots as a model. Her feet were so big, they couldn't have guessed the size with this accuracy. She extended her foot, examining the shoe with her head on one side. It did make her foot look uncharacteristically elegant. But could she walk on it? She slipped on the other shoe, then gingerly stood up. Equally gingerly, she took a step and swayed precariously. The shoes pinched now most dreadfully, squashing her toes and making her insteps ache.
'Oh, miss, aren't they pretty?' Bella cried from the door as she bustled in, bearing a jug of steaming hot water. 'Would ye care for a bath afore dinner? I could 'ave a footman bring up a tub.'
Juliana sat down again and kicked oft the shoes. Her last bath had been on her wedding morning. Maybe it would be as well to prepare herself for whatever the evening was going to bring. Like a sacrificial virgin, she thought with an unlooked-for glimmer of amusement. Her sense of humor was frequently misplaced and had in the past involved her in as much trouble as her unruly feet. But in present circumstances, she reflected, it could hardly make things worse.
'Yes, please, Bella.'
'I could make up an 'enna rinse ter your hair, it 'n ye'd like it,' Bella continued. 'It'll give it a powerful shine. Miss Deborah uses it when she 'as an evening with Lord Bridgeworth. Not that 'er 'air's as pretty as your'n. Quite dull it is, next to your'n.' She beamed as it she took special pride in Juliana's superiority in this field.
'I use vinegar at home,' Juliana said.
'Oh, but 'enna's a powerful lot better fer yer color, miss.'
In for a penny, in for a pound. 'Very well. Whatever you think Bella.'
Looking mightily pleased, Bella whisked herself out of the room, and Juliana returned her attention to the garments on the bed. It was true that they were in the first style of elegance. Lady Forsett had pored over the periodicals and patterns of London style and had all her clothes made up in Winchester to the latest specifications, although Juliana assumed that since the periodicals and patterns had been at least six months old by the time they'd reached Winchester, they were probably unmodish by court standards. Not that she'd expressed this opinion to her guardian's wife.
Lady Forsett had insisted that Juliana herself wear only the simplest country clothes suitable to a schoolgirl who had no business in the drawing room. She had softened a little over the wedding dress and trousseau, but Juliana had been well aware that the garments had deliberately been made up to outmoded patterns. Lady Forsett had said quite bluntly that Juliana would have no need of a truly fashionable wardrobe married to Sir John Ridge. He was a wealthy man, certainly, but not sufficiently refined to be received by the leaders of county society.
But that wardrobe had been left behind with her dead husband. Her britches and shirt had disappeared. The only clothes she had were those on her back and now these luscious, rippling,
