The Ransom (5 page)

Nevertheless, her brother’s real reason for matchmaking was not lost on her. No respectable woman with a dowry would marry him, so that left her to procure a steady stream of wealth to fund his gambling and wenching. Especially should father continue ill and Juliana fail at business. Which is what her brother no doubt expected from a woman! But she would prove him wrong.

She would prove them all wrong.

Still, nagging doubts assailed Juliana as she soaked in a bath until the water grew cold. They continued as Miss Ellie helped her on with her corset and multiple petticoats, small hoops, and underdress. Misgivings persisted as Ellie flung a mantua over Juliana’s head—a gorgeous emerald satin that draped over her shapely figure and was held snug by a stomacher all aglitter with jewels and pearls. She stared at her reflection in the tall looking glass, unsure whether to be happy at her appearance or peeved that women were forced to go to such lengths to please men.

“You look stunning, miss.” Ellie put her hands on her hips and admired her handiwork.

Juliana sighed. “Thank you. I’m not entirely sure I wish to look stunning tonight.” Why attract a man if she had no need for one? Yet she must keep up the facade of the bored daughter of a wealthy businessman. ’Twas the price of her independence.

“Miss, ’old still an’ I’ll apply your powder,” Ellie said as Juliana took a seat at her vanity.

“None for me tonight, Ellie. I cannot tolerate the stuff.” Candlelight flickered across her reflection in the glass, accentuating the shadows beneath her eyes. Good. She looked as tired as she felt. That should keep some of the wolves at bay.

“But your skin is too golden from the sun. What ’ave I told you about carrying your parasol?”

“I am usually carrying too many other things to worry about my skin. Such as food and clothing for orphans.” Juliana raised a brow, regretting her curt tone.

Ellie frowned. “Still, miss, if you are to keep up appearances …” She grabbed a string of pearls then layered them over Juliana’s coiffure. “Mayhap a patch?”

Juliana’s jaw tightened. How she hated the silly things! Yet, she couldn’t very well steal all her maid’s joy for the night. “Very well. But a small one. Mayhap a star on my forehead.”

“But that means you’re—”

“I know. ’Tis what I want it to mean.” She gave Ellie a stern look, and the lady completed her ministrations without further protest.

Rowan nodded his approval at her appearance as she descended the stairs a few minutes later. He proffered his elbow to escort her to the door, a rather pleased grin on his face.

“What are you about, Brother?” She halted and eyed him with suspicion. “I will brook no further intrusion into my personal life, do you take me? I will court whom I will court when I will court.”
If I court anyone.

Her only answer was a look of abject innocence above a sly grin.

“Besides, I intend to merely make an appearance tonight. I’m tired, Rowan. Surely you can understand.” She allowed him to proceed.

“Indeed, I do. Hence, your carriage awaits.” He waved her forward.

“Have you summoned Mr. Pell?”

“No need.”

She faced him at the door, wondering if Mr. Pell was already in his cups. “Who is driving us?”

“Do give him a chance, Juliana.”

“Give who a—”

Before she could finish, Rowan opened the door to the smiling face of Captain Nichols.

Chapter 4

As soon as Captain Nichols turned to address Mr. and Mrs. Billingsworth, Juliana slipped away from the exasperating man. She’d not had a moment to escape ever since he appeared at her door—thanks to her conniving brother. She had a mind to withhold Rowan’s weekly allowance for such a dastardly deception. That would teach him! Yet as she wove among the chattering guests, she knew that was not possible. Being heir to their father’s dwindling fortune, Rowan had access to every asset.

Seeking a corner wherein she could find a moment’s peace, Juliana sank against the wall and surveyed the ballroom. Carved mahogany decorated the doorways, window moldings, and ornamental arches between rooms. Silk wall covering painted with pink rosettes lined the walls all the way to high ceilings whereupon hung glittering chandeliers. An orchestra tuned their instruments on a loft above the room, while guests—decked in the finery of their class—vied for attention from the most influential members of Port Royal society.

One of them, her escort Captain Nichols, settled into his station with unabashed pride as several people approached him, no doubt asking his opinion on this matter or that. Opinions he was evidently delighted to shower on all those around him. In fact, during the entire carriage ride to the Stevenson’s home, he had regaled her with tales of his many courageous exploits at sea. She’d merely smiled and nodded at the appropriate times while secretly kicking Rowan from beneath her voluminous skirts as he sat across from her. Once they’d arrived at the party, her cowardly brother had abandoned her, dashing off to find a game of cards, no doubt.

Captain Nichols turned, saw she wasn’t beside him, and began surveying the crowd. She must find somewhere to hide. A cluster of young gentlemen glanced at her with interest. A few she knew. A few she did not. All of them she longed to avoid. The warmth of a tropical breeze swirled around her from glassless windows as she dodged an incoming gentleman. Nodding her greeting at Lady Bain, she held up a hand to a servant holding a tray of French macaroons and finally spotted a group of her friends.

“Lady Anne,” Juliana said as she approached. “Do allow me residence beside you for a moment.” She squeezed in between the woman and Miss Margaret while casting a glance over her shoulder. Good. She’d lost Captain Nichols again.

Lady Anne swung an arm draped in ribbons and lace around Juliana, and tucked her close, dousing her in a cloud of French perfume. Juliana withheld a sneeze as the woman leaned in to whisper. “Hiding from that handsome naval captain? You really should give the man a chance, Juliana. He’s obviously lovesick for you.”

The other ladies agreed with sly grins. Miss Margaret, Miss Aston, and Lady Anne were Juliana’s only friends on the island, though she wondered if they were truly her friends. She doubted they would come to her aid should trouble strike. They certainly hadn’t been willing to help Abilene when she needed them the most. “The captain is sick, I’ll give you that,” she replied. “But I doubt love has much to do with it. Besides, how do you know ’tis him I’m hiding from?”

“We saw you enter on his arm.” Miss Ashton pursed her rouged lips. “Did he escort you to the ball?”

“Yes … No … I mean I was tricked into accepting his company.”

“I should be so tricked.” Miss Ashton sighed dreamily and waved her silk fan about her face, sending brown curls dancing. “You must be mad, Juliana. Captain Nichols is wealthy and handsome and every bit a gentleman.”

“Then you may have him,” Juliana said a bit too tersely. But she meant it. ’Twould that Nichols would grow tired of the useless chase and find another victim to hound.

The orchestra began a lively tune, melding with the cacophony of chatter.

“None of us stand a chance with the captain when you are in the room.” Margaret adjusted the lace lining her belled sleeves. “Ever since his intended, Miss Caroline, was suddenly shipped back home to—”

“In disgrace,” Lady Anne interjected with a critical brow.

The other ladies gave disapproving nods. “Regardless,” Margaret continued, “ever since then, the captain’s interest has had but one focus.”

A gentleman approached Lady Anne, but she waved him off. “I’m waiting for Lord Canton to ask me to dance,” she responded to her friend’s curious stares after he’d left.

This seemed to satisfy the ladies, though Juliana had no idea who Lord Canton was. Some wealthy buck newly arrived in Jamaica, no doubt. Indeed, she must attend more functions or she’d be conspicuously devoid of enough gossip to keep up her charade.

“Ah, there is your pursuer.” Miss Aston dipped her head to the left, causing her pearled fontange to waver slightly, and for a moment Juliana feared the stiff tiers of lace would slip from her tower of hair to the floor. But she had bigger problems. Nichols was combing the crowd at the edge of the dance floor just a short distance away.

Miss Margaret looped her arm through Juliana’s, giggling with glee at the subterfuge. “Let us seek out some refreshments, shall we?”

Much to the dismay of a bevy of young gentlemen—who had been desperately trying to gain the ladies’ attention for the past several minutes—Juliana and her friends wove through the throng and emerged onto a triple-arched Georgian portico. White-clothed tables, laden with all manner of drink, fruit cut in fanciful shapes, and coconut sweet cakes stretched across the tiled porch. Beyond, palms and cedar trees waved in the breeze beneath a moonlit sky while the scent of the sea joined the smells of wine, lemon, and coconut in an exotic dance beneath Juliana’s nose. Her stomach stirred but then tightened again. She hadn’t eaten in hours, yet none of the delicacies appealed to her. Pressing a hand over her jeweled stomacher, she declined a piece of cake Margaret offered.

“Where have you been of late?” the red-haired lady asked as she loaded her plate with food. “You missed our ride into the country last week, and yesterday, croquet.”

“Busy.” Juliana grabbed a glass of lemonade, hoping it would settle her stomach.

“Busy?” Lady Anne sipped her punch wine. “What else is there to keep us busy save these banal entertainments?” Her bored gaze took in the mob circling the table, no doubt seeking her Lord Canton.

“I am helping the children at Buchan orphanage.” Juliana’s palms began to sweat at the half-truth and she nearly dropped her glass.

“Oh, lud. Whatever for?” Miss Ashton quickly smiled and fluttered her lashes at a passing gentleman. Then she frowned. “Those dirty little children have diseases don’t they? Didn’t your mo—”

Margaret nudged Miss Ashton to silence.

But the reminder had already pricked open the wound on Juliana’s heart. She forced civility into her angry tone. “Those
dirty little children
are in great need, while we lack for nothing.”

Lady Anne shrugged. “My father gives to charities, what more can we do?”

“It would behoove you to accompany me on a visit to the orphanage some time. These children not only need food and clothing but love and instruction.”

“How sad.” Margaret tossed sculpted balls of melon into her mouth.

“If you don’t stop eating, Margaret,” Lady Anne said, “you’ll be as fat as a whale, and then no man will have you.”

Margaret frowned as Anne turned to Juliana. “’Tis the orphan’s lot in life, Juliana.” She tightened her lips, causing a tiny crack to form in her powdered makeup. “We cannot save them all. Besides, it appears you have neglected your own wellbeing in the process. You look tired dear, too thin, and your face is far too dark. Why are you not properly made up?”

“If you’re not careful, someone may hand you a tray and ask you to serve.” Miss Ashton quipped and they all chuckled.

Margaret stuffed a sweet cake in her mouth.

“And your patch is in the wrong place if you wish to attract a gentleman. It suggests you are haughty and aloof.”

Juliana fingered the star on her forehead. “Exactly what I wish to portray.”

“You are incorrigible, Juliana,” Lady Anne declared with a skeptical chuckle. “God gave you such exquisite beauty for one purpose and one purpose alone—to snare title and wealth.”

“Alas, what did He give me a brain for, then, I beg you?” Juliana snapped.

They all gaped at her as if she’d asked why they had legs. Did she even know her friends at all? Did they
know
her? “I care not for my skin—” she began, but male laughter drew all gazes to an arched entryway where Lord Munthrope floated in on a cloud of opulence surrounded by a gaggle of toadies who laughed at his every witticism.

“Now,
there
is a man we should set our cap for.” Lady Anne pressed a finger on the tiny heart at the corner of her mouth—the position of the patch proclaiming her interest in finding a lover. “He’s wealthy beyond belief and the eldest son of an earl.”

Juliana curled her lips in disgust as she took in the man. Earl or not, he carried himself like a pimpish fop. Even now, he waved his arms about in a flourish as he spoke, nearly swatting bystanders in the face with his wide lacy cuffs. Tight curls from a white periwig framed a powdered face dotted with various patches, while a foam of mechlin bubbled from beneath his chin. Loops upon loops of colorful ribbons lined his gold-embroidered doublet and continued marching down his breeches, trimmed with Flemish lace. A lady clung to one arm while his jeweled walking stick hung on the other. His voice was too high for his size, and the shrill tone grated over Juliana.

Revulsion hissed in her whisper, “I wouldn’t marry him if he were the king of England.”

Lady Anne gasped and Margaret almost choked on her cake. From across the room, Lord Munthrope’s eyes unexpectedly met Juliana’s, and an unusual sensation prickled over her. Turning her gaze away, she brought up a question she’d been meaning to ask.