An Independent Woman. Candace Camp
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time that I have looked for you…” He reached out his hand and, somewhat shakily, she gave hers to him.
“I—I’m sorry. I should say Lord Barre,” she went on hastily.
“I beg you will not,” he replied. “I would think you no longer counted yourself my friend.”
Juliana blushed, unsure what to say. She felt unaccustomedly shy. Nicholas was at once so familiar and so different, the traces of the boy still evident in the man, yet far removed from what he had once been.
“I am surprised you recognized me,” she told him. “It has been so long.”
He shrugged. “You have grown up.” His eyes swept briefly, almost involuntarily, down her form. “Still, your face is much the same. I could scarcely forget it.”
There was a loud, admonitory clearing of a throat from the chair beside Juliana, and she started. “Oh, I am so sorry. Lord Barre, please allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Thrall.”
Juliana half turned toward her employer. “Mrs. Thrall, Lord Barre.”
The middle-aged woman simpered, extending her hand to Nicholas. “Lord Barre, what a pleasure. No doubt you wish to meet Clementine, but I am afraid she is out on the dance floor. Her dance card is always full, you know.”
“Mrs. Thrall.” Nicholas gave the woman a polite bow, his dark eyes summing her up quickly before he turned back to Juliana. “I hope that you will give me the honor of a waltz, Juliana.”
Juliana knew that her employer would doubtless frown on her shirking her duty in that way, but she wanted quite badly to accept his invitation. She never got to dance at any of the parties they attended; she could not count the number of times she had sat, toes tapping, heart aching, watching the other couples swirl merrily around the floor.
“I would love to,” she said recklessly, then turned toward her employer. “If you will excuse me, Mrs. Thrall.”
She expected at best a scowl from the other woman, with a deferred lecture about the impropriety of her taking to the floor with young bachelors when she should be overseeing Clementine. But she hoped that Mrs. Thrall would not have the gall to flatly refuse, right in front of one of the peers of the land.
To her surprise, the older woman smiled benignly at her and said, “Yes, of course. That sounds like an excellent idea. No doubt Clementine will be back when you return.”
Nicholas bowed toward Mrs. Thrall and extended his hand to Juliana. She took it, letting him lead her out onto the dance floor, struggling to control the happy excitement fizzing within her.
“Who the devil is Clementine?” he murmured, bending his head closer to hers.
Juliana could not suppress a giggle. “She is Mrs. Thrall’s daughter. She is making her debut this year.”
“Good Gad, another one,” he commented darkly.
Juliana, more accustomed to listening to the gushings of the besotted suitors of Clementine Thrall, could not help but feel a small spurt of amusement.
Nicholas turned to her, putting his hand lightly on her waist and taking her other hand in his. She felt a little breathless, her nerves jumping with excitement, as the music began and they swept out onto the floor. There had been few times when Juliana had waltzed—there had been no Season in London for her, and paid companions were rarely asked to dance—and she was eager, yet scared that she would make a mistake.
For the first few moments she was too aware of following the steps to pay much attention to anything else, but gradually she gave herself up to the rhythm of the music and found herself swirling about the room quite easily. She cast a glance up at her companion. It seemed like a dream, she thought, to be here with Nicholas after all these years.
As if he had read her thoughts, Nicholas said to her, “You know, I’ve had the very devil of a time trying to find you.”
“I’m sorry,” Juliana replied. “I did not realize you were looking for me.”
“Of course I was. Why would I not?”
“It has been a long time,” she replied. “I was only a child when you left.”
“You were my only friend,” he told her simply. “That is difficult to forget.”
His words were true, of course. When she had met him, she had thought that he was the most alone person she knew. At twelve years of age, his reputation as a rebel and troublemaker was firmly established, and even then, there had been a certain hardness in his face that closed out others. But Juliana, herself feeling cast adrift in the world after the death of her beloved father, had felt an affinity with the dark, brooding boy. She had glimpsed in his onyx eyes a lurking loneliness, a vulnerability, that had spoken to her.
“We were the outcasts of Lychwood Hall,” she agreed now, keeping her voice light.
“I told you I would come back, you know,” he reminded her.
“So you did.” And she had lived on it for years, she thought, until she had grown old enough to be wiser. “But I did not hear from you.”
“I was not a very good correspondent,” Nicholas admitted wryly.
Juliana chuckled. “That, sir, is an understatement of the grossest sort.”
“I did not want them to know where I was,” he said, shrugging.
“I know.” Even as a child, she had understood that. “I never expected you to write,” she told him honestly.
“Somehow I thought you would still be there,” he went on.
“At Lychwood Hall?” Juliana asked, surprised.
“Foolish of me, I know. Of course you wanted to get away from them, too.”
“My mother died while I was away at school with Seraphina,” Juliana told him. “After that, there was little to hold me there.”
“I inquired there after you,” he went on. “My uncle is dead now, but my aunt replied. She told me you had gone abroad to live several years ago, and she did not know where you were.”
Juliana raised a brow. “Her memory must be shockingly short, then. I have been back in England for some years now. I send Aunt Lilith a courtesy note every year at Christmas.”
“I suspected her lack of knowledge was terribly convenient. I set my business man to looking for you. Of course, I told him you were in Europe, so it is little wonder that he got no results.” He gave her a quizzical look. “If you have been in London, why have I not seen you anywhere?”
Juliana smiled faintly. “Companions, I’m afraid, are rarely seen.”
“Companion?” Nicholas frowned. “You? Juliana, no…”
“What would you have me do?” Juliana lifted her chin a little defiantly. “I had to make my way in the world somehow, and I did not like the idea of being a governess. My sewing is not good enough to make a living as a seamstress. And call it unseemly pride, but I did not want to seek employment below stairs.”
His mouth tightened. “Don’t be absurd. None of those positions are worthy of you.”
“I could not remain living on Trenton Barre’s charity. Surely you, of all people, can understand that. You set out on your own. So did I.”
“It is different for a woman,” he pointed out.
“Alas, I am quite aware of that. There are very few ways by which a female can support herself—and even fewer that are considered respectable,” Juliana replied tartly. “Believe me, I would much rather have done something exciting—or even just somewhat interesting. Women, however, are given little choice in the matter.”
He smiled a little. “I had forgotten how fiery you can be about one of your causes. Nay, please, do not bristle at my words. I meant no