* * *
Tall.The word travelled through Juliana’s mind as she approached Mr. Notley’s desk and sat in the chair facing it. She’d been on the marriage mart for years after her come-out before she’d given up hope and permanently affixed herself to the proverbial wall. In the early years, she’d been approached by countless men, but they had wanted either her family’s fortune or her brother’s favour; they never wantedher. As time had passed, she’d become known as a woman who said no, and men had lost interest.
“If only you’d been born a man,”her papa had said.“I’ve no use for a female; I needed my spare before your mother died.”
“But, Papa,”Juliana had cried.“Think of the grandchildren that I could give you to dote upon.”
“I could scarcely ask you for grandchildren. Look at you! Much too tall, and awkward like a giraffe… What kind of man would have you without taking my money with him? Do have more intelligence, Juliana, like your brother. He is precisely the sort of child that I require: obedient, good natured, and sensible.”
Her chest tightened at the memory, and a keen sense of discomfort threatened to permeate the protective shell that she’d erected around her heart.Not anymore, Papa.He was dead, and so were his opinions.
But Jasper isn’t, and clearly he thinks so little of you as to force you into—no. She would not allow herself to think on it. Jasper’s betrayal was still so painful, so fresh, despite the fact that she’d learned of it a month ago. If only he’d told her of the ducal financial woes!
Juliana swallowed the emotion that had abruptly thickened her throat as Mr. Notley gave his man a nod and sat at his desk.
“I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind, Miss Smith.”
She inclined her head, knowing that this would happen at some point but dreading it all the same.
“How did you come to be stranded in the forest?”
Prickles of fear darted down the back of her neck, making her want to squirm or scratch at it, but she held her hands tightly together in her lap. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to reveal any of the painful moments that, more than anything, she wished to forget. He couldn’t know who she was,whatshe was.
Adjusting her hands in her lap, Juliana cleared her throat and prepared to say the half-truth that she’d been rehearsing in her mind for the past hour.
“I was travelling at night by carriage.” Her voice was hollow, devoid of the agony the words caused her. “There was a shout, and the carriage was dragged into the forest by the horses. We hit something—perhaps a rock, or tree—and overturned, rolling several times before stopping. I—” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I was stuck in the carriage for more than a day, I’m certain. I’d tried to get out, but—”
She was silent for several long moments when Mr. Notley prompted, “But you weren’t able to?”
Juliana shook her head. “Once I was finally free, I’d lost my sense of direction—the snow covered any tracks that we’d made—and I began to wander. You found me after that.”
“I’m sorry.” Mr. Notley raked his fingers through his glorious blond hair, then scratched at his beard. It was a captivating movement that Juliana suspected was oft-repeated. “Did you not have a chaperone, Miss Smith? Was your family not concerned for your safety?” He tapped a short stack of blank parchment on his desk. “I’ve writing materials if there are persons to whom you wish to write.”
Her gaze dropped to her tightly laced fingers, her knuckles white in her effort to quell their trembling. A persistent ache had settled in her chest, and she breathed deeply against it. “My parents are dead,” she said truthfully. “I have no family that would worry for my safety.”And I cannot write to my friends, for they will worry, and Jasper will surely pull the truth from them.“I am well and truly alone.”
“I see,” Mr. Notley hurried to say. “My apologies, Miss Smith.”
She licked her lips, nerves eating away at her abdomen. Returning home was not an option. Jasper would be furious. There would be shouting, and he would unquestionably lock her away like a prisoner until the day he saw her wed to the elderly Viscount Rivers. Sold like his mother’s baubles for some pound notes to fill his coffers.
Juliana wouldn’t stand for it. Instead, she’d rallied her friends and made her appointment in London. It would be a far cry from the life that she’d known, but it would behers. And that was better than being a piece of property. The appointment would hold while she fully regained her strength and the storm passed. But for the moment, she required this man’s aid.
The tale came to her in a moment of brilliance and, truthfully, it was her only option now.
“I was on my way to interview for a position as a governess,” she lied, “but I fear that I missed that opportunity days ago. If you wouldn’t mind, I would be very grateful for a copy of a recent newspaper.” Juliana did not enjoy the company of strangers, and she most certainly did not enjoy the thought of prolonged company with a man. But children… Children were honest, even when adults sometimes wished they weren’t. It made them trustworthy, which was precisely what Juliana needed. If she could but find a home in which to hide while she recovered, she could continue on to London once the weather improved.
Mr. Notley’s eyes widened slightly, and the room fell silent. She blinked. No, it wasn’t silent. There was a soft, muffled humming coming from somewhere—
“Miss Smith, do you know who I am?” Mr. Notley asked bluntly, the blue of his eyes dimming slightly with what appeared to be remorse.
She blinked again, taken aback. “My pardon, but you’re Mr. Notley, are you not? Is that not what you said when we were introduced?” She lifted her hands to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, sir, if I’ve made an error. I scarcely recall much of that day’s events.”
There was a snort and a stifled giggle, and Juliana’s eyes widened.
Mr. Notley pinched the bridge of his nose before turning an apologetic glance her way. “Yes, you have the right of it, Miss Smith.”
He stood, giving her another view of his impeccably tailored—if slightly dated—suit of clothes. His grey woollen coat matched the grey of his breeches, and his blue waistcoat brightened his eyes. Beneath his blond, bearded chin was a starched white collar and elaborately tied cravat. The man was striking.
“Please allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Notley.” He stepped out from behind the desk, dragging his right foot behind himself. And there, was a petite girl with bouncing blonde ringlets, cherub cheeks, and a laughing bow-shaped mouth, clinging to his bare, muscular, and hair-smattered calf.
