Julianna suspected the other woman’s rage was founded in her own ego and pride. Of course she would be a celebrated actress. She was lovely, even more so than Lady Richards. But she did not accept rejection well, and that much was apparent. Julianna would have pitied her had she not known in excruciating detail just how much it hurt to be the woman watching Shelbourne with another.
“Mayhap you ought to consider who I am, madam,” Julianna said. “I am the mistress of this house and Lord Shelbourne’s wife. Your understanding with him is at an end, and if you do not leave, you will be forcibly removed.”
Shelbourne drew alongside Julianna, putting a protective arm around her waist. “You heard Lady Shelbourne. You have caused enough of an upset here. Whilst I would prefer not to have a pair of footmen haul you from Cagney House, I will if I must.”
“Bastard!” Mrs. Edwards hollered, listing to the left before recovering herself. “I will ruin you!”
That was when Julianna realized the other woman was in her cups. At this hour of the morning. That explained the almost feverish glow to her face, the glazed look in her eyes.
“I have already ruined myself,” Shelbourne said grimly. “I fear there will be nothing left for you. But do your worst. Now get out.”
But his spurned mistress was not finished yet. She reached for the nearest available object—which turned out to be Julianna’s heavily laden plate—and heaved it across the room. The plate hit the damask wall coverings, splattering egg, fruit, and bacon everywhere as it smashed. Mrs. Edwards reached for Shelbourne’s cup of coffee next, but Shelbourne moved quickly. He rushed forward, seizing her arm in a staying grip that sent coffee spilling all over her green silk instead of the wall and carpets as she had undoubtedly intended.
The angry woman struck at his chest. “Look at what you have done! How dare you?” Her face crumpled, her outrage quickly devolving to waterworks. “How dare you?”
Julianna watched as Shelbourne grimly stood, bearing the woman’s physical attack. Outrage mingled with pity. This woman was soused, but that did not give her the right to abuse Shelbourne. Julianna intervened, drawing an arm around the other woman’s shoulder and guiding her away.
“Come, madam,” she said calmly. “I shall see you to your carriage.”
“Julianna,” Shelbourne protested. “This is not necessary.”
She shot him a quelling glance. “Yes. It is.”
The other woman was sobbing, but managing to hurl more threats and insults through her tears. “I shall have Rutland! You will regret this!”
Julianna guided her toward the door, helping the redhaired beauty to maintain her balance when she would have swayed and fallen to the floor. Pity triumphed over her indignation. She wondered if Mrs. Edwards had been tippling as a result of Shelbourne bringing their understanding to an end or if she always drank heavily in the morning.
“You are being kind,” the actress sniffled, disbelief in her voice as she almost stumbled on her hem. “I would not be so, were I you.”
Wentworth and a brace of footmen rushed toward her as they made their way slowly down the hall.
“Everyone needs some kindness now and then,” Julianna told her, meaning those words.
Because she, too, knew what it was like to love Viscount Shelbourne. And she, too, knew how crushing it had been to lose him.
By the time Mrs. Edwards reached the front entry, she was docile as a lamb, and quite apologetic. The footmen bundled her off to her waiting carriage under Wentworth’s watchful eye, and Julianna headed back to the abandoned breakfast room and the man she had married, heart more in tumult than ever before.
He was waiting for her where she had left him. A pair of maids were seeing to the removal of the breakfast Mrs. Edwards had catapulted at the wall.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked, solemn, as if he was uncertain of her response.
She supposed she could hardly blame him since Julianna herself did not know. She hesitated, feeling as if she were once more hovering on the edge of heartache.
“Please,” he entreated. “A turn about the parterre while the room is straightened.”
Did he still intend to have breakfast following his former paramour’s shocking appearance and outburst? Julianna’s stomach was too tense, churning into a tight knot. Food was the last thing on her mind at present.
“I think breakfast has been quite ruined,” she managed, before glancing back toward the table, where the gift he had left her waited.
Unbidden, the line from the Keats poem he had transcribed in the book hit her.
“O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!”
The words would have meant so much more had they not been followed by the drunken appearance of his former paramour.
He fetched the volume and offered it to her, his countenance sheepish but intense. He cast a meaningful glance toward the domestics within earshot. “Must I beg you to accompany me? I will if I must.”
“No begging,” she relented, accepting the book and hugging it to her breast. “I shall accompany you.”
