Miss Lynn clasped her hands together and frowned, looking like a disapproving nursemaid. “You knew that my brother was hurt in the Durham riots. I can't stand the thought of anyone’s pain. There’s too much misery in the world as it is.”
Another snort of laughter escaped Juliana. She must work on controlling that reaction. Not only was it inappropriate for the circumstances, but it was such an indelicate sound. What would Brogan think of her?
And that made her want to laugh harder. They were facing death and she was worried about appearing lady-like in front of her love? It was absurd and amusing all at the same time.
It must be the dire circumstances that were making her act so. She had hoped she would be the type of woman to keep her head in a tense situation, but apparently she was the kind of woman who snorted.
“How quickly your admiration of the French Revolution has evaporated,” Juliana said, “now that it has come time to face justice for your own actions. Did you not shrug your shoulders at the heads that rolled in the streets of Paris because you thought the cause was just? My brother would not have thought up this scheme on his own. Snow is not only spoiled, but he's too simple-minded to conceive of it. There was a viper speaking in his ear. That viper was you.”
Miss Lynn’s face darkened. “You don't know what you're talking about. But I’m not surprised. What else should I expect from an aristocrat?” She turned to Rose and raised her hands, palms up. “Their kind always covers for their own. Even the ones who join your salon, they might speak of equality, but they don't mean it. The Beau Monde will always look out for their own. Look for people like you and me to take the blame for their own actions.”
Rose sniffed. “Don't include me in your melodrama. I've had quite enough of the lot of you, regardless of class.” He grabbed his cane from his chair’s arm and stabbed the carpet at his feet, to emphasize his point. “Though I do feel most badly for you, Withington. Such nonsense you have to put up with.”
Juliana’s spine hardened. She was part of that nonsense. Her chance of ever joining his debate society was well and truly sunk. And she couldn’t even feel badly about it. It was something else that made her want to laugh.
Why had she spent so much time caring about Rodger Rose’s opinion of her? Debates and discussions and lectures were all very nice, but they weren’t life. Keeping one’s family safe was life. Having and holding the ones you loved. Those were the things that mattered. She’d been such a fool.
“It isn't rank Juliana’s trying to preserve.” Brogan fisted his hands, his knuckles going white. He inched forwards, his intended path putting him between Juliana and her brother's gun. “She’s saving her father, honoring him by risking everything. She believes in justice and truth and doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. But you wouldn’t know about that. A woman like Juliana can’t even be conceived of in your imagination, the two of you are so far apart.”
Juliana’s throat went thick. She loved him for thinking so highly of her, and hated him for putting her up on that pedestal he didn’t feel worthy of touching. If they survived this, she was going to have a strongly-worded speech to deliver to him.
“I'm the one holding the gun.” Snow waved it in the air. “I'm the one who decides justice here. And I want all of you to be quiet so I can think.”
The handle of Rose’s cane glinted in the afternoon light. Juliana’s breath caught in her throat. She circled away from Brogan, ignoring his scowl, and inched towards the poet’s side.
“Snow, somewhere deep inside, you know this is wrong. You know you could never be earl enough to make a difference.” Taunting her brother most likely wasn’t her smartest idea, but as it was her only one, she went with it. “Even your Miss Lynn knows that having control of a man such as yourself would gain her very little towards her revolutionary ideals.”
The toe of her boot nudged the leg of the side table next to Rose. A brandy glass atop it rattled, and she froze. She cleared her throat. “You and your friends, you're not filled with hopes for equality. You're filled with resentment. You know you're too weak, too pathetic, to change the world for the good, so you've decided to tear it all down instead.”
Snowdon’s arm swung from Juliana to Brogan to their father and back to her. “Shut your mouth, Sister.”
“Does the truth hurt?” She took another sliding step towards the poet's chair.
Brogan followed her movements like a hawk watches a hare.
She jutted her chin towards the cane, trying to tell him her intent without words. And probably not succeeding. “I know you. I know how as children, when I built a taller, grander sandcastle, you stomped through the sand, destroying it instead of trying to build yours better.”
Her skirts brushed Rose’s sleeve. “I remember when Father hired a fencing instructor for us, that after the first time I bested you, you bent all the epees so I could never win again instead of applying yourself to have a better form. Even in Rose’s salon, when a discussion occurs on a subject you don’t know, you mock and belittle the experts instead of trying to learn from them. You’ve always made fun of my aspirations, but I’d rather try and fail than give up as you have. It's easy to destroy. It takes a strong man to build.”
A shadow flickered across her brother's face. Juliana hoped he was considering his actions. Realizing what he'd done and who he’d become. If her brother could feel even a little remorse, there’d be hope for his redemption.
His next words buried those hopes. “You’re jealous,” he told her. “You've always been desperate to make a difference, to make a name for yourself in this world, always knowing that it would never happen. Now, when I finally stand up, take action, you can’t bear it.”
“Take action?” Their father swayed. “Killing me? That's what you call taking action?” His knees gave way, and Brogan and Dunkeld leapt forwards to catch the man's arms. They lowered him to a chair.
“I'm not going to stand here and listen to any more of this,” Miss Lynn said. She lifted her chin. “This family is full of criminals and liars.” She glared at Snowdon and Juliana. “If I never have anything more to do with you, it'll be too soon.”
She turned on her heel, her skirts flying.
And froze when the decided click of a pistol hammer being cocked ricocheted through the room.
“I thought you loved me,” Snowdon said. “You said you loved me, that you'd stand by me.”
Juliana’s heart squeezed. Even now, she felt sympathy for her brother. She took another sliding step towards Rose. His cane was almost within arm's reach.
Snowdon swung the pistol back at her.
“Put the gun down,” Brogan ground out through clenched teeth. He stepped forward, and Dunkeld gripped his shoulder, holding him back.
