Page 90 of Atone, Adonis

“My lord, my lady,” Lady Hawthorne said, her false smile fixed on her face. “We are so glad you could come. Truly.”

Julianna’s hand rested on Fred’s arm as he guided her forward. She wished she had a stone in her pocket. Isobel Hawthorne would make a much better target than Fred ever had.

“Thank you, my lady,” Julianna murmured and inclined her head as graciously as she could manage.

Lady Hawthorne’s smile lingered and she could tell it wasn’t admiration for her new gown that caused the older woman to stare. The look was far too calculating for that. And there was a flicker of anticipation in it that made her stomach clench with nerves.

Beside her she could feel Fred stiffen too. The hyenas were eager for a meal and Lady Hawthorne meant to serve the two of them up for supper.

Not if I have anything to do with it, Julianna thought stubbornly and tilted up her chin.

They moved deeper into the room as their host turned away to greet the next arrivals. “Go circulate, Fred,” she whispered to him.

They had planned for him to go and find the Baroness and confront her. Which would be impossible if he never left her side, but Fred only clutched her arm a little tighter.

“In a moment,” he said, and she found herself glad he didn’t want to leave her yet. Not here, where every glance slid in their direction and she could practically hear a slander on every pair of lips.

She couldn’t even say she didn’t mind it for herself, only for Fred, because that wasn’t true either. It cut deeply to read such ugly things said about you in the papers—to know that every person she’d ever met had read them. The more vicious The Poisoned Quill became about her the more she understood why Fred had retreated into himself.

Beside her, his eyes moved constantly—cataloguing faces and clusters of guests. Always looking for the Baroness.

“Would you like to dance?” Julianna asked him softly.

The orchestra was finishing its set and there would be a lull before the next one, when they could take their place on the floor amid the other guests. Perhaps it would do them some good to take a turn. And she found she wanted to dance with him, even here among all this dreadful company, the thought of being swept up in his arms and held close was appealing.

“I would,” he said quickly. When he turned to her and held out his hand, the warmth of his smile lit her up, despite their environs. That would probably be true no matter where they went, even to the polar caps.

She took his hand and watched as his big one enveloped hers and they took a step toward the dance floor. How odd to be here at Hawthorne Hall with him. There had been a time not so long ago when she would have given anything to be employed in this house, not standing in the center of its ballroom as a guest. And she would have laughed aloud, in equal parts anger and disbelief, if she’d known Fred would be her companion, her husband. It was, she supposed, good to be wrong about the things you thought you wanted. If you got them all you’d never know what it was you needed.

They had reached the edge of the floor when a footman passed with a silver tray of punch. Julianna paused, her hand still clasped in Fred’s.

“The orchestra is breaking,” she said, glancing over to where the musicians lowered their instruments. “Shall we toast first?”

He nodded and guided her toward the table of punch and refreshments. Around them the footmen passed, glasses chiming softly as the guests mingled. He poured her punch and she drank it, feeling herself relax little by little. The Baroness was nowhere to be seen. The Hawthornes were circulating. Eyes were still on them, but that was to be expected. They’d been invited here tonight to be a spectacle, the center of attention, gossiped about. They’d known that and it was part of the reason they’d come, just like at Rotten Row. It wasn’t anything more than she could endure.

She heard the tinkling of laughter first, felt herself shiver at the sound of it. Too high-pitched and mean to be anything other than malicious. And then there were more laughs and a finger pointed and she knew.

“She’s here, Fred. The Baroness.”

The orchestra had picked up their instruments once more but no one was dancing. Lady Hawthorne was staring at them and whispering something to her companion, a woman Julianna did not know. Julianna could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Her pulse throbbing in her neck.

Fred’s head turned sharply, looking for the Baroness. It seemed the whole of the ballroom was staring at them. Whispering about the Ice Bride, how she had treated Thomas, how she had used him and her marriage to rise in society. It was so ludicrous it ought not to hurt. She wanted nothing to do with these grand halls and these awful people—she just wanted to be at home at Farrow Cottage, her hands in the soil. But it did hurt, whether or not it should.

“Smile, dearheart,” Fred whispered to her. “Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she said back. This was harder than she’d anticipated.

“Then we’ll leave. Go about this in some other way.”

“No.”

They’d agreed on a plan. Come here tonight and find the Baroness. Have her admit her wrongdoing within earshot of the Inspector, whom Fred had personally let in the door. It was the only way they could ensure she was stopped and The Poisoned Quill put out of business. Julianna couldn’t falter now.

“No,” she said again. “I’m alright. Let’s see this through.”

“Jules,” Fred said. “We can find another way.”

Fred only had eyes for his wife. She’d gone stiff and pale next to him, her dark eyes too wide. It was foolish to have brought her here. Foolish to think that anyone—even a person as brave as Julianna—would not feel the terrible slings and barbs of this society. Because Dorset was their home and wounds here hurt far worse than anything they might have sustained on Rotten Row.