Page 6 of Regency in Color

“Thank you. I don’t know if our acquaintance has been long enough for me to tell you this, but you rescued me from a rather unpleasant discourse about the many ways I am lacking. All of which my aunt thinks will lead to me falling into spinsterhood.”

Juliana bowed her head ever so slightly so she could steal glances at Eleanor’s lips. Luckily, their closeness and the way Eleanor annunciated every word helped her hear most of the conversation without needing much assistance.

“Spinsterhood,” Eleanor groaned dramatically. “The fate all young women of society dread above all else.”

Juliana grinned. “Not I. If I could, I’d love to remain unmarried. I’d travel the world and deepen my studies of art and painting.”

“You are a painter? Are you a good one?”

“If it doesn’t sound too arrogant, I like to think I am.”

Eleanor waved a dismissive hand. “Since arrogance is a trait only men are allowed to partake in, I’d never assign it to another woman, especially a friend, even if it were true. But if you have a talent, there is no shame in saying so.”

“Thank you.” Juliana’s cheeks warmed. Praise, no matter how small, was something she’d never fully known how to accept. “If I could trade my skill for your grace and amiability, I would. As much as I wish it were otherwise, life as a self-sufficient painter is not a possibility. And I possess none of the talents necessary to acquire a husband and run a household—yet it is the only realistic future available to me.”

“Practice is the key, my dear. For years, my mother made my governess force me to curtsy in front of a mirror until my knees practically gave out.”

“How dreadful.” Juliana shuddered, thinking about such a childhood.

“Very.” A shadow flickered across Eleanor’s face, dampening her cheerful disposition. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. “I am grateful to her, though. I wouldn’t be the favorite of the season otherwise.”

“Excellent point.”

Juliana couldn’t argue with her about that. Nearly every man in attendance had clamored to claim a spot on Eleanor’s dance card as soon as she arrived. While Juliana’s dance card still had many available spots left, Eleanor’s had filled within minutes.

Perhaps if her parents had provided a stricter foundation in social decorum, she’d have a better chance at finding a suitable husband. Then again, nothing about her parents, or the way they raised her, had been traditional. Her British father, the second son of the former Viscount Roxburrow, had fallen in love with her mother, a free woman of color on the Island of Jamaica. He’d never once thought twice about marrying her and bringing her home to England. His family's displeasure meant next to nothing compared to his unending love for her mother, who had loved him just as fiercely.

Their love had spilled over onto Juliana, who had adored them just as much. Losing them was the hardest thing she’d ever endured.

Shaking off the memories of the past, Juliana refocused on Eleanor, hoping she hadn’t missed something requiring a response. “If you don’t mind . . .” the rest of the words dried up on her tongue.

Her head snapped up. She searched the surrounding crowd for the source of the voice she thought she’d never hear again. The one she never had trouble picking out, even in the loudest room.

She stilled when she spotted him.

Colin. Duke of Herstshire.

The man she’d foolishly loved with the fervor of a hopelessly naive girl.

It was him. Standing with a group of his peers, captivating them with every word he spoke, as he’d once done to her.

Her heart rattled in her chest, searching for a dark hole to dive into for protection.

She’d been concentrating so hard on Eleanor’s lips and listening to their conversation that she hadn’t noticed the direction Eleanor had been leading her.

Straight to him.

He watched them approach in that intense way he had that always made her feel like he wanted to devour her very soul. Like he could see into her heart and pluck out her deepest secrets. While it used to excite her to be known so fully, now it terrified her.

Being known by him had left her vulnerable to him.

Being vulnerable to him had left her crushed by him.

As they came closer, he excused himself from his group and turned, his full attention on them. Or more so, on Juliana.

“Good evening, my lord,” Eleanor greeted him, dipping into another impeccable curtsy.

Juliana remained frozen, every muscle in her body drawn taught. Instinct screamed for her to run across the ballroom, out the front door, and not stop until she was safely nestled in her carriage, on her way home.