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“No?” One of his thick brows had risen. “Have you forgotten Queen Elena so soon?”
Well,thatwas a sobering reminder, chopping block and all, but still, Justine didn’t believe for a moment Amelia would ever turn on her. And there was no danger of her ever trusting Lady Bardaline. She liked to think that she and the lady had come to an unspoken understanding—Lady Bardaline would not asktoomany questions, and Justine would allow her to stay.
For now.
“Well,Iwon’t take tea with him,” Amelia sniffed. “And besides, I am to Holland House this evening. Are you sure you won’t come, Jussie?”
Justine put her hands to her waist as Seviana laced her corset. “I can’t possibly, Amelia. I am to leave for Windsor at first light to call on Queen Victoria.”
Not to mention she was not allowed to attend a supper so casually with people she scarcely knew. To arrive at Holland House without all the necessary king’s men around her would be a terrible breach of etiquette, according to her mother and Lord Bardaline. Honestly, it felt like anything Justine ever desired fell into the category of terrible breaches, whereas life was a lark for Amelia. She could come and go as she pleased as long as she kept her reputation above reproach.
Justine envied Amelia’s freedom. And she hated how everything thatshedid was studied and remarked upon and scrutinized for cracks and weaknesses. She hated that unlike Amelia, who basked in the attention of crowds, she felt so uncomfortable in the midst of strangers. Her breath would grow shallow and her palms go damp.
“Who will accompany you to Holland House?” Justine asked Amelia.
“Lady Holland.”
“Lady Holland?” Lady Bardaline repeated as Justine stepped into a petticoat.
“Yes, Lady Holland,” Amelia said with a bit of iciness in her voice. And then, because she could never help herself, could never be coy, she blurted, “WhynotLady Holland?”
“No reason at all, Your Highness,” Lady Bardaline said smoothly. But the insinuation was evident in the twinge of disapproval in her voice. In a few days Amelia would receive a letter from their mother admonishing her for being seen with people who were so wildly political in their dealings, which the Hollands notoriously were, and exhorting her to remain above and beyond the fray. Justine could practically write the missive herself.
And Amelia, who always chafed at having her movements questioned, would then find every reason she could to call on Holland House. “I like her, very much,” Amelia said to Lady Bardaline, as if to prove Justine’s thought. “I’m bored with this. I’ll look in on you tomorrow, Jussie,” she said, and Justine heard her go out the door.
She finished dressing with Seviana’s help and stepped out from behind the screen. Lady Bardaline had taken a seat on the chaise and had picked up a fashion magazine Justine had left there. It was such a trifling thing, but Justine chafed—sometimes, the lady made herself very much at home in Justine’s rooms. She wondered if when she was queen people would sit on her chaise and look at her fashion magazines. She would issue a decree against it if they did, knowing full well her mother would admonish her for being rude. Sometimes it seemed to Justine that her mother didn’t appreciate at all the responsibility her daughter would have as queen, but cared more for appearances.
Lady Bardaline looked up from her study of the latest in fashion and smiled. “That gown suits you very well, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
“Might I be of assistance?”
Well... Seviana had helped her dress, so unless Lady Bardaline wanted to brush her hair, she couldn’t see how. “Actually...” Justine sat at her vanity and signaled to Seviana to begin work on her hair. “You may take your leave.” The moment she said it, she held her breath. She was never quite certain if a command would be obeyed, and she watched Lady Bardaline in the mirror at her vanity, expecting her to pull a disapproving face, to even challenge her. But the lady smiled sweetly and stood. “As you wish.” She curtsied and disappeared into the adjoining room.
And in moments like this, Justine wondered if she had it all wrong—maybe Lady Bardaline really did want only to help. And maybe she would be taken seriously as a queen, and not just her mother’s puppet.
Seviana brushed her hair to a sheen and knotted it at her nape. The white streak that had mortified Justine when she was a girl looked a bit like someone had painted a white line into her hair. She didn’t mind it so much now, especially since it matched the white in her father’s hair.
She stood up and examined her appearance in a full-length mirror. Yes, this gown would do. She looked worldly, she decided, which was precisely what she wanted. The last time she’d seen Douglas, he’d treated her like a child. In fairness, she’d been little more than a child, having turned seventeen on the voyage over, but still, he might have shown her a little more deference.
She glanced at the clock. She’d kept Lord Douglas waiting only an hour, and that wasn’t long enough. “Thank you, Seviana.”
Seviana curtsied and took Justine’s fencing clothes into the adjoining dressing room.
Douglas. What was she supposed to say to him?So good to see you?She didn’t even want to look at him. Not because he repulsed her—far from it. Because he’d stood before her with that hint of an amused smile. And she’d been struck with how his looks had somehow improved, which her teenage eyes would have thought impossible. Oh, but she’d been enamored with his handsome face then, hadn’t she? He was the most attractive man she’d ever seen.
Eight years later he was attractive but also, more...seasoned. Broader in the shoulder and more muscular. There were a few new lines around his eyes, and his sideburns grew into a full beard. And his hair...well, it appeared too soft and too long and was indescribably enticing in its tousled state. Whydidgentlemen put so much pomade in their hair? His was infinitely better without it.
Also, she couldn’t help but notice the slight hint of leather and clove as she’d come closer to him, a scent that seemed strangely at odds with the fine clothes he wore, when, in fact, it was the perfect combination.
And then there were his eyes. Ah, yes, his eyes... She suppressed a sigh. The exact color of a winter sky, at times blue, at times gray.
Damn him.Why in heaven must it be him to appear from nowhere, even more handsome than before? Well, it hardly mattered—he was still a scoundrel. Scoundrels never changed their stripes, and she’d learned that very much the hard way.
She walked to the window and braced her hands on the sill, rising up on her toes to have a look at the lovely pastoral view in front of the house. In the beginning she had not been pleased with her banishment to London—her mother insisted it was not a banishment, but Justine understood quite clearly that it was. However, she did think Prescott Hall was quite beautiful. The grounds were bucolic, and it soothed her. She was prone to feelings of anxiousness, and nothing could calm her quite like a walk in the country or a view such as this. She gazed idly at a shepherd moving his flock from a field. His two dogs raced back and forth behind them, forcing the sheep into a river of wool, moving them steadily into a narrow country road. The sheep moved along the road, pushed together like so many loaves of bread.
She thought as she watched them that she would tell Douglas she was terribly busy, there were many matters that were before her, and if he was calling on her socially, perhaps he could come at a more convenient time.
