Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 78

“He’s not so handsome, either,” said the tall woman.
“I’ve seen handsomer,” chimed another.
“Indeed,” Gwen said, handing Juliana a freshly baked biscuit, still warm from the oven.
She nibbled on one end, amazed that this group of women whom she did not know ignored her mad behavior, returning to their tasks one by one.
What a fool she had become.
She stood at the thought, pushing the stool back so quickly that it tipped and barely righted itself. “I should not have . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
Only one of the two beginnings was true.
She swore softly in Italian, and the women looked to each other, seeking for a translator in their midst. They did not find one.
“I must go.”
“Juliana,” Georgiana said, and she heard the plea in the girl’s voice. “Stay. Please.”
Juliana froze at the door, back to the room, feeling instantly sorry for anyone who had or would feel the way she did at that precise moment—the combination of shame and sadness and frustration and nausea that made her want to crawl into her bed and never come out again.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I cannot stay.”
She opened the door and hurried toward the stairs. If she could just reach the house’s center staircase—if she could just find her way upstairs—things would be better. She would be better.
She increased her pace, eager to escape the embarrassment that seemed to be chasing her from the kitchens.
“Juliana!”
Embarrassment followed nonetheless, in the form of Lady Georgiana.
She spun back around, facing the smaller woman, wishing she could eliminate the last few minutes, the last hour, the whole trip to Yorkshire. “Please.”
Georgiana smiled, a dimple flashing in her cheek. “Would you like to take a walk with me? The gardens are quite nice.”
“I—”
“Please. I am told I should take air after the baby. I should like the company.”
She made it impossible to refuse. They exited through a sitting room set off to one side of the corridor, out an unassuming doorway and down a small set of stone stairs into the vegetable garden at the side of the house.
They walked among the perfectly organized rows of plants in silence for long moments before Juliana could not bear in any longer. “I am sorry for what I said in the kitchens.”
“Which part?”
“All of it, I suppose. I did not mean to criticize your brother.”
Georgiana smiled then, running her fingers along a sprig of rosemary and bringing the scent to her nose. “That is unfortunate. I rather liked that you were willing to criticize my brother. So few ever do.”
Juliana opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, uncertain of what to say. “I suppose that he does little to deserve their criticism,” she said, finally.
Georgiana gave her a look. “Do you?”
The truth was far easier than attempting to say the right thing. She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “Not entirely, no.”
“Good. He’s infuriating, isn’t he?”
Juliana’s eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. “Exceedingly so.”
Georgiana grinned. “I think I like you.”
“I am happy to hear it.” They walked a while longer. “I have not said congratulations. On the birth of your daughter.”
“Caroline. Thank you.” There was a long pause. “I suppose you know that I am a terrible scandal in the making.”
Juliana offered her a smile. “Then we are destined to be friends, as I am considered by many to be a terrible scandal already made.”
“Really?”
Juliana nodded, pulling a sprig of thyme from a nearby shrubbery and lifting it to her nose, inhaling deep. “Indeed. I have a mother, as I’m sure you know. She is a legend.”
“I’ve heard of her.”
“She returned to England last week.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes. Your brother was there.” Juliana tossed the herb aside. “Everyone thinks I am made from the same clothing.” Georgiana tilted her head in the way people did when they did not entirely understand her. Juliana rephrased. “They think I am like her.”
“Ah. Cut from the same cloth.”
That was it. “Yes.”
“And are you?”
“Your brother thinks so.”
“That was not the question.”
Juliana considered the words. No one had ever asked her if she was like her mother. No one had ever cared. The gossips of the ton had immediately condemned her for her parentage, and Gabriel and Nick and the rest of the family had simply rejected the idea of any similarities out of hand.
But Georgiana stood across from her on this winding garden path and asked the question no one had ever asked. So, Juliana told the truth. “I hope not.”
And it was enough for Georgiana. The path forked ahead of them, and she threaded one hand through Juliana’s arm, leading the way back to the house. “Never fear, Juliana. When my news gets out, they will forget everything they have ever thought of you and your mother. Fallen angels make for excellent gossip.”
“But you are the daughter of a duke,” Juliana protested. “Simon is marrying to protect you.”
Georgiana shook her head. “I am well-and-truly ruined. Absolutely irredeemable. Perhaps he can protect our reputation, perhaps he can quiet the whispers, but they will never go away.”
“I am sorry,” Juliana said, because she could not think of anything else.