lady. The commodore only mentioned it to Cook in passing, and she told Ruby the parlormaid, who told me. But I gathered that he’s a seafaring gentleman.”
Splendid
, Juliana thought grimly.
More pompous bureaucrats from the Admiralty
. She glanced down at her dress, a rather plain gown of French gray bombazine trimmed with black gauze and a black satin ribbon. She considered changing into something more elaborate and flattering, but decided not to bother. The only thing the commodore’s associates ever seemed interested in were horses, cards, and thelatest betting opportunity at White’s. She could have worn a flour sack for all the notice they would pay her. “I appreciate the warning, Lucy. That will be all.”
Surprisingly, the girl hesitated. “My lady, beggin’ your pardon, but perhaps you shouldn’t attend. You’ve been lookin’ a mite pale and sickly all day. And you keep gazing off like, as if you were thinkin’ of something or someone far away. I know it ain’t my place to say, but—”
“No, it is not your place,” Juliana replied tersely. “You may go.”
Lucy’s face froze to stone and she started to leave the room. Instantly, Juliana regretted her sharp tongue. She had no reason to behave so coldly to her faithful abigail—no reason except that Lucy was absolutely dead-on about her behavior. “Lucy, I had no right to speak to you in that manner. Pray, forgive me. I have been … distracted much of the day.”
As the mollified Lucy left the room, Juliana turned back to her dressing table. She had indeed been distracted for much of the day and for much of the previous night as well. And much as she hated to admit it, the reason for her annoying listlessness lay squarely at the well-polished boots of Connor Reed.
All through the day, questions that she had never asked him assaulted her mind. While she was drinking her morning chocolate, she caught herself wondering why he called himself the Archangel. During her visit to the silk mercer in Bond Street, she found her attention wandering from the merchandise as she contemplated how he had come to acquire a ship and a crew. As she joined Meg and the Misses DeBary for afternoon tea at Grosvenor House, her thoughts strayed to the question of why he sailed without a flag. And just before Lucy arrived to arrange her hair, she had gazed into her vanity mirror and fingered her cheek, wondering what horrible battle had given him his evil-looking scar.
Bilgewater and barnacles, I am acting like a grinigog!
Irritated, she rose from her vanity and squared her shoulders. Connor Reed had stolen from her father and betrayed her with another woman. He was despicable. Contemplating anything about him was as—well, as her father’s old mate Tommy Blue used to say, “as bottle-witted as storing sea water in a sieve.” She left her bedchamber and strode down the hall with a sailor’s bravado, barely remembering to moderate her walk to a more fashionably modest cadence before she reached the drawing room. Pasting an equally fashionable smile on her face, she pushed open the door and entered the room.
The Jollys’ drawing room was pleasant and well-appointed, with polished oak paneling and conservative mahogany furnishings that sported none of the faddish sphinx and crocodile carvings that had been the rage for the past few years. Books lined the walls, most of them worn and well-read. Slightly faded velvet curtains framed the large windows, but few noticed because of the wonderful view of Berkley Square across the way. The Jollys were far from the wealthiest family in Mayfair, but they always used what money they had with taste and good sense.
Unfortunately, that good sense did not always extend to their friendships. “My deawr Lady Juliana!”
“How pleasant to see you again, Lord Renquist,” she commented, her smile hardly wavering. She glanced around the room. “I see my uncle invited quite a few guests.”
“Yes, we have impowrtant business
Splendid
, Juliana thought grimly.
More pompous bureaucrats from the Admiralty
. She glanced down at her dress, a rather plain gown of French gray bombazine trimmed with black gauze and a black satin ribbon. She considered changing into something more elaborate and flattering, but decided not to bother. The only thing the commodore’s associates ever seemed interested in were horses, cards, and thelatest betting opportunity at White’s. She could have worn a flour sack for all the notice they would pay her. “I appreciate the warning, Lucy. That will be all.”
Surprisingly, the girl hesitated. “My lady, beggin’ your pardon, but perhaps you shouldn’t attend. You’ve been lookin’ a mite pale and sickly all day. And you keep gazing off like, as if you were thinkin’ of something or someone far away. I know it ain’t my place to say, but—”
“No, it is not your place,” Juliana replied tersely. “You may go.”
Lucy’s face froze to stone and she started to leave the room. Instantly, Juliana regretted her sharp tongue. She had no reason to behave so coldly to her faithful abigail—no reason except that Lucy was absolutely dead-on about her behavior. “Lucy, I had no right to speak to you in that manner. Pray, forgive me. I have been … distracted much of the day.”
As the mollified Lucy left the room, Juliana turned back to her dressing table. She had indeed been distracted for much of the day and for much of the previous night as well. And much as she hated to admit it, the reason for her annoying listlessness lay squarely at the well-polished boots of Connor Reed.
All through the day, questions that she had never asked him assaulted her mind. While she was drinking her morning chocolate, she caught herself wondering why he called himself the Archangel. During her visit to the silk mercer in Bond Street, she found her attention wandering from the merchandise as she contemplated how he had come to acquire a ship and a crew. As she joined Meg and the Misses DeBary for afternoon tea at Grosvenor House, her thoughts strayed to the question of why he sailed without a flag. And just before Lucy arrived to arrange her hair, she had gazed into her vanity mirror and fingered her cheek, wondering what horrible battle had given him his evil-looking scar.
Bilgewater and barnacles, I am acting like a grinigog!
Irritated, she rose from her vanity and squared her shoulders. Connor Reed had stolen from her father and betrayed her with another woman. He was despicable. Contemplating anything about him was as—well, as her father’s old mate Tommy Blue used to say, “as bottle-witted as storing sea water in a sieve.” She left her bedchamber and strode down the hall with a sailor’s bravado, barely remembering to moderate her walk to a more fashionably modest cadence before she reached the drawing room. Pasting an equally fashionable smile on her face, she pushed open the door and entered the room.
The Jollys’ drawing room was pleasant and well-appointed, with polished oak paneling and conservative mahogany furnishings that sported none of the faddish sphinx and crocodile carvings that had been the rage for the past few years. Books lined the walls, most of them worn and well-read. Slightly faded velvet curtains framed the large windows, but few noticed because of the wonderful view of Berkley Square across the way. The Jollys were far from the wealthiest family in Mayfair, but they always used what money they had with taste and good sense.
Unfortunately, that good sense did not always extend to their friendships. “My deawr Lady Juliana!”
“How pleasant to see you again, Lord Renquist,” she commented, her smile hardly wavering. She glanced around the room. “I see my uncle invited quite a few guests.”
“Yes, we have impowrtant business
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