An Independent Woman

With a grimace, Juliana began to undress, her mind going back to her life at the Barre estate. She supposed it was seeing Nicholas tonight that made her think of it, for she had managed to bury such memories long ago and normally did not even think about that time.

Juliana had been eight years old when her beloved father, the scholarly youngest son of a baron, had died. She remembered lying in her bed at night, listening to the soft sounds of her mother weeping in the room next door. Juliana had been too frightened to cry herself.

Overnight, her world had been turned upside down. Not only was her father gone, but the smiling, warm mother she had known all her life was gone, as well, replaced by a pale, sad, anxious woman who paced the floors, twisting her handkerchief between her hands when she wasn’t collapsed on the sofa or her bed, crying. First the maids had left, and then, finally, their housekeeper, and angry men had come knocking on their door at all hours. Those visits invariably left her mother crying.

Finally they had left the small house in which they had lived all Juliana’s life, packing only their clothes and her mother’s jewelry, and moved into a set of rooms in a house where several other people lived. Her mother, Diana, spent her time staring dully out the window and writing letters. Periodically Diana would take out her small jewelry box and open it, then search through the contents, finally selecting a set of earrings or a bracelet. She would leave their rooms, admonishing Juliana to be quiet, and return a few hours later, her eyes red and a bag of sweets for Juliana in her hand.

Only years later had Juliana come to understand the terror that her fragile, pretty mother had faced—a woman with a young child and no money or skills, eking out a living for them by selling her small stock of precious jewelry, aware that before long this source of money would run out, too, and they would be left utterly penniless. The family’s sole source of money had been a small trust left to her father by a grandmother, added to by the small sums of money he brought in from his scholarly articles. Both incomes had died with her father.

One day a tall dark-haired man had come to visit them. He had spoken briefly to Juliana’s mother, who began to cry, sitting down on a chair. Juliana had run to Diana, furious with the man for hurting her mother.

But Diana had reached out an arm and encircled Juliana, pulling her close, and said, “No, no, darling. This is Cousin Lilith’s husband, and he has saved us. They have very kindly invited us to live with them.”

The next day they had traveled to Lychwood Hall in a post chaise, with Trenton Barre riding alongside the coach. Lychwood Hall had been a grand and imposing place, built of gray stone, with alternating narrow strips of black slate. Fortunately Juliana and her mother were not to be living at the estate house itself, but in a smaller cottage on the grounds. Juliana found the cottage rather cheerless and cold, but her mother simply said over and over again how wonderful it was that they had found a home.

Diana had explained to her daughter that her cousin, Lilith, had married Trenton Barre, and that the couple were not only giving them a house in which to live but were also generously allowing Juliana to be educated with their own children at the main house. Carefully she had instructed her daughter on how she was to act around the Barre family—always polite and respectful, never contradicting them or making herself a nuisance in any way. They were there on the Barre family’s sufferance, she had told Juliana, and Juliana must always remember that. She was to play with the Barre children, but only if asked to, and she was to let them have their way in all things, whether in play or at work in school.

Such admonitions grated on Juliana, who had always had a mind of her own. It galled her to be a “charity case,” and the idea of having to always give in to another’s wishes appalled her. However, because of her desire to please her mother and ease her obvious anxiety, she had promised to follow her orders. Then she had been taken over to meet the Barres, who by that time had assumed somewhat legendary proportions in Juliana’s childish mind.

Lilith Barre was an icy blonde, attractive in a long, slender way most unlike Juliana’s small, curvaceous mother. She did not seem, Juliana thought, the sort whose lap one could climb onto to lean one’s head against her shoulder. And she certainly did not display any sort of affection for either Juliana or Juliana’s mother. The young girl found it hard to believe that she was related to them in any way.

Lilith looked at Juliana in a cool, assessing way, then instructed one of the maids to take the child up to the nursery to meet the governess and the other tutors.

The governess was a woman who seemed to be of varying shades of gray, from her iron-colored hair to her charcoal-hued dress. She was, she told Juliana, Miss Emerson, and these were Master Crandall Barre and Miss Seraphina Barre.

Crandall was a sturdy boy a year or two older than Juliana, with a haughty expression and cold dark eyes. “You’re another poor relation,” he had announced and stuck out his tongue.

Juliana, unused to other children, had been rather shocked, but she gave him the polite curtsey her mother had taught her and turned to his sister. Seraphina was about Juliana’s age and took after her mother in looks, tall for her age and slender, with long blond hair carefully woven into braids and coiled on her head.

“Hullo,” Seraphina said in a rather friendlier manner than her brother. “Mummy said that you would play with me.”

“Yes, if you’d like,” Juliana had replied, relieved that this girl, at least, did not seem to actively dislike her as her brother did.

Juliana’s eyes had gone past the two children to another boy who slouched against the bookcase behind him, his hands thrust into his pockets and a closed, sullen look on his face. He was a few years old than Juliana, with thick black hair, messily tumbled about his face, and black eyes. He looked at Juliana without expression as Juliana studied him curiously.

“Hullo,” she had said finally, intrigued by the boy, who seemed to her much more interesting than the other two. “I am Juliana Holcott. Who are you?”

“What do you care?” he had replied.

“Nicholas!” the governess exclaimed.

“He lives with us,” Seraphina volunteered.

“He’s an orphan,” Crandall had added with a sneer.

The boy cast a dark look at Crandall but said nothing.

“He is Nicholas Barre,” the governess had explained to Juliana. “The children’s cousin. Mr. Trenton Barre is his guardian. Mr. Barre is, as you know, a most generous man and kindly took him in after his parents’ sailing accident. However, your question was quite rude. You must learn to mind your tongue.”

Juliana had looked at the woman in surprise, saying, “But how else was I to learn who he was?”

Miss Emerson had frowned at her and cautioned her once again to curb her tongue. Juliana, remembering her mother’s strictures, had swallowed her protest. She had glanced over at Crandall, who was smirking at her, then at Nicholas, who was watching her impassively.

They had begun their schoolwork. Juliana, whose scholarly father had taught her in the past, found their schoolwork easy enough and frankly boring. When Miss Emerson read to them from a book that Juliana herself had already read, it had been a struggle to keep her eyes open. A glance across the table told her that Nicholas, head down on the table, was not even pretending to listen. Juliana secretly wished she could be so bold.

Later in the afternoon, as Miss Emerson stood at the chalkboard on the wall, writing math problems, Crandall squirmed and twisted in his chair, obviously bored. After a moment he pulled out the contents of one of his pockets; then, after putting the rest back in his pocket, he picked up a small, smooth stone. Looking around, he noticed Juliana watching him, and he grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her, then turned and lobbed the pebble at the governess. The small stone missed her, cracking into the blackboard, and Miss Emerson jumped in surprise.

The governess whirled around, her eyes blazing. “Nicholas! That was a dangerous thing to do. Hold out your hands.”

She marched across the room to him, grabbing up her ruler.

“I didn’t do it!” Nicholas shot back furiously. “It was Crandall.”

“And now you are adding lying to your sins?” the governess asked. “Hold out your hands this instant.” She raised her ruler.

“I didn’t do it!” Nicholas repeated as he rose to his feet and faced their teacher pugnaciously.

“How dare you defy me?” Miss Emerson cried, looking a little frightened. “Go to your room.”

“But he’s telling the truth,” Juliana protested. “It was Crandall who did it. I saw him.”

Nicholas’s cold dark gaze turned to Juliana. The governess whirled to look at her, too, her face alight with anger.

“Don’t lie to me, young lady,” she told Juliana sternly.

“I’m not lying!” Juliana exclaimed, incensed. “I don’t lie. It was Crandall. Nicholas didn’t do anything.”

Her words seemed only to infuriate the woman even more. “Has he corrupted you already? Or are you simply of the same sort of seed? No doubt that is why you, too, have been cast upon the world. Having to depend on others’ generosity…”

Tears sprang into Juliana’s eyes, and she was filled with a desire to fling herself at the woman, kicking and hitting.

“It’s a good thing we don’t have to depend on your generosity,” Nicholas told the governess, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “It’s clear you haven’t any.”

“Go to your room. Right now. Let’s see how defiant you are tomorrow after no supper tonight.”

“That’s not fair!” Juliana cried.

“And you, miss, will go stand in the corner until I tell you otherwise. I suggest you think over your actions just now and ask yourself whether a proper lady would say and do the things you just did.”

Nicholas strode out of the schoolroom and into a small room adjoining it, slamming the door behind him.

Juliana took up her place in the corner, and later, when Miss Emerson allowed her to return to her lessons, she kept her mouth shut and ignored Crandall’s smug looks. During luncheon, she sneaked a few bits of food into her pocket. Later, when the children were supposed to be reading but Miss Emerson had nodded off in her chair and the others had taken the opportunity to lay their own heads down on their desks to nap, Juliana crept over to Nicholas’s door and eased it open.

Nicholas was standing on a chair, gazing out the high window, and he whipped around at her quiet entrance. Frowning, he hopped lightly down from the chair and came over to her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a none-too-friendly whisper. “The Dragon’ll punish you if she catches you.”

“She’s asleep,” Juliana whispered back, reaching into her pocket, then pulling out the napkin and passing it across to Nicholas.