The Captain's Disgraced Lady. Catherine Tinley

enjoying during these spirited encounters.

      This was more than mere flirtation, though flattery was one of the main strategies which Harry was using to irritate her. He had realised quickly she was uncomfortable receiving compliments and that it was the easiest method of getting a response from her. As an accomplished flirt, he had developed the knack, he thought, of persuading young ladies to succumb to his charm—while avoiding, of course, any risk they might fall ‘in love’ with him. That was a complication he must avoid. With Juliana, he was sure there was no such risk, so his way was clear to see if he could charm her—or outwit her—into warming to him.

      He squirmed slightly at the direction of his own musings. He sounded arrogant, even to himself. Deep inside, the monster of his self-loathing began to stir. Sensing the chasm opening up before him, he diverted his thoughts from the depths. Better to focus on the challenge of fencing with Juliana. The last thing he wished was to observe his own soul.

      As each day passed, he grew to know her better. After just a week, he could now read the play of emotions that crossed her features with increasing accuracy, while Juliana was becoming ever more skilful at scoring hits on him.

      Their battles—fought with word and gaze—were different to anything he had ever known and he found himself looking forward to each day with greater energy than he had known since—

      ‘And so,’ Juliana concluded with a flourish, ‘we may discover today whether Lord Cowlam’s wealth has been used to purchase peacocks for Glenbrook!’

      ‘Why, this sounds like a high treat!’ he declared. ‘I thank you both for allowing me to accompany you. There is nothing I enjoy more than absurdity!’

      ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ Juliana nodded. ‘People can be so humorous—even when they do not mean to be!’

      Harry was startled by her straight answer. Honesty—without the hint of a barb—was a rare occurrence between them. He found himself agreeing with her. ‘Especially when they do not mean to be!’

      Unthinkingly, they smiled briefly at each other in a moment of mutual understanding, then both broke off eye contact. They stared fixedly at the countryside for the rest of the journey, each lost in their own thoughts. Charlotte, after a keen look at each of them, smiled slightly, but said nothing.

      In truth, Harry was a little disturbed by the sudden, unexpected harmony between himself and Juliana. They had each triumphed in various skirmishes, but which of them had won this latest round was unclear.

       Chapter Six

      ‘We call this the Blue Drawing Room,’ Mrs Wakely tittered. ‘As you can understand, for everything is blue, even the rug!’

      Juliana suppressed a yawn. How she disliked this ritual, touring people’s houses so they could crow about their wealth, furniture and—in Mrs Wakely’s case—rugs. She had done it many times around Brussels and Vienna, and knew the behaviour expected of her. She was to exclaim and compliment, and agree with her hostess, all the time understanding that she, who had no property or wealthy relations, was to be grateful even to visit such a wonderful dwelling. This occasion, Juliana recognised, was slightly different, for Mrs Wakely knew Glenbrook Hall was nothing compared to Chadcombe. Juliana was quite enjoying the reflected glory—and Mrs Wakely’s feeble attempts to seem humble, yet crow about her fortune.

      ‘As you see, it has blue hangings and the sofas and chairs are all done in blue. The fireplace, you will notice, is white.’

      ‘A most pleasant room, Mrs Wakely.’ Charlotte was all politeness. Juliana did not know how she could stand it. Since their arrival, Mrs Wakely had maintained an incessant flow of inconsequential chatter, interspersed with impertinent questions.

      Thankfully, after tea, Harry had been taken off by Mr Wakely to inspect the stables, so Juliana did not have to endure the company of either man. Mr Wakely, on their arrival, had raised his quizzing glass to inspect both ladies with uncomfortable intensity, before pronouncing them to be ‘fine young ladies’, in a voice that made Juliana shiver slightly.

      ‘...you think, Juliana?’ Realising belatedly that Charlotte was addressing her, Juliana started.

      ‘Yes, delightful,’ she said generally. It seemed to fit, for no one reacted with surprise.

      Mrs Wakely rang the bell. ‘The portrait gallery is next and I confess I do not know much of the family history, so I have asked our housekeeper, Mrs Campbell, to be ready to explain it to you.’

      They stood, listening with seeming interest to Mrs Wakely’s description of the pleasant view out of the window, until the housekeeper appeared. Mrs Campbell was a stout, kindly-looking woman in her sixties, with a lined face and iron-grey hair contained in an orderly bun. Her black dress was neat and tidy, and she wore a large bunch of keys at her waist.

      ‘Mrs Campbell,’ said Mrs Wakely imperiously, ‘please take us to the portrait gallery, and explain everything to my guests. The same way you explained it to me when I first became your mistress.’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘Lady Shalford, you will know what a trial it is to find good staff and how one must establish dominance over them from the start—especially the “old retainer” types. One would not want to be cheated by dishonest staff!’

      Juliana’s jaw dropped in shock. What an insulting thing to say, and in front of her own housekeeper! Mrs Campbell’s face remained expressionless, but Juliana knew from the brief flash of pain in her eyes that Mrs Wakely’s cruel arrow had found its mark.

      Charlotte, she saw, was equally taken aback. ‘I know how important it is to find—and to keep—good staff,’ she said softly. ‘I declare I would be lost without my own housekeeper at Chadcombe.’ She smiled gently at Mrs Campbell.

      Juliana spoke up. ‘I would be delighted if you would be so kind as to show us the portrait gallery, Mrs Campbell.’ She smiled broadly at the housekeeper, hoping to signal her outrage at Mrs Wakely’s rude behaviour.

      Mrs Campbell looked at her fully for the first time. Her eyes widened briefly, then she schooled her features into impassivity. ‘Thank you, miss.’

      Juliana followed as Mrs Campbell led them through two interconnected rooms. Why had the housekeeper looked at her with such surprise? Was she so unused to receiving kindness? Juliana could not imagine how difficult it must be to work for a mistress as coarse and unfeeling as Mrs Wakely.

      Unhooking the bunch of keys from her waist, the housekeeper unlocked the door to the portrait gallery, then stood aside while they entered.

      It was a beautiful room. Long, narrow and sunlit, with polished wooden floors and plain walls, hung with portraits amassed over three centuries. A single rosewood table stood halfway down and there was another door at the far end of the room. There was an air of peace, tranquillity and quiet tastefulness about the whole house, which did not match Mrs Wakely in the slightest.

      Juliana was forced to admit she liked Glenbrook Hall. It was a pretty estate, with farms, mature woodlands, landscaped gardens and a long sweeping drive. The house was a modest building of warm granite and large windows, with high ceilings, elegant fireplaces and tasteful design. It was also immaculately maintained—Juliana laid the credit for this at the feet of Mrs Campbell and the other staff, for it was clear Mrs Wakely had no knowledge or understanding of running a country house.

      ‘How long have you lived here, Mrs Wakely?’ she asked, curiosity finally getting the better of her. Besides, she was unable to resist the temptation to make her hostess feel a little uncomfortable.

      ‘Almost six months,’ replied Mrs Wakely. ‘I do declare it took a while for us to get used to it, rattling around in this big place. I much prefer a compact house, with only the rooms I need—though, of course, it is gratifying when guests are impressed by how large the house is.’

      Juliana blinked. Mrs Wakely continued, undaunted. ‘I have plans to change the house and to get rid of all this old furniture.