"Don't be so untrusting." Elizabeth scolded, patting her arm. "My husband and I will force nothing upon you. Your business lies with the Duke of Redmayne, and you may negotiate with him however you please."
Juliana's eyes narrowed. "You would have me believe that you have no interest, financial or otherwise, in the duke's plans for me? Forgive me, ma'am, if I doubt that. A procuress expects to be paid, I'm sure."
"What a stubborn, ill-tempered chit it is, to be sure," Elizabeth declared to her husband. "I wish His Grace joy of her." She tossed her elaborately coiffed head in disgust and sailed from the room, followed by Richard.
Perhaps it was unwise to alienate those two on whom her present comfort and security depended, Juliana reflected with a rueful grimace. She went over to the bed and began to examine the garments. There was an apple-green quilted petticoat to pair with the jade-green gown, an underpetticoat and chemise of embroidered lawn, silk stockings and garters, a pair of ruffled engageantes to slip over her forearms, and those ridiculous shoes.
She sat on the bed and slipped one cotton-stockinged foot into a shoe. It fitted perfectly. Presumably they'd used her boots as a model. Her feet were so big, they couldn't have guessed the size with this accuracy. She extended her foot, examining the shoe with her head on one side. It did make her foot look uncharacteristically elegant. But could she walk on it? She slipped on the other shoe, then gingerly stood up. Equally gingerly, she took a step and swayed precariously. The shoes pinched now most dreadfully, squashing her toes and making her insteps ache.
"Oh, miss, aren't they pretty?" Bella cried from the door as she bustled in, bearing a jug of steaming hot water. "Would ye care for a bath afore dinner? I could 'ave a footman bring up a tub."
Juliana sat down again and kicked oft the shoes. Her last bath had been on her wedding morning. Maybe it would be as well to prepare herself for whatever the evening was going to bring. Like a sacrificial virgin, she thought with an unlooked-for glimmer of amusement. Her sense of humor was frequently misplaced and had in the past involved her in as much trouble as her unruly feet. But in present circumstances, she reflected, it could hardly make things worse.
"Yes, please, Bella."
"I could make up an 'enna rinse ter your hair, it 'n ye'd like it," Bella continued. "It'll give it a powerful shine. Miss Deborah uses it when she 'as an evening with Lord Bridgeworth. Not that 'er 'air's as pretty as your'n. Quite dull it is, next to your'n." She beamed as it she took special pride in Juliana's superiority in this field.
"I use vinegar at home," Juliana said.
"Oh, but 'enna's a powerful lot better fer yer color, miss."
In for a penny, in for a pound. "Very well. Whatever you think Bella."
Looking mightily pleased, Bella whisked herself out of the room, and Juliana returned her attention to the garments on the bed. It was true that they were in the first style of elegance. Lady Forsett had pored over the periodicals and patterns of London style and had all her clothes made up in Winchester to the latest specifications, although Juliana assumed that since the periodicals and patterns had been at least six months old by the time they'd reached Winchester, they were probably unmodish by court standards. Not that she'd expressed this opinion to her guardian's wife.
Lady Forsett had insisted that Juliana herself wear only the simplest country clothes suitable to a schoolgirl who had no business in the drawing room. She had softened a little over the wedding dress and trousseau, but Juliana had been well aware that the garments had deliberately been made up to outmoded patterns. Lady Forsett had said quite bluntly that Juliana would have no need of a truly fashionable wardrobe married to Sir John Ridge. He was a wealthy man, certainly, but not sufficiently refined to be received by the leaders of county society.
But that wardrobe had been left behind with her dead husband. Her britches and shirt had disappeared. The only clothes she had were those on her back and now these luscious, rippling, rustling silks and lawns. Juliana couldn't help but be seduced by the delicious image of herself dressed in such finery.
Bella returned with a footman and the boot boy, laboring with copper jugs of steaming water and a wooden hip bath. The footman and the lad bowed deferentially to Juliana as they left, and she began to feel that her position in the house had insidiously changed.
"Everyone's very excited, miss, that ye'll be joining the ladies tonight," Bella confided, pouring water into the tub. "Mr. Garston says as ow y'are already promised to a great patron. Everyone's very curious to meet ye."
It occurred to Juliana as she stripped off her clothes that while she had been kept in isolation above stairs, the entire household had been free to speculate on her position. Somehow she'd assumed that her lack of" interest in them would be reciprocated. Not so. Apparently.
She said nothing, however, stepping into the tub and lowering herself into the steaming water with a sigh of pleasure. She was unaccustomed to the services of a maid, Lady Forsett considering them unnecessary, but she soon discovered that Bella was as experienced as she was enthusiastic. In fifteen minutes Juliana was sitting on the ottoman while Bella vigorously dried her henna-rinsed hair.
"There y'are, miss, what did I tell you?" Bella held up a hand mirror as she took the towel from Juliana's head. "Glowin' like the sunrise."
Juliana ran her hands through the damp, springy curls until they stood out around her head like a sunburst. "But what are we to do with it now, Bella?" she inquired with a grin. "It's always been completely unmanageable after it's been washed."
"Mr. Dennison said as 'ow I was to leave it loose, miss. I'm to thread a velvet ribbon through it."
Juliana frowned. Mr. Dennison's voice, it seemed, penetrated into the intimate corners of his whores' bedchambers. She wouldn't have found Mistress Dennison's sartorial instructions offensive, she decided, but her husband's were quite a different matter. She would be obeying the orders of a pimp. But perhaps they were orders from the Duke of Redmayne, relayed through Mr. Dennison. If so, she had even less inclination to obey them.
"I shall pin it up myself," she declared, twitching the towel from Bella's slackened grip. She ignored the maid's protestations and roughly finished toweling the damp curls.
"Mr. Dennison was most particular, miss." Bella said, twisting her work-roughened hands in her apron.
"How I wear my hair is no business of his… or, indeed, anyone's." She tossed the towel to the floor and shook her head vigorously like a dog coming in from the rain. "There, now if I brush it carefully and use plenty of pins, I might be able to subdue it."
Bella, still looking very unhappy, handed her the new chemise and carefully unrolled the stockings. Juliana put them on and stepped into the underpetticoat. She glanced at herself in the cheval glass and decided that her wildly tangled ringlets resembled Medusa's snakes. Maybe she should leave them just as they were-unbrushed and unpinned. It ought to be enough to cause even the Duke of Redmayne to have second thoughts.
She glanced with distaste at the brocade stays Bella was holding but turned her back so the maid could lace her. She associated the restrictive garment with long, miserable days when Lady Forsett had decreed she should be laced as tightly as she could bear. It was supposed to have improved both her bearing and her conduct, but it had only made her more defiant.
She stood with her hands at her nipped-in waist, watching in the glass as Bella tied the tapes of the wide whalebone hoop. Juliana had never before worn anything but the most modest frame. Now she took a step, watching the hoop sway around her hips. It felt very cumbersome, and the prospect of maneuvering herself on those impossibly high heels struck her as laughable.