Actually… I am not from here.
Julianna's thought echoed faintly as she gazed into her teacup. The pale amber liquid reflected her features as if it were a mirror: jade eyes, striking against the strands of red hair that tumbled over her shoulders. A beauty, no doubt, though her lips curved into a weary smile.
Her fingers tightened around the delicate porcelain cup. My memories have returned. This world… it is nothing more than the setting of a novel. "Lady Prescott's Pursuit of a Proper Husband."
A wry laugh threatened to escape her lips. How unfortunate. The story will not unfold as it should, because I am no longer willing to play the fool written into its pages.
"Julianna!"
The shrill voice tore through the quiet morning. She looked up, startled from her reverie.
At the edge of the garden's gazebo stood her aunt, Lady Margaret, her brown hair streaked with gray, her beauty still clinging despite the wrinkles at her eyes. She appeared every inch the furious matron, her face pale with agitation.
"There you are!" Lady Margaret strode forward, skirts swishing angrily. "Marissa has eloped! Eloped, I say...with that good-for-nothing Earl of Castlemere. Do you comprehend what this means? The girl was betrothed to the Duke of Rothbury. The banquet is tomorrow. Marissa was meant to be presented to him then. Now...now this family is ruined!"
Her aunt's eyes glittered with suspicion, and her tone sharpened. "And I suppose you had some hand in this disgrace. After all, you always did envy Marissa."
Julianna inhaled slowly, suppressing the sting of her words. Calm down. Do not let her trample you as before.
Her lips curved into a calm smile as she set her teacup down. "My dearest aunt," she said sweetly, "I would prefer you address me as Marchioness Prescott or Lady Prescott, if you must. After all, it is my late husband's mansion you reside in. You and my uncle Charles are but… honored guests."
Lady Margaret stiffened, her mouth falling open. "Julianna...since when have I needed to use honorifics with you..."
"Since now, Lady Margaret." Julianna cut her off with quiet firmness, her smile widening though her eyes turned cold.
Lady Margaret faltered, obviously shaken.
'Good,' Julianna thought, her spine straight despite the faint ache in her leg: the limp she had carried ever since that "accident" years ago.
You sold me into marriage when I was but sixteen, eager to squander my parents' fortune. And when fate made me a widow at eighteen, you spread your poisonous rumors and leeched off my name. But this time… this time I will not be your puppet.
Lady Margaret's lips pursed into a thin line and with a sharp hmph, she turned on her heel.
"Very well. Keep your airs, Julianna. But at the very least, you will help me find Marissa. Do not think yourself free from this scandal."
Her skirts swished furiously as she departed.
Julianna watched her retreating figure, her expression calm. 'Oh, Aunt… soon enough, you will wish you had never stepped foot in this mansion.'
A soft cough sounded at the gazebo's entrance. Mr. Whitmore, the household's butler, bowed slightly as he approached. His silver-streaked hair and measured steps lent him a quiet authority that steadied Julianna's heart.
"Good day, Lady Julianna."
Her lips curved faintly. "Good it is. I knew Marissa would do something foolish, but never this foolish."
Whitmore stepped closer, offering her polished cane. She accepted it gracefully, rising to her feet with practiced dignity, the limp in her step making her seem more regal rather than less.
"The unfortunate part," she said coolly, "is that Marissa's scandal will tarnish my name. And when my name is whispered against, so too is this estate's stability. As for the Duke of Rothbury..." her eyes glinted, sharp as glass, "he need not know she has run off. I will manage him myself."
Whitmore inclined his head. "As always, my lady is most modest."
Julianna turned her gaze on him, her voice softening into something sharper, more private. "And the matter I asked you to investigate?"
He hesitated, just long enough to confirm her suspicions were not unfounded. "I have begun inquiries, my lady. The accounts bear… irregularities. Land revenues missing. Jewels transferred quietly. All leading back to Lord Charles. And whispers of debts...debts that may tie to Lady Margaret herself."
A cold smile touched Julianna's lips. "As I thought. They gorged themselves on my parents' fortune, and still it is not enough. No matter. This time, I hold the ledger and I will see them choke on their own schemes."
Her grip tightened around the cane. "Continue your work, sir Whitmore. Bring me everything. Every secret they thought hidden, every coin they stole, every lie they spread. They will learn that Lady Prescott does not forgive."
Whitmore bowed deeply. "It shall be done, my lady."
Julianna exhaled slowly, her gaze turning toward the empty garden path where her aunt had vanished. Once, you reduced me to a pawn in your games. But now, the rules have changed. And I will play to win.
The Prescott carriage rolled up to the grand Rothbury estate, its lanterns flickering in the evening mist. Julianna stepped down gracefully with Whitmore's assistance, her cane tapping lightly against the cobblestones.
The moment she entered the ballroom, whispers fluttered like moths around a flame.
"Look...Lady Prescott."
"I heard she murdered her husband."
"Nonsense. She simply took lovers while the poor man lived."
"Do not be fooled. She and her cousin are alike. Both whores, hiding behind pretty faces."
Julianna's lips curved faintly as she passed through the crowd, every inch the poised marchioness despite the venom dripping behind her back. 'Really. Such creativity. Do they not tire of repeating the same topic?'
A scoff almost escaped her, but instead, she allowed herself a private smile. 'It matters little. I came for one purpose tonight to see the Duke of Rothbury.'
Leaving the hum of violins behind, she slipped into a quieter corridor, her cane clicking rhythmically on the polished floor.
Shadows gathered in the corners, and with them, her thoughts. 'Now… where might the elusive duke be hiding himself?'
Before she could search further, a familiar figure appeared ...a certain Marquis of Fairfield, famed among society ladies for his charm and polished manners. His dark hair was neatly tied, his smile disarmingly warm.
"Lady Prescott," he greeted, bowing low before straightening with a roguish grin. "What fortune is mine tonight, to encounter such beauty in solitude? Surely you will not deny me a moment's conversation?"
Julianna tilted her head, her lips parting in polite amusement. Before she could answer, a sharp, feminine cry rang through the hall.
"Lady Prescott!"
She turned. Striding toward her was the Marchioness of Fairfield, the marquis's wife, her face flushed crimson with indignation.
"How dare you!" the marchioness hissed, her voice carrying in the quiet corridor. "Attempting to seduce my husband under my very nose?"
Julianna's brows arched delicately. "Pardon?"
But the marchioness was beyond reason. She seized Julianna's arm before her husband could intervene, dragging her unceremoniously back toward the ballroom. The marquis himself protested, reaching to free Julianna from his wife's grip, but the lady would not be swayed.
The doors to the grand hall burst open as the marchioness stormed inside, hauling Julianna with her like a prize of war. Gasps rippled through the glittering assembly.
"Everyone!" Shhe declared, her voice high with outrage. "Bear witness! Lady Prescott, widowed though she is, seeks to seduce another woman's husband!"
The ballroom fell into scandalized silence, all eyes turning toward Julianna. The gossip that had been a mere whisper before now swelled into a deafening roar.
Julianna stood still, unfazed, though her heart thrummed with fury. Slowly, she straightened her spine, her grip tightening on her cane. A cold smile touched her lips as she prepared to speak.
'She has been wanting to do this, hasn't she?'
The ballroom hung in silence, every eye fixed upon Julianna. The Marchioness of Fairfield still clutched her arm like a warding chain, her chest heaving with fury.
Julianna tilted her chin upward, her smile faint but cutting.
"Lady Fairfield, is that not a touch too far-fetched? Your husband approached me first...quite publicly, I might add. I had not even accepted his invitation before you descended. So I must wonder… from whence comes this baseless accusation?"
A ripple of murmurs swept the room. Several gentlemen shifted uncomfortably, while more than one lady raised a brow, whispering behind jeweled fans.
The marchioness flushed a deeper red. "You wretch! You dare stand here and lie so brazenly in front of everyone?" Her glare snapped to her husband, sharp as a dagger. "Well? Why do you stand there like a fool? Tell them! Tell them how she sought to seduce you!"
The Marquis of Fairfield froze, caught between his wife's fury and the glittering eyes of the assembly. His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, he tugged at his cravat, gaze flicking toward Julianna.
The silence stretched.
Julianna's smile widened ever so slightly. She lifted her cane, resting both hands atop it.
"Ah."
The voice was low, smooth, but it carried through the hall with effortless authority.
Every head turned toward the grand staircase. At the top stood a man who seemed almost too finely cut for the dim candlelight; platinum-blond hair swept back in a sharp undercut, the lamplight glinting off his well-defined cheekbones.
His uniform, dark with silver braiding, bore the insignia of the Crown's elite cavalry. And his eyes were pale, ice-violet, cold yet striking as they swept the ballroom like a blade through silence.
A collective murmur rippled through the crowd.
"It is the Duke…"
"Yes, Lord Hugh Craufurd, Duke of Rothbury…"
The Marchioness of Fairfield paled, her grip on Julianna slackening at once.
The duke's gaze lingered on the marquis, who all but shrank beneath it, then slid to Julianna. His lips curved; faintly, not kindly, but in acknowledgment.
"It seems, my lady," Hugh continued, his tone polite yet edged like steel, "that your husband does not share your version of events. Perhaps because there was nothing worth sharing."
A hush fell deeper than before.
Julianna swallowed, though her expression remained poised. To be directly addressed by Hugh Craufurd was no small matter.
The marchioness sputtered, "Y-your grace, surely you misperceive..."
"Do I?" His cool eyes cut her down. "I heard enough. And so did everyone else." He descended the stairs unhurriedly, each step echoing against the marble, his presence filling the room with quiet command.
By the time he reached the foot of the staircase, the balance of the ballroom had shifted entirely. All eyes were no longer on the trembling marchioness, nor on the marquis who avoided every gaze... they were on Julianna and the duke.
And when Hugh stopped before her, bowing his head the barest degree, society gasped as one.
"Lady Prescott," he said smoothly, his words deliberate enough to slice through the air, "I believe this is not the time to exchange with people who do not warrant it. But then again…"
His gaze swept lazily over the stunned assembly before returning to Julianna, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "The main reason I held this ball was to announce my future wife."
A collective gasp tore through the room. Fans snapped open, whispers erupted like a storm, and even the musicians faltered in their playing.
Hugh's lips curved in the faintest smirk. "And yet…" he tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving Julianna, "I do not see her anywhere."
The Marchioness of Fairfield let out a strangled noise, her grip finally releasing Julianna altogether. The marquis looked as though he wanted to melt into the floor.
Julianna's heart thudded once, sharply, in her chest. Her fingers tightened around her cane, though her expression betrayed nothing but calm poise. Future wife? Did he know that Marissa was missing? No… his eyes held no knowledge of it. Which meant...this was something else entirely. But what is it?