Julianna exhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat to steady. Then, with perfect composure, she lowered into a graceful curtsey.
"Your grace," she said softly, "that is precisely why I wished to speak with you… but perhaps not here, before everyone."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Hugh's lips curved into a smile that was anything but gentle. "Lady Prescott, why hide what need not be hidden?" His pale-violet eyes gleamed with deliberate mischief. "After all… you are my future wife."
Julianna froze. What..!
Her eyes widened in disbelief, but the ballroom erupted first.
"Did he say future wife?"
"Impossible! He cannot mean her."
"The lame widow? Has he lost his senses?"
"Surely he jests...surely!"
Julianna lifted her chin, ready to correct him, but Hugh raised his voice above the chaos.
"Everyone," he declared smoothly, his tone slicing through the uproar, "allow me to make it plain."
The hush that fell was heavy, hungry.
"I, Hugh Craufurd, Duke of Rothbury," he said, gaze never leaving Julianna's, "announce Lady Julianna Prescott as my future duchess."
Gasps thundered through the ballroom. Fans snapped open like startled wings. A crystal goblet shattered somewhere in the crowd.
And Julianna, gripping her cane hard enough her knuckles whitened, could only think: This man… was out of his mind.
Julianna's heart thudded as the duke's tall guard bent close, whispering into his ear. Hugh's expression didn't flicker; only the faintest lift of his brow betrayed that he'd heard something of interest.
He inclined his head to the room at large. "Now then everyone, enjoy the rest of the evening," he said smoothly, bowing just enough to be polite. Without another word, he turned and strode out, his uniform dark against the candlelight.
'No… no, no, no. I can't let this stand,' Julianna thought, pulse quickening. Gripping her cane, she slipped from the ballroom, ignoring the murmurs that trailed her wake.
"Your grace," she called, her voice sharp against the hush of the corridor.
He stopped at once. The flickering sconces cast long shadows over his shoulders as he turned, pale-violet eyes finding her. "Lady Prescott," he said evenly.
She halted a few paces from him, drawing a steadying breath. "Your grace… you must take back your words," she said, keeping her tone low but firm.
One blond brow arched. "And why, pray, would I?"
Julianna's grip on her cane tightened. "Because you are to marry my cousin Marissa. Not me."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Hugh's lips curved...not kindly, but knowingly. "Am I?" he murmured. "Strange, then, that the lady in question… seems to have lost her place this evening."
Julianna's breath caught. He knows.
Hugh stepped closer, the faintest smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Fear not, Lady Prescott," he said softly, eyes glinting like ice. "Your cousin's little escapade is safe with me."
She stared at him, stunned.
He tilted his head. "But," he continued, his tone sharpening, "in exchange for my discretion… you will agree to marry me."
Julianna's eyes did not waver as she spoke, her voice steady though her pulse raced.
"Your grace, how kind of you. But you know very well I cannot marry you. It would dishonor the memory of my late husband and the favors he offered you and your soldiers during the war. I will not so easily relinquish his memory. He was a good man."
Hugh's smirk deepened.
"A good man?" he murmured, stepping closer. His voice was smooth and deliberate. "Yes… generous. Respected. But tell me, Lady Prescott...was he truly good to you?"
Her fingers clenched around her cane, the polished wood biting into her palm.
Hugh's pale-violet gaze dropped briefly, pointedly, to the leg that bore her weight with difficulty.
"That limp of yours," he said softly, almost idly, though his words struck like steel. "Born of the same 'accident' that claimed your husband's life, was it not?"
Julianna's breath stilled.
His eyes lifted back to hers, piercing, searching.
"I am curious," he went on, his tone deceptively calm. "A tragic fire, a collapsed beam, or so the story goes. Yet only he perished, and you lived. And not without scars."
Julianna forced her lips into a cold, brittle smile. "Be careful, your grace. The dead cannot defend themselves and I will not allow anyone to sully his name."
"Ah," Hugh said lightly, but the gleam in his gaze sharpened. "Such loyalty. Such silence." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "But silence often hides truths one dares not speak aloud."
The corridor seemed to close around her, shadows pressing in.
Finally, he inclined his head, his smile smooth as glass.
"Keep your loyalty, Lady Prescott. But remember...truth has a way of surfacing… especially when one least desires it."
He turned then, striding away into the dimly lit hall, leaving Julianna rooted where she stood. Her cane trembled faintly beneath her hand, though her expression did not falter.
He knows too much. But how?
Julianna turned away from the corridor where the duke had vanished, her cane clicking against the polished floor. She did not look back.
By the time she left Rothbury's estate, the night air was cool against her skin, but it did little to calm the unrest twisting inside her.
This is rather unpleasant, she thought grimly, tightening her cloak around her shoulders. He plays his games well...but I refuse to be a pawn.
When at last she reached Prescott manor, the familiar facade brought no comfort. Lanterns glowed warmly in the entry hall, and as soon as the doors swung open, Margaret came sweeping toward her with Charles at her side.
"Julianna...ah, forgive me, Lady Prescott," Margaret corrected herself quickly, though the sneer beneath her words was poorly hidden. "How was the banquet? Tell us...did you get to speak with His Grace? What did he say?"
Charles, her uncle, leaned forward expectantly, his lined face taut with tension.
Julianna regarded them both coolly, lowering her cane with deliberate precision. "He knew," she said evenly. "He knew about Marissa eloping."
The color drained from Margaret's face. "What?"
Charles stiffened. "How could he have known?"
Julianna's eyes narrowed. "That is the question, isn't it?"
Margaret's composure cracked. Her voice rose shrill and trembling. "Did you tell him? Was it you, Julianna? Why are you so determined to ruin my life...and my daughter's?"
The accusation struck like a whip, but Julianna did not flinch. Slowly, she tilted her head, her expression sharpening with cold disdain.
"Stop it," she said icily. "Really, Lady Margaret...accusing me yet again? I did nothing of the sort. He found out himself. Why in heaven's name would I reveal something that would damage my own reputation as well as Marissa's?"
Her fingers whitened against her cane, but her voice remained steady, biting.
"Oh...and what's this talk of me ruining your life?" Julianna's jade-green eyes blazed. "Is that not precisely what you have tried to do to me since the very beginning?"
The hall fell silent. Margaret's lips parted as though to retort, but no words came. Charles shifted uneasily.
"That's enough, Margaret." Charles's voice rang out, firm though weary. His hand came down on his wife's arm to still her fury. "We should be grateful to Julianna. She has carried herself with dignity despite all this scandal."
For a moment, the hall seemed to still.
Julianna turned her gaze on her uncle, her expression cool as ice. "Grateful?" she repeated softly, her voice cutting in its calm. "Do not pretend, Uncle. You are no different."
The words landed like a slap. Charles's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Julianna lifted her chin, her cane tapping against the marble floor as she turned. "Good night," she said simply, and without another glance, she strode toward the staircase.
Behind her, Margaret's breath hissed in outrage, and Charles stood in silence, guilt writ plain across his face.
But Julianna did not look back. She had endured enough for one night.
The following morning, sunlight streamed cold and unforgiving through the tall windows.
Julianna descended the stairs in a soft lavender morning dress, her cane clicking against each polished step. The scent of tea and buttered rolls drifted faintly from the dining room, yet a strange stillness lingered.
At the long table, Charles sat stiffly, spectacles perched on his nose, the morning papers spread open in his trembling hands. His face had gone pale beneath the print.
"This…," he muttered hoarsely, rising halfway to his feet.
Margaret looked up from her tea, frowning. "What is it you're gaping at now?" She reached across and snatched the newspaper from him...just as Julianna entered the room.
One glance at the headline, bold as a trumpet blast, and Margaret's cup clattered to the floor.
"Lady Julianna Prescott to Wed the Duke of Rothbury."
Margaret's face drained of color, then flushed scarlet in an instant. She rose so abruptly her chair screeched against the marble floor.
"What?!" Her cry rang through the house.
Before Julianna could so much as reach for her chair, Margaret was upon her.
The slap cracked across Julianna's cheek, sharp and stinging.
The room went deathly silent.
Julianna's head snapped to the side, her hand tightening around the handle of her cane as shock rippled through her. Slowly, she turned her gaze back, her eyes flashing with fury.
Margaret stood trembling, her chest heaving with outrage. "How dare you? This was your scheme all along, wasn't it? To steal Marissa's fiancé? To cast your cousin to shame and climb into her place?"
Julianna's cheek burned, but her dignity did not falter. Straightening, she let her cane strike once, hard, against the marble floor, a sound that silenced even Margaret's rage.
Her voice, when it came, was cold and cutting.
"Do not mistake me for Marissa, Aunt. I do not run. I do not scheme. And I do not need to steal what was never mine to begin with."
Charles's voice cut through the silence, heavy with disbelief.
"Then what is this, Julianna? This headline...about your wedding to the Duke of Rothbury?"
Julianna, still standing with her cheek stinging, took the newspaper from Margaret's clenched hands. Her eyes scanned the bold letters, and her breath stilled.
"Lady Prescott to Wed Duke of Rothbury...Sources Confirm Announcement Made at Banquet."
Her lips pressed thin as her thoughts darkened. That devil of a man… I never even gave him my answer.
Lifting her gaze, she said coldly, "This is without my consent. I did not even accept such a proposal."
Margaret's face twisted with outrage. "Then you will reject him!" she demanded.
Julianna tilted her head, a smile curving her lips.
"Oh, will I?" she murmured. Her cane tapped once against the marble floor, echoing like a gavel.
Her jade-green eyes locked on Margaret's paling face.
"If I reject the Duke of Rothbury, he will spread Marissa's scandal. And tell me, Aunt, what do you imagine society will say of your precious daughter then?"
The blood drained from Margaret's cheeks as the weight of Julianna's words sank in.