Page 4 of The Secret of the Dashing Detective
“Eleven o’clock.”
“I must go outside to the gardens.”
“To feed your strays?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Juliana said. She was nearly out the door when Prudence called to her once more.
“Does it bother you?” Prudence asked.
“Does what bother me?” Juliana asked. What more could Prudence want to know about her imprisonment?
“Giles and Emma.”
“Giles and Emma? Of course not,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “I am as happy for them as I could be for any two people.”
Which was partially true. She was overjoyed that her brother and her closest friend were happy. Emma was her sister in truth now. It was just… odd. And she wondered how her own relationship with Emma was going to change now that Emma was the duchess and the woman of the house. They had moments where everything seemed as it had been before but there were many others when they were reminded of their new situation.
“I suppose it is just in how the way our lives have changed… I cannot trust Emma like I once did. I do not know whether her allegiance is to me or to Giles.”
“Perhaps it is to both of you.”
“Perhaps. But I cannot be sure.”
“I understand,” Prudence said, nodding wisely. “You can always talk to me, Jules. You know that, do you not?”
“I do,” Juliana said with a smile as Prudence placed a mark in her book and set it on the table. “Where are you going?”
“To the fencing room,” Prudence replied, standing and straightening her skirts.
“I should join you.”
“You should. You should learn how to defend yourself, what with all the threats on your life.”
Juliana bit her lip. Prudence was right. And perhaps if it had been Prudence who had been abducted, she wouldn’t have had to wait for someone else to come save her, for she would have saved herself. But it was too late for regrets. Besides, there was someone awaiting her now.
“I shall see you at dinner,” she said. Her first task would be finding the butler, Jameson, to arrange for Mr. Archibald to accompany her on a task, before she made her way down to the kitchens.
She greeted their cook, Chamberlain, who already had a bowl of scraps waiting for her. It was the only time Juliana ever touched meat, refusing to eat any of it herself. But she could hardly subject her strays to tops of carrots and potato peels, not when they were accustomed to an entirely different diet.
“Give them a pet for me, will you, my lady?” Chamberlain asked, and Juliana nodded as her spirit lifted somewhat when she took the servants’ staircase up and stepped out into the sun, which, for once in London’s late spring this year, was shining gloriously.
By the time she made it to the back wall of the grounds, she could see them waiting for her, lined up by the iron fence. It always amazed her how animals seemed to be able to tell time instinctually. The truth was, she found a kinship with her animals much more than she did nearly any person outside of Emma.
“Here we are,” she said as the dogs and two cats who were brave enough to accompany them took their turns awaiting her gifts. She considered how far they had come. When she had first started feeding them, they would practically attack one another for her offerings, but over time they had come to understand that there would be enough for all of them – she always made sure of it.
And there at the end was the little dog, the one that she called Lucy.
“Good morning, lovely,” she said, reaching through the iron bars and scratching the small dog’s head. One of her ears had been battered long ago, and she had taken the longest to warm up to Juliana. After a great deal of affection and scraps of meat, she now leaned into Juliana’s hand with devotion.
Juliana sat there in the sun, soaking up her time here, wishing that she could take some of them home with her. But of course, her mother had forbidden it the one time she had tried long ago, and Giles also hadn’t been particularly keen on the idea.
If she married Lord Hemingway, would he allow her to take them in?
She pursed her lips, unsure why that thought caused such discord to run through her belly. For if he did, it would all be worth it – wouldn’t it?
* * *
Holborn wasn’tthe worst neighbourhood. It was not St. Giles or Covent Garden, that was for certain. And yet, Matthew’s short journey to Mayfair certainly showcased the stark contrast between where he was coming from to where he was going. He had lived his entire life in London, and yet when his work had taken him to the country, he had realized how much London left to be desired.
