VII. Brighton

The question of whether to search for Juliet or to try and make up with Isabel had been taken out of his hands when, after Henry had escorted her from the dance floor, Isabel had icily dismissed his offer to get her a glass of champagne.

"Thank you, but no," she had said, not even looking at him. "I won't risk you bringing the glass to someone whose face you would rather see than mine."

"Isabel, I'm sorry. Really, I am." He had been sorry, more than he could say. "It's just...Listen, there's no face I'd rather see than yours."

"Is that so?"

"I swear. I'm so sorry, I was just looking out for Juliet—"

"Juliet?"

"She's having a hard time tonight, being…well, herself."

"Oh Henry, why didn't you tell me? Shall I…arrange something?"

Could she get any lovelier?

"No, she wouldn't want that," Henry had hastened to prevent further complications. If Juliet caught wind of any arrangements there would be a hurricane to deal with. Nevertheless, he had been determined to make use of Isabel's improving mood. "Isabel...my beautiful, beautiful Isabel..." He had taken her hand, and while at first she'd tried to pull back he'd felt her resistance faltering when he had looked deep into her eyes.

It was high time for a dose of smoldering Barnstoke-charm, he had decided. He had bent over to her, that one inch too close for pure propriety, that one inch that told so much about his boldness and her allowance, and whispered huskily, "Thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars."

"Henry..."

He had heard the ice melting in her voice and seen her blush adoringly.

"I may have a glass of champagne now, after all," she had smiled lowering her head and sent Henry off with a squeeze of her hand.

Everything would have gone well, had Henry not encountered his father on the way to the buffet table.

"Henry," the Earl had said cheerfully. "Are you having a good time?"

"A jolly good one. And you, Father?"

The Earl had grinned from ear to ear. "Splendid, just splendid. I can't say that for Pennington, the old braggart, though. I've just relieved him of ten guineas at whist."

"Ten?"

"Ten." Henry's father had looked more than pleased. "He thinks he plays a wicked hand, but he's more predictable than a fox in a henhouse."

"And now, I take it, you can't find another victim?" Henry couldn't have hidden a grin. His father was a notoriously good player, but he always found someone who thought he could outsmart him.

"Oh, Lord Dunsford was willing, but I've heard that someone's supposed to perform some songs in a minute, and I wanted to make sure it isn't your sister."

"Juliet wouldn't..." Henry had turned around and searched the room. In a far corner a piano had been prepared, and some chairs, and people had already been making their way there. Juliet had been nowhere in sight. Thank God.

"Wouldn't she?" the Earl had queried. "She would if no one stopped her."

Henry had chuckled. "By Jove, she would."

Yes, she would. Great God, she would.

He had cast another glance at the gathering at the piano. The girl in pale blue that had been admonished by Juliet earlier had stood there with her hands clasped and smiled shyly at her audience.

"Well, apparently someone has stopped her," his father had said and clapped his hands. "Let's go and listen."

And that had been Henry's prompt to go and search for Juliet. Someone had stopped her; and he knew perfectly well when and who that had been. He knew he would have to deal with Isabel's annoyance later, and that it would take more than a dose of Barnstoke-charm to iron this out, but it couldn't be helped: he had to be sure his little sister was all right.

He found her with no difficulty. Juliet would never retreat to a dark corner like a wounded animal. She would always go outside to where she wouldn't feel trapped.

She stood at the far end of the Royal Pavilion's gardens under a fig tree, straight and upright, and stared into the dark. Her silhouette stood out against the starry sky and the lantern light from St. James Street.

Henry shrugged out of his dress coat and draped it around Juliet's shoulders.

She didn't even turn, but pulled the coat closer and whispered, "Thank you, Henry."

He didn't answer, just stood there next to her and tried to find out where she was looking.

"Is that the Royal Albion hotel over there?" he finally asked, just to break the silence.

"I think so."

"If it weren't for the Albion you could see the sea from here, don't you think?"

"Yes, certainly. Isn't it amazing how you cannot see, but you can smell the water, Henry?" Juliet strained her neck as if she thought she would be able to have a better look that way. "It smells like...fish and freedom." She snickered.

"Freedom, huh?" Henry teased. "Is the sea calling you again?"

"She's always calling me, Henry," Juliet said, far too seriously for his liking. "Sometimes I think my future lies there, somewhere beyond the sea."

"Somewhere beyond the sea, where people don't mind red dresses?"

"Somehow I suspect people mind red dresses everywhere, Henry."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Juliet...What happened?"

"I told you—"

"You're lying." Henry gripped her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Don't lie to me, Juliet. Just tell me. I saw you wanted to dance with Waldo, didn't you?"

"I don't want to talk about Waldo, or any other of those arrogant dimwits."

Henry cringed at her tone. It was biting, but also hurt.

"Do you have anyone's name on your dancing card?" he asked cautiously.

She pulled the card from somewhere and waved it in front of his face. "Oh, certainly. There's going to be a waltz after Margaret has her performance, and I have a..." She looked at her card. "...a P. P. Wilcox registered here."

"Wilcox? Pelham the Dwarf?" Henry couldn't stop bursting out.

Juliet looked irritated. "He may be rather diminutive, but he's the only one brave enough to dance with the untouchable. He should be considered a hero."

"You don't mean that, do you? Pelham the Dwarf is a pillock."

"Oh, I know he's a pillock, Henry. But apparently he's pillock enough to want to dance with me, and I'm hardly in a position to reject the only volunteer, am I?"

She flung the dancing card at Henry, barely missing his nose with it.

Henry ducked. "No, I guess not. May I dance with you after him?"

"I don't need your pity."

"You do after you've danced with the Dwarf."

"I've heard he is not a bad dancer."

"No, he isn't. But he has a preference for tall women, and I have an idea why."

Juliet stared at him. "What...?" And then it dawned on her. Unconsciously she crossed her arms over her chest. "Henry, honestly!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well…."

Juliet narrowed her eyes and gazed at him, until she finally shook her head. "You're an idiot, Henry Heatherstone!"

And then she couldn't keep up her pretense of a straight face anymore, and shared the much-needed laughter with her brother.

Henry knew he was pushing his luck, but now Juliet had rediscovered her humour he had to try again. "What happened with that girl...Margaret?"

"Henry...no. It wasn't nice. I wasn't nice."

"What did she say?"

Juliet sighed. "She said that Lady Harriet had asked if someone would like to perform some songs, if you have to know."

"And?"

She breathed out again, this time rather forcefully. "She said she'd volunteered even though it should have been me at my debut, but that—" She bit her lips.

"But that?"

"But that the only thing that was more strident than the colour of my dress was my singing, and that no one could be expected to be put up with that."

"Oh, Juliet..."

"And—since you're asking for the full story, Henry—and then she said I'd been stupid anyway to choose such a dress, one I couldn't wear at my wedding. But then again, from the looks of it, there wouldn't be a wedding for me anyhow."

Henry reached out for her, but Juliet backed off.

"And then," she said very quietly. "And then I said, that that wouldn't be a problem because after all I didn't have to marry."

It took a moment to sink in. Magaret Tennhall was the sister of Elisabeth Tennhall, who had married last October after a suspiciously short engagement, and given birth to a healthy son in March. Of course, no one would admit to doing the math. No wonder Margaret had looked so shocked.

"I shouldn't have said that." Juliet's voice was even lower now. "It was her sister, and even if it had been Margaret—who am I to judge? I shouldn't have said that."

"She wasn't very friendly herself, don't you think? She shouldn't have said what she did either."

"That's not a reason to be mean. That's not... I don't want to hurt people, Henry. I don't want to do that. It's just...sometimes, when they hurt me, I get angry and then I can't hold it back and..." She looked up. "I don't want to hurt people."

"Then you'll have to learn to keep your temper."

She nodded.

"But this won't be the last time it'll get the better of you. You'll have to learn to apologise, too."

She nodded again.

"And maybe you can also learn to forgive yourself."

She smiled faintly. "Isn't that a bit much?"

"No. Not for you. You can learn everything you want to."

"Who says I want to learn?" Now that she was back to the common ground of a good old battle of wits, she sounded much brighter.

"I say that," Henry grinned. "Because you're always willing to learn what's required. And believe me, Juliet, that is what is required, here, there and beyond the sea, where apparently your future lies."

"You say that like a tease, but I honestly think—no, just listen, Henry. I don't know what's waiting out there for me, but I'd like to find out what I can achieve. I can't imagine going to balls and looking for a husband is all I was made for. There are so many things for me to see, so many things to learn, so many things to do. I want to find out why I am on this earth, what I'm supposed to do."

"And what if you're supposed to go to balls and look for a husband?"

"Somehow I can't believe that. And obviously I'm not very good at it anyway."

She didn't even look disappointed, Henry thought. But surely she didn't want to spend her life alone, did she?

"Well, maybe you'll be better at it beyond the sea. Perhaps one day you'll find a husband there. A maharajah, maybe."

She laughed. "Yes, why not? Or perhaps a professor at Tübingen."

"Or a Slavic prince?"

"An Indian chief?"

"Or maybe a simple cowboy?" Henry grinned broadly.

Juliet gave him a short slap on his arm. "I wouldn't mind a cowboy...if he has freckles and is brave enough to dance with me." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled lopsidedly. "And if he reads an occasional book."

"Juliet, you won't find a cowboy out there who reads Marlowe."

She gazed at him and tapped her finger against her pursed lips. Obviously she was warming up to the idea. "Well, who knows? Maybe at this very minute, there's some Bill or Bob out there in the prairie, sitting under a brilliant star-spangled sky by his campfire, sipping at his coffee and reading from a book of poetry."

"Dreaming of a girl he could read it to, huh?"

"Yes, exactly."

"And that would be a man you'd marry?"

"I tell you what, Henry: if I ever meet a dashing cowboy, who's tall and courageous and loves Marlowe, I'll marry him right on the spot."

Henry laughed. "You can't do that. If you marry a cowboy, you'll have to muck stables."

Juliet still looked cheerful, but her tone was sober. "For the right man I'd muck stables. As you said, I can learn everything that's required." She gave him a mischievous smile. "I'd even learn how to cook!"

Their laughter flared up again as Henry turned her back towards the Pavilion.

When they reached the great doors to the Music Room, a short, strawberry blond man shot out of the crowd. "I believe this is our dance, Lady Juliet," he said, holding his hand out to her, and she accepted it with a regal nod and a graceful smile.

Henry watched as P. P. Wilcox steered Juliet onto the dance floor and the couple started a surprisingly harmonious waltz.

From the look on his face, the Dwarf was in heaven. And Juliet? Henry nearly laughed out loud. Juliet had a dreamy, far away expression that easily could be misinterpreted as indicating a romantic sentiment towards her dance partner. But Henry was sure, were Pelham the Dwarf able to look into Juliet's eyes, he would see the silhouette of a cowboy sitting at his campfire under a starry night sky and reading from a book of poetry.

ooOoo