Chapter 14
Jeremy paced alone in his room after they arrived home from the ball. It was late—nearly dawn, in fact—but he still couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about Miss Moore dancing with Colin Harper.
It was true, he had no real proof to offer that Mr. Harper was anything but a normal gentleman’s son, a little profligate, but no more so than most. He sometimes drank to excess and liked to place rather extravagant bets, but he lost no more and no more often than many others.
But there was a rumor that he had ruined a young woman, which had produced a child.
The woman was the daughter of a tradesman, and he had paid just enough money to get it hushed up.
Jeremy didn’t know if it was true or not, but even if it wasn’t, he didn’t think the man was good enough for Amelia Moore.
She was innocent and kind and deserved an exceptionally good man, someone who would love and respect her, not someone who only wished to use her.
He blew out a breath. She was under his roof and was his sister’s best friend, and that must be the reason he felt so much concern for her. He knew she generally disliked him.
He recalled how she had looked, like a frightened deer, ready to bolt, when Gotthurst started walking toward her at the ball. He knew Gotthurst well enough to know he was probably going to beg Miss Moore’s forgiveness for not introducing her to his mother.
Jeremy had not stepped in right away. He watched from a distance as they spoke to each other.
But when he saw that Miss Moore’s eyes were swimming with tears and Gotthurst was still talking to her, he could no longer stop himself.
He strode over, placed himself between them, and told him, “There is no need to unburden yourself to Miss Moore. Better to leave her alone than make her cry in front of all these people.”
Gotthurst had a pained look on his face, but he reluctantly nodded. “I am sorry. I hope she knows that.”
“She does. But it will only upset her to keep telling her.”
Gotthurst said, “Very well.”
He hoped he had done the right thing in sparing her the rest of that conversation in public at a ball. He’d seen how quickly the tears came to her eyes ever since Gotthurst had thrown her over.
She could have blamed him, since he was the one who had instigated Shelley’s and Gotthurst’s attentions to them. But she had not breathed a word of anger or recrimination, and that made him feel even more guilty and remorseful.
Now she was being preyed upon by that Harper fellow.
Well, even though he would be hiring a companion for them, he would be sure and keep watch over Amelia.
Her aunt, Mrs. Kendall, may not have been very attentive, but Jeremy would not allow Harper to harm her.
Although Amelia Moore was very innocent, she was also clever.
She would see through him before she would allow him any liberties with her.
He could only hope she wouldn’t marry him.
Juliet and I both loved Mrs. Wilson. She was funny and wise, personable and friendly.
“When can you start?” Juliet asked.
“Now, if you like,” she said. “I’m alone in my house after my daughter got married and moved to Brierfield. My husband passed away nearly fifteen years ago, God rest his soul.”
So we sent for Mrs. Wilson’s trunks and settled her into one of the bedrooms. Jeremy looked pleased, no doubt because now he wouldn’t have to go with us everywhere we went.
So that is how Mrs. Wilson and not Jeremy Beaumont happened to be there when Mr. Colin Harper and Mr. Shelley arrived at the same moment.
Mr. Harper challenged everyone to a lively discussion about our favorite things about Vauxhall Gardens. Even Mrs. Wilson joined in, saying, “The concerts are my favorite. I love a good concert.”
It had been perhaps too soon since Juliet’s scrape with Mr. Fairweather, but I could almost see her set aside her aversion just before she declared that her favorite thing was the colored lanterns. “Thousands of them. They make the place so lovely.”
“Miss Moore?” Mr. Harper said. “You have not said what your favorite thing is.”
“I have only visited twice. I enjoyed everything, the concert, the lanterns, the grottoes, the architecture, but I think my favorite might have been the waterfalls and cascades. They remind me of home, even though there are no waterfalls so grand at home.”
“Did you see the fireworks?” Mr. Harper asked. “We must go one evening when they are scheduled to have fireworks.”
When the conversation changed and Mrs. Wilson was talking with Juliet and Mr. Shelley, Mr. Harper said in a soft voice, “I should very much like to be there when you see the fireworks, to see them shining in your eyes.”
Perhaps if I had known him longer, his words would have been romantic, but instead they felt too forward.
But was that because of what Jeremy had said, his vague talk of rumors and gambling?
Perhaps I should demand that Jeremy Beaumont tell me exactly what he had seen and heard, then I could ask Mr. Harper to give his side of the story.
Did Mr. Harper not deserve to defend himself?
The conversation went on, until Mr. Shelley and Mr. Harper both declared they should be going. “Perhaps we could all take a walk tomorrow,” Mr. Harper said. “Mrs. Wilson? Would you be able to walk with us to the park? Is it not too far?”
“Indeed, I am a great walker,” Mrs. Wilson declared. “I enjoy a good walk. It keeps both the mind and the body young.”
“I agree.” Mr. Harper turned his charming smile on Mrs. Wilson. “You are very wise.”
“I don’t know about very wise,” Mrs. Wilson said, “but I am fifty years old—twice as old as any of you, I daresay—and I’ve seen a few things, to be sure.”
“Nearly,” Mr. Harper said, “for I am soon to be seven-and-twenty.”
“Then you may have come to the age where you realize you don’t know everything.”
Mr. Harper let out a short laugh. “Yes, I must say, I do get humbled on occasion. But I hope I learn from my mistakes.”
It was an interesting thing to say. Was he acknowledging that the rumors were true? Or was I being too suspicious? Either way, he was at least admitting that he tried to learn from his mistakes. What more could anyone do? None of us was perfect.
We agreed on a time in the morning to go for our walk, and the two gentlemen left.
The next morning, Jeremy joined us for our walk.
I had not gathered the courage yet to ask him what he had seen and heard about Mr. Harper. Perhaps it was better to form my own opinions.
Jeremy’s presence seemed to put a bit of a damper on our party. Only Mrs. Wilson was as lively as the day before.
“It isn’t often one gets such good weather in England,” she was saying. “I can remember a summer when it rained every day. One had to watch out the window, and when the rain stopped, run outside and try to walk back and forth in front of your door before the next rainfall came.”
“Yes, it is a lovely day for a walk,” Mr. Harper said, looking at me, “and even lovelier company with whom to walk.”
I could have sworn I saw Jeremy roll his eyes heavenward, but I only caught a glimpse, and only from the side. Certainly, he looked grumpy, but he often looked grumpy. What was wrong with him? Why could he not be glad that he was alive and healthy? Some people weren’t grateful for anything.
At the park we walked among the trees and watched all the other people taking their exercise and enjoying the weather.
One young lady after another, three in a row, approached Jeremy with their mother or chaperone and greeted him, smiling and trying to make conversation. He was civil but a bit short with them, saying he couldn’t pause to talk because he was with his sister.
I tried to read his expression. Was he embarrassed?
A little, and a little annoyed, I guessed.
It was almost humorous, but also obnoxious.
Why could he not enjoy the attention, or at least be more civil?
And why should he get so much attention from young ladies when he didn’t even want it?
But I knew the answer; he was wealthy and handsome.
And then we saw him. Mr. Fairweather.
He was walking with a gentleman, not Mr. Wallcroft, but a man with a V between his eyes, as if his brow lines were in a permanent downturn. But Mr. Fairweather looked the same as he had before, except for a faint scar across his cheek, and less handsome in my mind, the scoundrel.
Juliet made a tiny gasp, then turned around, letting go of Mr. Shelley’s arm.
I drew close to her.
“Is he going?” she whispered to me.
“No, he’s coming this way.” I turned to the others. “Shall we go? I believe it is becoming a bit too warm for me.”
Jeremy had seen him too and narrowed his eyes at him, looking quite prone to violence.
Mr. Fairweather’s eyes met Jeremy’s, and his step faltered. Then he turned and went in a different direction without acknowledging that he’d seen us.
“Is everything all right?” Mr. Shelley was looking at Juliet.
“Oh, yes, all is well.” She smiled and took his arm again. “But Miss Moore is correct. We must go home now, I think.”
Our companions did not question us, thankfully, and we walked home, still talking about how fine the weather was, although a bit warm.
When we reached home, Mr. Shelley and Mr. Harper went on their way.
Later, when Juliet and I were alone in our bedroom, after changing our clothes, she became still, quiet, and serious and told me in a confidential tone, “I didn’t tell you everything that happened when I went with Mr. Fairweather.”
I turned to face her, as we were sitting on her small sofa, and waited for her to go on.
“He drove down a small alley. I told him to take me back, but he refused. Then he kissed me. I told him to stop and pushed him away. But then he put his hands on me, on my . . . chest. I’ve never been so afraid in my whole life.
I screamed and scratched his face. Then he slapped me—not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough . . . enough to frighten me.”
“Oh, Juliet. How horrible. That horrible man!” My face burned and I felt sick.
“I was screaming, and he put his hand over my mouth and squeezed my face so hard it hurt. But then he just drove out of the alley and drove me home. And I was actually thankful he hadn’t done anything worse, although that makes me furious now, to think of it.
When we were almost here, he said if I ever told anyone what he did he would deny it, and he would kill Jeremy.
He said he had friends, bad men. I was so afraid and so ashamed. ”
“Oh, Juliet.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “You aren’t the one who should feel ashamed. That horrid man should feel shame. He should feel afraid, for God will get his revenge on him for what he did to you.” I felt the heat and fury rising inside.
“Thank you. You are a good friend.” Juliet wiped her face with a handkerchief. Until then I hadn’t realized she was crying.
“You should tell Jeremy what happened. Perhaps he—”
“No. Promise me you won’t tell Jeremy.” She turned to me, her eyelids red, tears still puddling under her eyes.
“You mustn’t tell him, please. I’m too afraid of what he would do, afraid he would be harmed.
And I couldn’t bear for him to know what happened.
He’d be so . . . upset, and I’d feel even worse than I already do.
He’d surely challenge the man to a duel, and then one of them would be killed.
I couldn’t bear to have that on my conscience. ”
“I won’t tell him. But I hope you know that he is the one who did wrong, not you. You trusted him, and he broke that trust in a terrible, terrible way. I’m so sorry, Juliet, that he did that to you.”
“I’ve never felt so frightened. And when I saw him today . . . it was as if it was happening all over again.” Juliet sniffed, then took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore, or ever again. I just won’t think about it, ever.”
But I knew that was not easy to do. Any time I wanted to forget something, an argument I’d had with my sister or a time when I disappointed my mother or father, it was impossible. The more I tried not to think about it, the more I thought about it. I would even dream about it.
Juliet wasn’t like me, however. She was a very determined person, as I’d witnessed many times.
She was strong and resilient, and she seemed able to be joyful in almost any situation.
I’d never seen her cry before. Indeed, it had been difficult to imagine her crying about anything.
I only hoped this horrible thing wouldn’t change her.
She’d kept it to herself for weeks, which I was certain I could not have done.
“I’m glad you told me,” I said, “that you confided in me. I will never tell a soul. It is only . . . I wish that evil man could be punished for what he did, that people would know about it so he couldn’t do it to anyone else.”
“I was foolish. Most young ladies would not have gone with him. It is my fault; I am to blame, at least in part.”
“Juliet, this is his fault, not yours. He alone is to blame. He presented himself as a good, honest, Christian gentleman. You couldn’t have known that he had such evil intentions.”
“Thank you. You are so kind, Amelia. I suppose it is a good lesson for me, to not be so trusting and to understand the bad things that can happen.”
“Yes, perhaps.” But I didn’t like the thought that we shouldn’t trust anyone.
It was, indeed, a wicked world.
I thought about times when I’d felt guilty in the past, and I said, “I’ve discovered that the only way to rid myself of bad memories is to pray for God to ease my guilt and forgive me. We can wrestle with painful thoughts, but only God can make us feel better about it.”
“Yes, I know you are right. But let us not talk of it,” Juliet said. “And I pray I never, ever see his face again.”
She laid her head on my shoulder, just for a moment, then sat up straight. “Let us play the pianoforte. Perhaps we will annoy my brother and make him scowl at us.” She was actually smiling at the prospect.
Juliet was so strong. She would not let this terrible thing destroy her happiness.
How I did love her, and my heart ached for what she must have suffered, her fear in those moments alone with that evil man, and the painful thoughts and feelings.
But she would overcome this and would have a fulfilling life.
May it never affect her again, I prayed.
Sometimes I felt a bit sorry for Jeremy Beaumont, with a sister who was always wanting to annoy him and for whose welfare he obviously felt responsible.
I hoped he never discovered what had happened to Juliet, for both their sakes.
But I didn’t feel sorry for him very often.
He was rich, had complete independence and power over his life, and he had many young ladies wishing to be his wife. He didn’t need my pity.