Wayward Widow. Nicola Cornick

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      Available from Harlequin Historicals and NICOLA CORNICK

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      To the girls.

      Thank you.

      This one is for you.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Prologue

      1802

      Lady Juliana Tallant had no memory of her mother. She had been only four years old when the Marchioness had run off with a lover and the Marquis of Tallant had banished his errant wife’s portrait from the blue saloon. These days it lay swathed in sheets in the attic, gathering a layer of dust and dead spiders. The Marchioness’s warmth and vitality, captured so accurately by the young artist who had been another of her lovers, was quenched by the shadows.

      When matters in the house were particularly grim, Juliana would creep up to the attic and pull back the sheet that covered her mother’s disgrace, and stand for hours staring at that pretty, painted face. There was an old spotted mirror in the corner of the attic and she would pose before it in her too-small gowns, her slippered feet stirring the dust as she tried to trace the resemblance between her own features and those on the canvas. The eyes were the same, emerald green with specks of gold, and the small nose and the generous mouth, too wide for true beauty. The shape of Juliana’s face was different and she had what she thought of as the Tallant auburn hair, although she had heard her father say that she was none of his begetting and so it was hard to see how she could have inherited his hair.

      ‘It is difficult for the girl to be without her mother,’ Juliana had once heard her aunt Beatrix say to the Marquis, but Bevil Tallant had given his sister a look that said she was a simpleton and told her that the child had the servants and a governess, and what more could she want?

      On that particular summer’s afternoon, Juliana had grown bored with the French lessons that Miss Bertie had been trying to drum into her and had begged and begged to be released into the sunshine. In the end the beleaguered governess had agreed and Juliana had skipped downstairs, ignoring Miss Bertie’s instructions to take a parasol and behave with decorum. Young ladies always wore bonnets; young ladies did not run through the wildflower meadow, young ladies never spoke to a gentleman without first being introduced…Even at fourteen, Juliana knew that being a young lady could be a tiresome business. Even at fourteen, she was a rebel.

      The door of the blue saloon was ajar and she could hear her father’s voice above the clink of the teacups. Aunt Beatrix was making one of her infrequent visits to Ashby Tallant.

      ‘I found Marianne living in Rome with Count Calzioni,’ Juliana heard her spinster aunt say, in answer to a question from the Marquis. ‘She asked after the children, Bevil.’

      The Marquis grunted.

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ