The Devereaux Affair by Adele Clee
Prologue
Witherdeen Hall, Hampshire, 1807
Seat of the Marquess Devereaux
“Don’t go!Don’t go to her!” Bennet’s young eyes flashed with terror. His breath came in shallow pants. “Let’s hide. I know where. Stay. Don’t let her take you.”
Bennet did not give Julianna time to respond. He seized her trembling hand and pulled her down the broad oak staircase, past the portrait of a stern man in a white wig and scarlet robe, past pictures of women with soulless eyes and gaunt faces. Sad women like her mother. Lonely creatures desperate for someone to fill the void. Past the mounted stag heads. The marquess liked collecting trophies.
The shouting upstairs shook the ceiling, had the hanging lantern swinging on its chain. Somewhere glass smashed. High-pitched yelling battled with the marquess’ gruff growls and thunderous roars in a war no one would win.
“Whore!”
Julianna knew what it meant. Men had called her mother the name before, always when angry or consumed by a jealous rage. Giselle de Lacy reacted by stuffing her clothes and jewels into her valise, always captured Julianna’s hand and dragged her away from the terrible place, to start a new life with a new lord who would take care of them until they were forced to flee again.
“They’ll stop bickering soon,” Bennet whispered, “and everything will be as it was before.”
But Julianna had witnessed the performance so many times she knew the curtain was about to fall and she’d have to leave Bennet tonight.
Tears filled her eyes.
She didn’t want to say goodbye to her only friend.
She didn’t want to sleep in a new bedchamber with dolls for company, their lifeless faces filled with nothingness, their eyes as dead as the ladies in the paintings.
“It’s no good, Bennet,” she whimpered, tugging on the boy’s hand.
“No. She’ll not take you. I’ll fight them both if I have to.”
Bennet hadn’t always been brave. He was nothing like the quiet, withdrawn boy she’d met on her first day at Witherdeen. For a month, they’d barely spoken. Everything changed the day he received a whipping from his father. The day she found him sobbing in the cupboard beneath the stairs where he’d been told to remain until morning. She’d brought him a slice of cake wrapped in a napkin and an apple she’d stolen from the pantry. They’d been inseparable ever since.
“Quick, we’ll hide.” Bennet dragged the marble table away from the wall, though the fancy gold legs scraped the chequered floor. He pressed the oak panel until it clicked open a fraction to reveal the small cubbyhole. “They won’t expect us to hide in here.”
She followed him into the dark space, used by the marquess as a torture chamber to punish his ten-year-old son, knowing someone would notice they had moved the table. In a matter of minutes, Julianna would be ripped from the arms of her beloved friend, torn from the only place that had ever felt like home.
They tried to calm their breathing, but there was little chance of anyone hearing them. The thuds above stairs were louder than the rumbles of thunder outside. A door slammed. The boards on the landing groaned beneath stomping footsteps. The vile words and curses grew louder.
“You devil-crazed witch!” The marquess was in the hall now.
Julianna’s heart thumped in her chest.
Bennet gripped her hands and squeezed tightly.
“Denver will tire of you within the week,” the marquess bellowed. “He’ll not tolerate your incessant whining. Does he know you have the French Disease?”
“If I have, I’ve caught it from you! Julianna! Come quickly!”
“You’ll have to send the brat away. Denver won’t want her.”
“Don’t listen.” Bennet covered her ears with his hands.
But she shrugged from his grasp. She didn’t want to be in that quiet place, alone with her thoughts. Hearing the blazing row was better than the endless silence.
“Julianna!” her mother cried.
“I need to go, Bennet.”
“No.” He cupped her cheeks, wiped away her tears. “I need you.”
“It’s no good.” There was no point fighting. “It won’t be forever.”
“Stay.” His throat was thick with fear.
Shouting erupted in the hall again.
“No man will tolerate your harlot ways. Go. Take your heathen spawn. My son deserves better than a whore’s waif for a companion.”
Her mother ignored him. “Julianna, we’re leaving! Come down now!”
“They’re in the cupboard, fool. The girl doesn’t want to leave with you.”
With seconds to spare, Julianna gripped the open neck of Bennet’s nightshirt. “Promise you’ll find me when you’re old enough.”
“I promise,” he panted. “Promise you’ll return if you can.”
“I promise.” She hugged him, tried to gather her courage when the cupboard door flew open and an enraged Giselle de Lacy grabbed Julianna by the sleeve of her white nightgown and yanked her out into the dimly lit hall.
Everything happened quickly then.
Bennet charged out of their hiding place, shouting as loud as his father.
Her mother dragged her across the cold floor while the marquess gripped Bennet by the scruff of his nightshirt and brought him to heel like a disobedient pup.
The couple shouted nasty things, cruel things, hurtful things.
“I’ll miss you!” Julianna cried numerous times as her mother hauled her out into the rain, down the stone steps and into the waiting carriage that did not belong to the marquess.
“Come, Julianna, we’re leaving this wicked place.”
The carriage reeked of cologne—a new smell, just as sickly, just as choking. Some things never changed. And when they reached their new home, Giselle de Lacy would make Julianna sound like an asset when really she was a noose around her mother’s neck.
Look at her pretty red hair.
She can play the pianoforte better than any girl her age.
The carriage jerked forward. Rain lashed the windows. Tears lashed Julianna’s cheeks. Amid the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder, she heard Bennet shouting.
Julianna turned and stared out through the viewing window.
Bennet had broken free from his father’s grasp, took to chasing the carriage down the long winding drive, oblivious to the sharp gravel beneath his bare feet. But the vehicle picked up speed, the distance between her and her beloved friend stretching, stretching. Soon it would be miles.
Julianna pressed her palm to the glass.
Promise you’ll find me when you’re old enough.
But she knew she would never see Bennet Devereaux again.
