"I suddenly feel quite young again, myself," she laughed.
A gentle tap sounded and Sophia stopped abruptly.
"Come in, Maitland."
"No, it's me, Charlotte," came the gentle reply from a tall, willowy girl, whose red-rimmed eyes dominated her pale face. Escaping blond wisps of hair tangled in disarray, and her royal blue riding hat hung from its ribbons around her shoulders.
"My dear, what's amiss?" Sophia darted forward to draw her gently into the room.
"It's Mama. She says I must spend all my time in London being nice to some old man." She sniffed.
"What is Lady Grenville about now?" Sophia demanded.
Juliana cast a speaking look at her aunt before patting Charlotte's arm. "Now, now, this isn't like you at all. You usually handle your mama quite well," Juliana soothed.
"Usually, but this time she's determined to marry me off to some distant, second cousin who'll be a duke one day."
"It won't be so dreadful being in London for the Season," Juliana smiled intriguingly. "Aunt and I will be there to rescue you. Our plan worked."
"George," Charlotte ventured quietly, "George will be in London for my Season?"
Juliana triumphed. "Eventually. He'll be there as soon as that new strain of wheat takes. He refuses to leave for another fortnight." She turned to watch her aunt again ruthlessly sorting through the wardrobe. "Aunt Sophia insists that we leave as planned, since we have so much to do before the Season starts."
Charlotte brightened immediately. "I believe I saw George riding toward the south field on my way here. Our estate agent thinks the new strain is just slow to germinate. Perhaps I should ride out and tell him myself."
Juliana's lifted brows registered her surprise as Charlotte suddenly rushed from the room. Turning to Sophia, she remarked, "Why haven't I realized Charlotte was developing a tendre for George?"
"You have been concerned with other matters," her aunt stated simply.
"You're right, dearest. There has been so much tragedy at Wentworth Park. George grew up before I knew what was happening … Will's death … followed so quickly by his father's … then my papa's death." Juliana shook her head slowly, a hint of moisture on her long lashes, before she caught herself and with a few rapid blinks, smiled. "Listen to me, carrying on like a ninnyhammer."
"So right, love," Sophia agreed matter-of-factly, determined to change the subject immediately. She felt Juliana had shed enough tears to last a lifetime. It was the chief reason she'd devised the now-famous plan. "However, I should point out you neglected to mention Lady Grenville in your list of tragedies."
"Aunt! How can you!" Juliana's perfectly arched brows rose. "After Will died on the Peninsula, Sir Alfred and Lady Grenville had every right to his estate. After all, Sir Alfred is the last male Grenville."
"My dear, I said nothing against Sir Alfred. How could I? A more unoffensive man I have never met. One barely knows he is even there. It is his revolting wife I cannot tolerate."
"I am quite sure Lady Grenville has some good qualities." Juliana stopped, her cherry lips blossoming into a sudden smile. "She must have at least one good quality, mustn't she?"
Sophia laughed. "She is Charlotte's mother, so she must be doing something right-a very unique child."
"Dear Charlotte! I look forward to seeing her in London. We can only hope Lady Grenville does not make her first Season too tedious."
Early the next day, content that her own secret plan to get Juliana away from the sad memories and into the ton had succeeded, Sophia Thatcher leaned back against the crimson squabs of their luxurious traveling coach and surveyed her niece. Juliana's mouth curved with a small, secret smile as she peered out onto the pleasant Berkshire countryside they traveled through.
The spring rain had ceased two days earlier. Now brooks gurgled merrily over their banks and purple violets and daisies eagerly pushed through the young meadow grass. Birds sang to one another from the low hanging branches of elm trees bordering the road. With pleasure Juliana breathed in spring and laughed softly.
"You have every reason to be smug. My congratulations," Sophia complimented. "Wellington himself could not have maneuvered so well, my dear. I can't believe George is at last going to forsake his cattle and crops for the pleasures of London."
"Is it not marvelous, Aunt?" Juliana's eyes flashed with happiness. "He feels honor bound to join us in London, since you are such a lamentable chaperon."
"The dear boy has turned into a deplorable prig for one so young. Just like your father. I will never forget the first time I let you ride without a groom. I thought your father would have an apoplexy." Sophia chuckled. "Such foolishness!"
The heavy traveling coach lurched when its right rear wheel caught in a deep rut formed during the recent rains. It tilted crazily and instinctively both ladies grabbed for a strap. Sophia gasped in surprise when a crimson pillow flew past her cheek as the coach toppled precariously to the right. She slid against the door frame and the coach succumbed to gravity.
Juliana reached for her but missed, losing her own balance, and struck her head on the door frame landing heavily on Sophia's outstretched leg as they both tumbled to the floor.
Juliana's heart was banging loudly against her chest. The jolt she had received when her head struck the wooden door came sweeping over her in a paralyzing aftershock so that she lay motionless until a slight movement and a loud moan brought her to her senses.
Aunt Sophia! She must be hurting Aunt Sophia!
Benjamin, the coachman, appeared in the open doorway. "Oi, miss, be you all right!" His face creasing into dozens of worried lines, he reached in, his two thick, burly arms lifting her out and to the ground.
Juliana closed her eyes for only a moment, the side of her head throbbing painfully, before she clutched at the coach door, calling "Aunt Sophia!"
Her aunt's face appeared suddenly from beneath a crimson pillow. "Here I am, dear," she replied calmly, reaching out both hands. "Benjamin, I believe I need your help."
Juliana felt ridiculously weak. But using what little strength she possessed, she helped Benjamin ease her aunt from the precariously tilting coach, which groaned menacingly, shifting even deeper into the mud when they pulled Sophia to safety.
To her great relief Sophia appeared unhurt, except for a long rip in the skirt of her dove gray traveling gown and a ruined blue feather dropping over the bent rim of her once fashionable hat.
"I am quite all right. There is no need for this fuss," Sophia said before taking a deep, shaky breath. "However, I do believe I must sit down, for this was a bit more excitement than I bargained for."
"It warn't really my fault, Miss Juliana," Benjamin blubbered. "The pole must've snapped with all that jouncing."
"It's all right, Benjamin," Juliana soothed, anxious only to see her aunt comfortable. "Let us settle Aunt Sophia under that tree."
With Benjamin carefully taking most of Sophia's weight against his broad shoulder, Juliana helped her slowly to the shade of an elm tree several yards from where young Ben, the postboy, held the still rearing and stomping horses.
Lumbering back to the coach, Benjamin stroked an experienced palm over the sweating side of one of the chestnuts. Juliana knew he loved his horses and would have no trouble calming them. She was more concerned about caring for her aunt so far from help. Searching in vain through her reticule for a restorative, she frowned, angry with herself, and looked up at Sophia, but that good woman was calmly fanning herself with the ruins of her traveling hat.
"Juliana, love, don't look so distressed."
Slumping down beside her, Juliana untied the wide blue satin ribbons on her own crushed bonnet. "What a beginning for our journey!"
Juliana leaned her head to one side in the hope of easing the painful throbbing at her temple, which was worsening, so that she spied Benjamin unharnessing the horses through a filmy haze. Nevertheless, she pushed herself to her feet, leaving her aunt resting on the cool grass. She made her way carefully, for the earth seemed to be slightly unsettled under her boots, to where he was tying one of the chestnuts to a sturdy looking sapling.