“While I have no doubt of that, we agreed on eight weeks. You owe me another five.”

“Four weeks and five days,” she corrected tartly.

“Would that it were less. Leave this room. Do not return until you have decided to behave more like the lady that I was assured you were.”

Juliana looked at her eldest brother for a long moment, her eyes flashing fire before she spun on one heel and stormed from the room.

Callie watched her go before turning an accusing look on Ralston. He met her gaze with a cool one of his own, daring her to protest his actions. With a barely perceptible shake of her head to indicate her disappointment, Callie followed her charge into the depths of Ralston House.

He watched her go before looking to Nick. “I should like a drink.”

Callie found Juliana in her bedchamber, yanking dresses from her wardrobe. Eyeing the growing pile of silks and satins at the younger woman’s feet and the wide-eyed maid who stood, uncertain, in the corner of the room, Callie smoothed the skirts of her gown and perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for Juliana to notice her arrival.

After long minutes punctuated only by Juliana’s heavy breathing and the occasional phrase muttered in disgusted Italian, she spun around, hands on her hips, to face Callie. Juliana’s eyes were wild with her frustration, her face pinkened with exertion and anger. She took a deep breath, then announced, “I am leaving.”

Callie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am. I am unable to remain here. Not one minute longer!” She turned away, heaving open a large wooden trunk with a litany of Italian in which Callie picked out the words for brother, bull, and artichoke.

“Juliana…” Callie said cautiously, “do you not think this is a bit…rash?”

Juliana’s head popped up over the top of the trunk. “What rash? I do not have a rash!”

Tamping down her smile at the girl’s misunderstanding, Callie pointed out, “Not a rash. You are being rash. Impulsive. Reckless.”

Juliana cocked her head, considering the new word before she shook her head. “Not at all! Indeed, I only expected him to realize that he hated me sooner.” She began to shove the dresses into the trunk, her maid looking to Callie in horror at the abominable treatment the gowns were receiving.

Callie would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so heated. “He does not hate you.”

Juliana raised her head, her disbelief evident. “No? Did you see the way he looked at me? Did you hear him wish that I were gone?”

Callie couldn’t help the little smile that came at the young woman’s outrage—outrage that only intensified when she registered her friend’s amusement. “You find this amusing?” she asked, accusation in her tone.

“Not at all—well—a bit,” Callie admitted, hurrying on when she saw Juliana redden. “You see—you’ve never had an elder brother.”

“No—and it appears that I have one who cares very little for the role!”

“Nonsense. He adores you. They both do.”

“Ha! There you are wrong! I am nothing but a disappointment to them!” She returned to the wardrobe and began yanking shoes from deep inside, her voice muffled as she spoke, “I am…a commoner…an Italian…a Catholic.” She threw shoes behind her as she spoke.

“I assure you, Ralston does not care about any of those things.”

“Ha!” Juliana turned around to face Callie, breathing heavily. “Perhaps not! But I assure you he most definitely cares that I am the daughter of his mother…a woman he despises!”

Callie shook her head. “I cannot believe that he would blame you for your mother’s…”

“That is easy for you to say, Callie. You did not have our mother!” Callie remained silent as Juliana began to thrust the shoes into the trunk. “Our mother was a terrible woman. Cold and utterly fascinated with herself. I remember very little of her except that she carried uno specchio—a mirror—with her always…so she could always look upon herself.” She slowed her words, losing herself to the memory. “She hated to be touched. Was always afraid of wrinkled or stained skirts.”

Juliana’s voice became quiet as she added, “I was not allowed to touch her. ‘Children have dirty hands’ she would say, ‘when you are older, you will understand.’” She shook her head. “But I do not understand. What kind of woman would not want her daughter to touch her? Not want her sons? Why would she leave us all?”

She looked down at the trunk, overflowing in a jumble of silks and satins, shoes and undergarments. “I dreamed of brothers—whom I could touch. Who would allow me to be messy. Who would play with me. And protect me. Una famiglia.” A small smile crossed her face. “And it turns out that I have them. She gave them to me.”

“That is something very good that she has done for you.” Callie moved to kneel next to Juliana, putting one arm around the younger girl.

“And now I have ruined it.”

Callie shook her head. “Arguments happen. I promise you that he does not want you to leave.”

Juliana looked up at Callie, her blue eyes so like Ralston’s. “I could love them.”

Callie smiled. “Good. As it should be.”

“But what if there is no place for me here? I am nothing like them. And, yet, what if I do not belong anywhere else?”

Callie held the younger girl in her arms as Juliana considered the questions—the answers to which would decide her future.