Emily Hendrickson (25 page)

“What can I say?” Alexander replied lightly. “We must wait to see how the day goes. I have asked your father’s advice regarding the property I bought—Mr. Taunton’s land and house. I suspect your father is the sort who enjoys giving suggestions.”

“We must wait? And what of your grandmother? Every day she studies me as though she expects to see me in the family way,” Juliet said, her cheeks flaming with the words, so intimate and full of implications.

“She will not say anything more. Ignore her looks if you can.” Alexander left the window to cross to the connecting door. “Carry on as best you can, my dear.”

“How well you do that—the little endearments, quite as though you meant them. I suppose you have had a great deal of practice at that as well,” Juliet said with an apprehensive look at the man who shared so much of her life at the moment.

“You seemed determined to think the worst of me, Juliet,” Alexander said. “But is it so terrible a thing it I have a bit of polish?”

“It is not that I think the worst of you, quite the contrary. I am made the more aware of my own lack of accomplishments in that line. I fear I am a very green girl,” she concluded wistfully.

He returned to stand before her, looking down at her with a strange expression she couldn’t fathom. “Do you not know a man prefers an innocent woman for a wife?”

“But I am not your wife,” she reminded him.

He placed one finger on her chin, drawing a tantalizing line along the edge of it while he stared into her eyes, his own alight with some secret knowledge. “But that is where you are wrong, my dear girl.” He bestowed a light kiss on her brow, then left the room before she could think of a retort.

* * * *

When Juliet went downstairs, she discovered her new stepmother in the drawing room, looking at the piece of needlework over which Juliet had so carefully slaved.

“Lovely, my dear. How skillfully you have blended the colors for the flowers—quite as though they were real. Would you like to show me your gardens? Julian said you have done extensive work at Winterton.” Helena gave her a persuasive smile that would have melted any resistance, had there been any.

The two women strolled from the house, watched by the dowager, whose puzzled expression contrasted with her impressive gown of plum sarcenet.

“Your husband’s grandmother seems a bit of a dragon,” Helena said hesitantly. “I trust I do not speak out of line?”

“You know she has offered Alexander an enormous sum of money on the birth of his first child?” Juliet inquired with a delightful blush. “It is so frightfully awkward.”

“I can well imagine. It would give one the feeling of being under pressure.” Helena strolled along, looking at the various blooms, then turned to add, “You are not, I think, in the family way as yet. You do not have the look of an expectant mother.”

At these words Juliet’s face turned a deep rose; she could feel the heat of her skin. Such frankness had not come her way before she pretended to be a wife.

“No, I am not,” Juliet replied in a strangled voice.

Helena gave her a consoling pat on the arm. “Not to worry. Alexander does not appear to be the childless sort. I am sure he is not backward in his attentions.”

Juliet wished the ground would open so she might escape this conversation. She turned away from her stepmother to look elsewhere, taking comfort in the knowledge that if Helena believed there was a chance Juliet might be expecting, at least there was the belief she was married. And that meant Papa likely believed it as well.

“It is like waiting for the tide,” Helena said softly. “Nothing occurs before its time. When the tide is due to come in, it does, without any help from anyone or anything. The same is true for you, dear girl. When it is your time, then it shall be so. You must have patience, no matter how you may wish things otherwise,” she concluded with a touch of Eastern philosophy, although delivered in a charming French accent.

There was no possible reply to this observation, so Juliet remained silent. Rather, she pointed out the modest topiary she had begun with Mr. Lumpkin’s assistance.

“These are simple shapes, nothing fantastical. But I believe they give extra emphasis to the garden, punctuation marks, as it were,” Juliet explained, more comfortable now she had managed to steer the conversation away from herself.

Before long, Helena excused herself and went off to find her husband.

Wishing to avoid the dowager, Juliet collected her needlework box and sought the solace of the pretty arbor Alexander had ordered constructed. In a year or two the vines would cover it. Now it stood rather bare, yet offering a refuge. With her needlepoint in hand, she enjoyed the peace, concentrating on placing neat stitches in the mesh.

“So here you are,” Alexander said, joining her on the bench and sitting much too close for her ease. “I just left your father with Helena. He had some excellent recommendations regarding the new property.”

“Good,” Juliet replied, then wary, asked, “He is not coming out here, is he?”

“You must not allow your feeling of guilt to swamp you,” Alexander admonished.

“Hush! Someone might hear you.”

“Allow me to read to you. That ought to take your mind off your troubles,” Alexander said with a hint of laughter in his voice.

Juliet paused, her needle in midair, wondering what on earth he could find to read to her.

He satisfied her curiosity by pulling a book from his pocket—a book she recognized as the one he bought at the fete. It was the book of poetry, and the thought he would remember how she had enjoyed her father’s reading warmed her heart.

Alexander rose to pace about the garden while he searched the pages for something he wished to read aloud. Clearing his throat, he gave her a look she’d have deemed sheepish in anyone else less lordly. She resumed her stitching, hoping that she didn’t make a hash out of the delicate design she’d so carefully worked to this point. Alexander read:

Whenas in silks my Julia goes.

Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows

That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see

That brave vibration each way free,

O how that glittering taketh me!

“What do you think, Juliet? Did friend Herrick admire his Julia in an unseemly way? The flow of her garments about her body?”

“No, I doubt it, for he was a cleric, was he not?” Juliet said, her face only mildly pink. “He would not have behaved in an improper way. I do not recall that he married, however,” she concluded with a delicate frown.

“Indeed, yes, in his way he was proper. I shan’t bring you to the blush with a reading of ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’ as I would like to,” Alexander said with a chuckle. “But here is another verse you might appreciate.”

A sweet disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fine distraction:

An erring lace, which here and there

Enthralls the crimson stomacher;

A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Ribbands to flow confusedly

A winning wave (deserving note)

In the tempestuous petticoat:

A careless shoestring, in whose tie

I see a wild civility;

Do more bewitch me than when art

Is too precise in every part.

Juliet paused in her stitching, staring off into the near-distance for a moment before turning her gaze to an expectant Alexander. “Do you agree with him that a bit of disarrangement in a woman’s clothing is bewitching.”

“Let me say that perhaps I find perfection a trifle overwhelming,” Alexander replied with a grin. “For instance, I find you enchanting when I see your silly little cap at a tilt, or your shawl about to fall from your pretty shoulders. Could it be John Donne’s sentiments are more likely to entice you? ‘For God’s sake hold your tongue and let me love’ perhaps?”

“Alexander,” she reproved, trying to look severe and utterly failing.

“No love? Another Donne, perchance,” he said with a mischievous expression before he reopened the book and began to read.

Juliet listened as she heard the words from “Go and catch a falling star” read to her with curious intent. Did Alexander hunt for one who was true and fair, as the poet wrote? She made no comment when Alexander finished, although he seemed to wait for an observation from her
..

What might have been said was to remain unknown, for at that moment Juliet heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching carriage. “More company? I vow, this place I thought so remote is like an inn.”

“Look at it this way, the more people we have around us, the less likely your father, my grandmother
,
or anyone else is to ask disconcerting questions,” Alexander pointed out.

“Do you really think the presence of” another person will prevent your grandmother from voicing an opinion should she wish to make one?” Juliet questioned, putting her needlework aside after checking to see she had not made any mistakes. Her only error was in secluding herself in the garden and listening to Alexander read love poetry to her.

“Probably not,” he admitted, walking at Juliet’s side around to the front of the house and the arriving carriage.

A post chaise had drawn up before they reached the front of the house, the door had been opened, and a woman now stepped forth, looking about her with curiosity.

“Miss Pritchard!” Juliet exclaimed, hurrying forward to greet the surprising guest.

“It wanted only this,” she heard Alexander murmur as she left his side. He walked around the two women to pay the driver of the post chaise, who looked anxious to be on his way after depositing the baggage on the drive.

“Juliet, my dear girl,” this good lady exclaimed, her face composed, “what a lovely place this is you selected for your little retreat.” Her gaze chanced upon Alexander and she halted, turning to Juliet for an explanation. “I understood you were alone and desirous of my company. I came as soon as I was able to leave my parents in good heart.”

Juliet floundered, giving Alexander a beseeching look.

“Miss Pritchard, I have heard Juliet speak of you often,” Alexander said in his most polished manner. “I am Hawkswood, Juliet’s husband.”

Miss Pritchard went pale, then a puzzled expression came over her face. “I was unaware you had married, my dear. You should have written me. I would have gone elsewhere. Your letter said you had left Winterton Hall to avoid an unwelcome alliance with a friend of your stepbrother.” There was most definitely a question in her eyes and voice.

“I am sorry. I sent you a letter, bringing you up to date on the events that have happened lately. You crossed paths, it seems. I should have written before, but things have been at sixes and sevens here recently.”

“What Juliet means to say it that we have been inundated with company. Marius and Lord Taunton, a friend of mine, a couple of others, followed by my grandmother.”

“Papa came yesterday with Helena, his new wife. He met her in St. Petersburg,” Juliet added in an aside. “But you must stay with us for a time. I’ll not see you go so soon when you have just arrived,” Juliet insisted, taking Miss Pritchard’s arm to draw her into the house. “I wish you to meet Helena. And the dowager as well,” Juliet added with a look at Alexander.

“The dowager is
...
?” Miss Pritchard inquired of Alexander.

“The Dowager Viscountess Hawkswood. I doubt anyone has called her Charlotte since she was a girl,” Alexander replied, exchanging a look with Juliet before casting a glance at the governess. He ushered her into the house, saying, “Welcome to our little household, Miss Pritchard.”

Mrs. Bassett bustled forth from the rear of the house to meet the trio in the entryway, a question in her eyes as she turned to Juliet.

“My former governess, Miss Pritchard, has come for a visit. I wish her to stay in the Green Room, Mrs. Bassett.”

Since that particular room was a very lovely one, lately occupied by Miss Shelford, the housekeeper immediately was given to know that the governess was held in high esteem. “Indeed, ma’am.”

While Mrs. Bassett undertook to dispose of such luggage as the governess had brought with her, Juliet and Alexander brought Miss Pritchard into the drawing room where Helena and Julian Winterton were seated. Helena was writing a letter while Julian read a newspaper several days old, but nonetheless absorbing to someone desirous of catching up on news.

Upon the entry of Juliet, Alexander, and the newcomer, both rose from their chairs, a hint of question on Helena’s face that quickly disappeared as Lord Winterton greeted Miss Pritchard with civility.

“Miss Pritchard, this is indeed a surprise, but a welcome one. I may now express my gratitude for the care you gave my daughter in my absence.” He said nothing for the moment regarding the elopement that presumably had occurred while Juliet was with Miss Pritchard.

“Ah, you were Juliet’s governess,” Helena exclaimed softly, coming to join them. “You must be most accomplished to have done so well,” she said gracefully as she met the woman who was somewhere in age between Juliet and herself.

Miss Pritchard dipped a graceful curtsy, darting glances about the room, at Alexander, the others, and the room with curious, intelligent eyes.

“Whom have we here?” the dowager inquired, entering the room in a rustle of plum sarcenet.

“Miss Pritchard, Grandmother,” Alexander smoothly explained, adding a rider to the effect that she had been Juliet’s governess. This brought forth the observation that they were not quite ready for such.

“Have you considered the position of nanny, Miss Pritchard?” the old woman probed, a shrewd look in her gaze.

“Miss Pritchard is here on a visit, Grandmother,” Juliet inserted. “She has been caring for her ailing parents and needs to recover her spirits.”

“In my day, governesses did not take a rest at the home of a former charge.”

“Then you were not acquainted with a governess as dear and accomplished as Miss Pritchard,” Juliet countered, not about to endure any slight to her adored Miss Pritchard.