Emily Hendrickson (28 page)

“I explained my side of the situation to your father. He seemed surprised to hear both our sides matched. You were truthful, I gather.” Alexander picked up a twig, twirling it about in his fingers before flicking it into the water to watch it slowly float away.

“I could go on with the lies no longer,” Juliet said with a note of apology in her voice.

“I wonder you could at all. I believe you are not normally given to telling untruths.” He looked at her then, questioning.

“No. I am usually a truthful person.”

“So if I asked if you love me, you would be honest?”

“Unfair, Alexander,” she said with a faint laugh at his audacity. “A lady does not reveal her heart so easily.”

“Marry me, Juliet.” He gazed at her with that blank expression he used at times when he wished to conceal his thoughts.

She sat motionless, trying to sort out her feelings. “You spoke with Papa. He told you what he felt must be done?”

“I have said before that we must marry. Now I ask you.” He turned to look at the stream again, sending another twig on its way to the sea. “I think we would deal together very well. Shall I read you from Donne again? More romantic poetry?”

“No, no,” she denied. Was that what it had been? That delightful hour in the garden with the love poetry? He had been softening her up for what he knew had to be done? She could not bear to wed the man she now loved with all her heart for so paltry a reason.

“Precisely what did my father decree?”

“He listened to what I had to say and then agreed that the sooner we married the better. I like to think he appreciated my offering to do the deed before he demanded it.” Alexander debated on telling Juliet he loved her, deciding to wait. He wanted her on his terms, perhaps foolishly.

“You did? Why?” she asked, tossing her own twig into the stream to watch it sink to the bottom. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.

“As I said, we must and you know it. Society demands it of us. And would it be so very bad?” he asked lightly.

Not if he loved her, Juliet thought. “Society,” she murmured. “A pox on Society. Were I to disappear from here, never to be seen by you again, what would happen? Would Society know or care?” she demanded.

“I would.”

“You have done me a great honor, sir, but I fear I must decline your kind offer of marriage. And, since you make no other, I shall go.” She rose with a quickness that caught Alexander off guard. In seconds she was off up the hill and over and gone.

Alexander rose slowly from the bank, brushing aside a willow branch as he tossed another twig into the water. It floated. “Three times lucky,” he murmured. “You have not seen the last of me, my Juliet.” He sauntered up the incline, then down to where Juliet had joined the others.

She plied her fan, sipped lemonade, and seemed to give no sign of what had occurred. But then, what had happened? Nothing more than he had expected. He must think of something else, for they
would
be married.

Chapter 16

Bunches of flowers were everywhere, by her bed, on the dressing table, in a bucket by the window—he must have run out of vases, Juliet decided, knowing full well who had invaded her room with all these blooms.

Breakfast had been such an ordinary meal; she’d decided to join Helena and her father. Miss Pritchard, and the dowager in an effort to please. It had been a quiet beginning to a normal day, if one could call
any
day that contained such a group of people in this situation normal. And then she had gone to her room to find this array!

There was a tag attached to the bunch of daisies in the bucket and, curiosity getting the better of her, she crossed to pick it up. “COME” was written on the square of white pasteboard, nothing more.

Puzzled, Juliet took the card and plumped herself on the little chair close by to stare at the pasteboard again. COME, printed in bold, slashing letters, the black ink seeming to jump out at her. She turned the card over to find nothing on the other side. That was all?
Come?
Her curiosity rising, she searched among the other bouquets to find nothing more. Not another word. Just that single word, COME. Bewildered, she took the card, thinking there was a mystery that might take a bit of solving, and tucked it into the small drawer of her dressing table. Perhaps the word had a deeper meaning that would occur to her later.

“Where’d he get all those flowers, ma’am?” Pansy inquired when she entered the room, the caramel crepe gown, freshly pressed, draped over her arms.

“I suspect he raided my garden as well as the one on the Taunton property he now owns,” Juliet said, striving for an indifference she didn’t feel. She purposely did not mention the mysterious card tucked into the flowers. No one was going to learn about that.

Leaving Pansy to tidy the room, Juliet hurried down to the garden; it was easy to see where Alexander had struck. A bit here, a bit there, and the bucket would be full. She wondered what would happen next.

“Good morning, my dear,” Alexander said suavely from behind her, startling Juliet.

Spinning around, she gave him a confused look before tilting her nose in the air. “You picked my flowers,” she accused.

“Wrong, my love. They are
my
flowers. This is
my
home, or had you forgotten? You may claim to be my wife, but the actuality is different, is it not? Shall we take a stroll?”

“I do not trust you,” she said, nevertheless falling in step with him as he continued to saunter along the garden path, pausing to admire a cluster of daisies and mounds of early purple asters. Hollyhocks ranged along the back of a perennial border with lilies and hemorocalis, marigolds and a selection of other summer blooms in front. A hedge sparrow flew down to inspect the plants for insects.

Alexander tucked her hand close to his side, patted it gently, and smiled, saying nothing for the moment.

“Trust is such a tender word,” he reflected aloud. “It brings to mind confidence, a certainty, a conviction. Do you have assurance in your chosen path, my Juliet?” Without waiting for a reply, which was not forthcoming, he continued, “On the other hand, you may rely on me, believe in what I tell you, pin your faith on my words.”

“Words,” Juliet said suddenly. “You tucked a card in those daisies. It had one word on it. Why?”

“Captured you curiosity, did it? You think I brought you a few posies?”

“I believe I have come to know you a little. Besides, who else would bring me flowers? And I doubt you do anything without a motive,” she snapped back at him, sounding quite as frustrated as she, indeed, was.

“Ah,” he said with a maddening smile, “then you shall have to uncover my motive, I perceive.” He plucked a daisy, tucked it into her curls, and looked pleased with the effect it made. “I must say, it is nice to know that Mr. Wyllard is no longer to be seen lingering in the garden. Wise of you to send him on his way, my dear.”

On that note, Alexander left her, striding briskly away as though he had accomplished his purpose in seeking her out. What it might have been perplexed her, and so she said to Helena when joined by that charming lady.

“Perhaps Alexander intends to keep you on your toes. I gather he means to confuse you.”

Juliet could say nothing more without revealing the mysterious word on the white card, nor did she think it sensible to inform Helena of the flowers appearing in so intimate a location as the bedside. Juliet had no idea as to whether her father had revealed all to his new wife or not. And while Juliet might be curious, she did not wish to discuss the matter right now. It was enough to rail at Alexander for being Alexander. Poor Mr. Wyllard, once so favored, now totally ignored.

Remaining silent, Juliet turned her attention to the flower border, snipping off the dead heads of the yarrow with an absent hand, her mind elsewhere—on Alexander.

By lunch there had been no additional cards or any other mysterious events, and Juliet sat down at the table with a lighter heart. It remained so until the maid served her a plate of food. There was nothing wrong with the food; it was the crisp white card that peeked out from beneath a slice of bread that caught her eyes. On it was printed a single word—LIVE.

Hastily filching the card from her plate and whisking it into the reticule she fortunately had with her, Juliet found her pleasure in the simple meal destroyed. Alexander. It had to be he who had done this. But why? What was the significance of the word
live,
pray tell? Was it to remind her food was a necessity and that he was providing it? Had the word
come
intended to bring her to the garden so he might tease her?

Eating just enough so not to call attention to her lack of appetite, Juliet left the table as soon as she could.

Stealing up to her room, she crossed to the dressing table, opened the drawer, and took out the first card.
Come live,
the two words said—if they were meant to go together. Because they came in that sequence did not mean they were intended to be that way. She wondered when he would strike next. And where! Alexander was proving to be more devious than the worst of tormentors.

The remainder of the day passed in a suspicious haze. Juliet searched everywhere she went for an elusive white bit of pasteboard, but found nothing. Perhaps those two words were all he intended to vex her with?

Mrs. Ogleby and Mrs. Tackley, along with a pretty Lucy, newly engaged and proud of her lovely ring, called that afternoon. They seemed to find Helena intriguing, her faint French accent—for the Russian nobility spoke nothing but French—of enormous fascination. She, in turn, found them equally of interest. Miss Pritchard came in for her share of conversation as well.

Juliet was preoccupied, finding it difficult to concentrate on village gossip, speculations on Parson Richards wedding to the squire’s daughter, not to mention news of the upcoming wedding to take place as soon as Lord Taunton could make arrangements.

“He is impatient, your bridegroom,” Helena said, holding her teacup while studying the blushing Lucy. “I can see why; you are a very pretty girl. I trust it will be soon, so we may attend.”

Mrs. Ogleby asked the question that popped into Juliet’s mind. “Do you intend to leave shortly, then?”

“When matters are settled,” Helena said composedly, which remark revealed practically nothing of their plans. It did remind Juliet that her father had insisted she be wed, and he was accustomed to having his way in all things. This would be one time he failed.

Mrs. Tackley inquired about life in St. Petersburg.

While Helena told stories she thought might amuse, Juliet’s gaze strayed to the garden, where she could see Alexander wandering about, seeming of no particular intent
.
What was he up to now?

“Juliet, the tea,” Miss Pritchard reminded gently, bringing a flush to Juliet’s pale cheeks.

Pouring tea and offering tiny almond biscuits distracted Juliet, and she could only wonder about Alexander, what he would do next. He seemed to have taken over her mind, all her thoughts centered on him. He would drive her around the bend if this business with the pasteboards did not cease.

She approached the dinner table with caution, a reticule dangling from her arm just in case it proved necessary. As the meal was served—dish after dish, course after course—and nothing occurred, no little white pasteboard came to view, and Juliet gradually relaxed.

She and Alexander played a duet following dinner, the men deciding to forgo their port in favor of joining the ladies. Lord Winterton settled with Helena on the sofa, while the dowager claimed her favorite chair, the bergère. Miss Pritchard sat on the far side of the room, situated so she might watch everyone at once.

It took greater than usual concentration for Juliet to play; her eyes kept straying to Alexander. He sat at the clavichord, candlelight bringing forth hidden lights in his dark hair. His dark coat and pristine cravat succeeded in making his face stand out against the dim background. While a handsome man, he seemed gifted with unusual appeal this evening, and she wondered if it was the added mystery surrounding him that caused it. The realization that if she did pursue her intended course, she would likely never see him again struck her.

His eyes flashed up at her just at that very moment, and Juliet faltered in her playing, recovering quickly to conclude the piece with no more errors.

“We have played that bit of music before, and you showed no difficulty with it,” Alexander said quietly for her ears alone when the others were deep in a discussion about the Russian theater as compared to London offerings.

“I was momentarily distracted,” Juliet explained, wishing he did not stand quite so close.

“Shall I not look at you when we play? I won’t if I disturb you,” he said in that smooth manner he’d adopted of late when he wanted to vex her.

Without thought to what she said, she replied, “You
do
disturb me, far too much for my peace of mind.” Then she heard her hasty words hanging in the air and longed to be elsewhere.

“How nice,” Alexander said gently and strolled away from her side to pour himself a glass of sherry.

“I shall do violence to the man. I shall,” Juliet whispered, a thread of sound.

Alexander turned to bestow an enigmatic look on her that all but compelled her to flee the room. When would he cease this assault on her senses? What could she do to stop him? Not a blessed thing, a wee voice in the back of her head replied.

Somehow Juliet scraped by the remainder of the evening without disgracing herself in any way. She couldn’t have said what was discussed, nor if she received any odd looks. When possible, she took herself to bed, offering an incipient headache as an excuse.

She closed the door to her room, grateful to escape that expression in Alexander’s eyes. She could not define it; she only knew it was dangerous and at the same time seductive.

Without waiting for Pansy, she hastily disrobed, put her things away, then walked to her bed, relieved she had been spared another card.

It was on her pillow, tucked into a scrap of lace, looking like a lover’s missive. WITH. The bold black letters splashed across the card. She sank onto the bed, reaching out to touch the pasteboard as though it might burn her fingers. Her heart pounded, and her hand fluttered up to her throat. What did this mean?
With? Why with?