When a Marquess Loves a Woman (16 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

T
he Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence

The prodigal Marquess of E—e has returned! Once a great favorite of this page, Lord E—e arrived yesterday but with the dreadful news of his late wife. Whispers abound of the scandal that kept Lord E—e in mourning for a
year
without even speaking of it. Shocking, indeed! The hushed nature has set many tongues wagging. What's more was the sighting of a child entering H— House. We are all eager for our next glimpse of Lord E—e and are left to wonder if he will don the black cravat of mourning or the snow white one of courting.

In other news, Lady F—th has recently reported a theft at her residence. Apparently, her famed aviary was breached by an intruder . . .

“L
ady Granworth, perhaps this concept is beyond your understanding and best left to your man of accounts,” the banker, Mr. Woldsley, said with a condescending sniff through his bulbous nose.

Juliet had encountered many men who detested doing business with a woman. And certainly there were bankers and tellers enough for her to find one more amenable to working with her. However, it was
because
of Mr. Woldsley's supreme distaste for women in his establishment that Juliet found it rather necessary to work with him.

On previous occasions, she had even heard him make derogatory comments about Lady Jersey's operation of the Child & Co. bank, declaring that she was “quite good at being led by the men in her employ.”

And while Juliet did not think that she could alter his opinion, she would do her utmost to irritate him.

Smiling, she spoke calmly. “I believe it is more a matter of recollection—yours, in particular—Mr. Woldsley. I have told you many times that I prefer not to deal in banknotes but gold and silver instead. It really is that simple. And
if
you would do as requested, just imagine how much sooner you could be rid of me.”

He snickered at her. “Oh, Mrs. Granworth—”

“
Lady
Granworth, if you please.”

“Yes, of course,” he drawled. “What you are failing to grasp is that the banknotes are equivalent to the gold and silver you deposited.”

She held accounts in a handful of banks, but her fortune was not singularly invested. Juliet took pride in her own autonomy, knowing that her success had come from seizing control of her own destiny.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Do you believe that men are perfect?”

A confused sort of frown removed his smirk. “No man of any sense would make such a categorical proclamation.”

For the first time since she stepped foot inside this institution, Juliet's smile was genuine. “If men are fallible, Mr. Woldsley, then certainly that which they have created may fall under scrutiny. Therefore, I retain my preference for gold and silver over your institution's notes.” She slid her written request across his desk. “If you please.”

At her irrefutable logic, he no longer argued. Either that, or she had given him a megrim.

Nevertheless, moments later, she left the bank with her coin purse full but, most of all, with a priceless sense of satisfaction.

“Lady Granworth, as I live and breathe.” The familiar smooth cadence stopped her instantly on the pavement.

Slowly, she turned around.
Bram
. There he stood, handsome and fit as ever, his pale features angular, his frame lean. The only sign of wear the passing years had given him was in the first strands of gray threaded with the blond at his temples and loss of luster in his irises. He looked dashing in a way that had always made her heart beat faster. She waited to see if it would happen again . . .

“You are even lovelier than my fondest memory,” he said, removing his hat and placing it over his heart. His broad grin revealed a set of dimples that had once fueled her dreams.

She smiled, pleased by the compliment that implied she had entered his thoughts a time or two over the years, as he had hers. “And you are still as charming, I see, Lord Engle.” Then, suddenly, she remembered the reason for his return to London, and her smile fell. “I was terribly sorry to learn of your wife's passing. I hope you received the letter that Zinnia and I sent.”

“I did, thank you.” He nodded somberly, curling his hands over the brim of his hat. “Though it is somewhat odd, albeit warming, to receive condolences under such circumstances.”

Juliet nodded, finding it more prudent to say as little as possible. Marjorie had already sent a missive to Zinnia, listing the worst of the news regarding his late wife's indiscretions. “I have also heard that you have a daughter. Congratulations.”

Bram chuckled. “A prayer for my sanity would be more apt, but thank you nonetheless.”

She wasn't certain what he meant but supposed it was a jest of his own. At one time, she might have understood those small asides, after having spent so much time in his company. But that wasn't the case any longer. In fact, she didn't even know how to reply.

It felt strange to stand there with Bram and not have Max nearby. Thinking back, Max had always been there, through every party, every dinner, every moment . . . And without him, there was a void that she never fully realized before. Now it seemed so clear.

“I am surprised not to see Max with you this morning, as his solicitor's office is only a few doors down.” Though just when she finished her sentence, she caught a glimpse of him beyond Bram's shoulder, emerging from that very doorway.

Now her heart did indeed race. The urgency of every beat drowned out whatever response Bram had made, forcing her to nod absently in response. And then Max saw her. The tight expression he wore instantly fell away, replaced with something more intimate. That was, until he noted to whom she was speaking. Then his eyes hardened, and his mouth set in a grim line.

At last, when Max stood beside his brother, he removed his hat and placed it over his heart. “My lady.”

Not
Lady Granworth
, Juliet noted, pleased not to have the reminder of the mistake she'd made five years ago. “My lord.”

The tension in Max's jaw eased noticeably, and the smile he gave her was so enthralling that she was tempted to repeat herself.

“As I was saying,” Bram continued, “Mother is still sorting out matters of decorum after learning of . . . the news. For the time being, however, she has declared that we shall observe mourning for a week and then half mourning.”

“And for the next seven days, she has requested that Bram and I only leave the house for business matters,” Max said, a wealth of hidden meaning in his gaze. In other words, there would be no social calls, no hurried parlor moments, and likely no visits to the house they were fighting over either.

She felt the loss keenly. “Your mother is all warmth and compassion. Her example makes us all the better for it.”

“Hmm . . . yes,” Bram agreed. “Though I must say, my little brother is positively stewing over the imprisonment. Just last night, he complained that his courtship of a certain young debutante would be stalled.”

Max cleared his throat and shot Bram an obvious look of warning.

“Just last night, you say?” Inwardly, Juliet started. Though why this news surprised her, she didn't know. After all, Max had made no secret about wanting to find a wife before settling into his home in Lancashire. Yet up until now, she was under the impression that Max was still in the process of making a list for a ball, hoping to narrow down his choice.

And suddenly, she wondered if the intimate collision between them had been a mistake. It had happened rather unexpectedly, after all. In fact, Max might have already had a bride in mind.

Juliet glanced away toward her waiting carriage and down to the folding step that her tiger had just lowered. She wished to flee as soon as possible. With effort, when she turned back, she had a smile in place. “Congratulations, Max. Is your bride-to-be someone I know?”

Max gritted his teeth and kept his response brief. “Likely.”

And there was her answer.

A swift, keen pain filled the spaces between every beat of her heart.

Since she planned to win the wager, however, she knew they would see each other in town, even at his mother's for dinner. She didn't want any strangeness between them. After all, he was an important part of her life, and she was determined to keep their friendship.
And—oh drat—was that the sting of tears behind her eyes?

“And what about you?” Bram asked. “Surely you have returned to London to cast a wide net on the most eligible.”

On a steady inhale, she tucked the ache away and focused her attention on Bram. She shook her head. “I have no plans to marry.”

“You must come to my house and meet my daughter,” Bram said, flashing those dimples once more, “for I am eager for your opinion.” And he said it with such ease that she wondered if he'd heard her response at all.

This was never something she'd noticed about Bram before. In the past, he'd always seemed attentive. But perhaps his thoughts were just as distracted as hers. One thing was for certain, however; she needed an end to this encounter before her spirits plummeted any further.

She'd been right all along. Being in love with Max felt exactly like flailing uncertainly with no end in sight.

“I will respect your mother's wishes and wait this week before I pay a call.” She did not linger but curtsied to them. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“M
y, my, my,” Bram said, staring after Juliet's carriage as it pulled away. “What a difference five years can make.”

“She is the same as ever. I do not see why you are so flummoxed.” Max gritted his teeth. It was obvious, in this first meeting between Bram and Juliet, that his brother was overcome by her beauty. Then again, who wouldn't be?

Even so, a surge of jealousy and bitterness flooded Max, putting him in an even fouler mood. Of course, he wouldn't have been in a temper at all if not for Bram's announcement that Max had found his bride.

Juliet's eyes had dimmed, and her entire demeanor turned cold in less than a single second. He could only imagine what she must have thought and how Bram's declaration cast a tawdry light on what had been the best moments of his life.

More than anything, Max wanted to tell her the truth, that he had every intention of marrying her if she would have him. But it was that “if” that kept him silent.

“Obviously you are not a man who notices the importance of a serendipitous meeting,” Bram said, turning away from the street and studying the brick façade of the bank, his hands clasped behind his back.

A frisson of warning burned through Max.

“A woman who does her own banking tells me two things,” Bram continued. “One, that she must have something of a fortune. And two, that she requires a man to look after it.”

Max didn't like the palpable greed in his brother's countenance, the cunning glimmer in his eyes. Earlier today, the steward informed him that Bram had inquired after Mother's accounts, which only added to the mystery of why Bram had come home.

After all, if his wife's affair had humiliated him so greatly, then why risk such a public return now? He could have easily gone back to his country estate and sent for Mother to visit. Instead, he'd come, with his own servants and child, to Harwick House.

By right, the manor belonged to Max, as it was
his
father's house. But for Mother's sake and for little Patrice, he did not press the point. He would allow his brother to stay under his roof, even though Bram had never asked for permission.

However, with the news he'd received earlier from the steward, and now Bram's interest in Juliet's fortune, Max wondered at the true reason Bram had decided to come to town.

Instinctively, he knew he would not like the answer.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

J
uliet arrived at Zinnia's townhouse later that morning, still feeling distraught after her encounter with Max and Bram. Had Max truly found a bride? And had he known about his choice
before
their shared intimacies?

It was one thing to be Max's lover, but if he had already settled on a bride, then that made Juliet feel as if she were his mistress. Which was not something she could abide.

As for Bram, this first meeting after five years had been so overshadowed by his loss and Max's news that she'd hardly paid attention to him. Since she abhorred that trait in others, she would set her mind to being a more attentive conversation partner when next they met.

When she stepped into the foyer, Mr. Wick greeted her with a bow. “Lady Locke is in the parlor, my lady.”

Lilah was here? The happy news could not have come at a better time. A sigh of relief left her at once, and she was half tempted to press a kiss to the butler's cheek but settled for squeezing his forearm before she hurried into the parlor. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

The moment she stepped into the room, she saw her cousin's radiant face, her mahogany eyes gleaming, her brown hair framing her heart-shaped face in gentle curls. “Lilah, is this truly you, or am I merely dreaming?”

Lilah embraced her with affection. “Do I seem all that different?”

“I would not have known you, if not for Mr. Wick's introduction,” Juliet teased.

“And I had been about to call the guard when this stranger appeared.” Zinnia gestured with a wave of her hand, offering a highly uncharacteristic quip that only proved how pleased she was about Lilah's return as well.

“I hope that I am not terribly altered,” Lilah said with a coy bat of her eyes.

Juliet slipped her arm through Lilah's and led her to the violet settee. “You are simply glowing. Wouldn't you agree, Zinnia?”

“Indeed.” In ever regal fashion, Zinnia descended into her jonquil upholstered chair.

Lilah looked around the cozy violet room, eyes round with awe as if she'd been away from it for ages. “There are moments when I still cannot believe how much my life changed in such a short time. Of course, it did take over twenty-three years.” She laughed, her warm gaze resting on Juliet and Zinnia. “I look in the mirror and see the same face and features that had gone unnoticed for most of my life, and yet now there is a subtle difference. How I see myself on the inside has changed. And I thank both of you for my first glimpse of that person.”

“It was there all along, you know,” Juliet said, understanding the difficulty in seeing beyond the self-deprecating ideas one tends to believe. “But you've not said a word about your husband. How is Jack?”

“Magnificent.” Lilah blushed in the way that most new brides did. “These weeks have been quite the revelation, though I suppose that is the way it is with married people.”

Not for Juliet, but no one other than Max knew her secret. However, this was the first time in her life that she could begin to imagine what caused that happy glow.

“Seeing your expression reminds me of the joyful years I spent with Lord Cosgrove,” Zinnia said with a smile and then glanced to Juliet. “Every woman deserves a great love.”

A terrible twinge of longing pierced her heart. It was so sharp, so painful, that it likely ripped a hole in that fragile organ. After Max's declaration, she was sure of it.

Dismayed once more, Juliet nearly sighed aloud but caught herself in time. Not wanting to talk about love—great or otherwise—she slyly changed the subject. “Since you have been away, there has been much news.”

“I happened to glance at this morning's
Standard
,” Lilah said with an eager nod as Mrs. Wick entered with the tea tray. “I read that the Marquess of Engle has returned.”

So, for the next few minutes, they spoke in hushed whispers about the scandal. When Zinnia mentioned how the late marchioness had been the one to claim the
Original
title during Juliet's last Season, Lilah gasped. “I'd always wondered but never wanted to ask. Were you . . . friends with her?”

Juliet stared down into her teacup, forming a kind reply. “We had attended many of the same parties, and I was quite familiar with her.”

“Strange,” Lilah said. “That is the same way I speak of Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury, and you know my feelings toward them.”

“Quite.” Juliet offered a nod of agreement, thinking of the pair of termagants. There were definite similarities between them and Miss Leonard. “She and I were rivals for Lord Engle's affections.”

Lilah's cup stalled. “And he married her instead. How awful it must have been for you.”

“At the time, but no longer,” Juliet said with the ease of hindsight. So many years had passed, and worse disasters had come and gone since then. “I daresay, not many debutantes were unaffected by his charm. Though to his credit, he made no formal declarations to court either of us.” Though, on her part, his attentions were somewhat misleading.

“But now he has returned, and so have you. It almost seems as if fate has put him in your path once again.”

Juliet smiled reflexively but without giving an answer. Zinnia carefully sipped her tea, her gaze distant, as if she were distracted by the idea. Instantly, Juliet knew that it was time for another change of topic, and began regaling them with her encounter with Mr. Woldsley.

Then, all too soon, their visit came to a close.

“I wish I could stay longer, drink tea, chat, and even walk in the park,” Lilah said, standing, “but I have ordered furnishings for Jack's townhouse, and they are scheduled to arrive at precisely twelve.”

“And when do you suppose that you'll have your home ready for company?”

Lilah laughed. “Surely by day's end. Jack is rather impatient to have all the
frippery and nonsense
, as he calls it, settled. So he hired an entire army of men to see it happen.”

Zinnia squeezed her hand and smiled. “Send us a card, Lady Locke, and we will pay you a call.”

“But for now you must go,” Juliet teased, walking her to the door. “Zinnia and I are eager to lay the calendar on the tea table and speculate on when we might expect a new addition to the family.”

Lilah said nothing but—once again—blushed furiously as she left them in the foyer to speculate all they liked. And though Juliet didn't want to feel this way, a terrible envy rose within her.

U
nfortunately, she was unable to abandon that feeling. In fact, by the afternoon, it only worsened when she received a somewhat urgent missive from the Duchess of Vale, requesting Juliet to help plan a nursery. She might have laughed at the note altogether if not for the final words:
“I would hate to inconvenience you on such short notice, but I
must
seek your counsel.
”

Believing there was more to the missive than met the eye, Juliet departed posthaste and went directly to the townhouse in St. James.

“I am so glad you have come,” Ivy said to Juliet as they walked together up the wide marble stairway, their slippered steps muffled on the aubergine and gold runner. “Though I must confess to a partial deception because your advice on nursery décor is not the only reason I wanted you here today.”

“Since I am hardly an expert in such matters, I had assumed as much.” Juliet squeezed Ivy's hand in reassurance. “Whatever it is, I will do my utmost to help.”

“You see, it is regarding Gemma . . . ” From there, Ivy went on to describe Gemma's despondency of late. Since being snubbed by Lady Falksworth, Gemma had received no invitations. Even paying or receiving morning calls to friends of the dowager duchess had diminished.

“She confessed to me that she feels like a burden to us,” Ivy continued. “Not only that, but she is considering giving up the idea of marriage altogether and taking orders instead. And while I've only known her for a short time, I do believe she is stubborn enough to do it.”

This news was heartbreaking indeed. “I quite like her obstinacy. In this circumstance, however, I fear it will not serve her best interests.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. It drives me mad to think of how her determination not to be held back by her father's reputation is being thwarted again and again.”

Juliet firmly believed that any amount of courage or determination should be nurtured. “Then I think distracting her thoughts with planning the nursery is a brilliant idea.”

“She is in the attic now, scavenging for ideas.” Ivy looked up toward the coffered ceiling once they reached the tapestry-lined hallway on the third floor. “She is not one to remain idle for any length of time, which must stem from a life of constant travel. Though I fear this trait may encourage her to set a course to a destination from which she cannot return. Her maid even informed me that Gemma keeps a packed satchel in her wardrobe.”

“Oh, dear. Then we must come up with an idea quickly.” Juliet thought of mentioning her desire to introduce Gemma to Viscount Ellery, but it seemed too self-serving now. She would wait until her wager with Max had ended before introducing Gemma to the man who was sure to be named this Season's
Original
.

And honestly, Juliet didn't even want to think about the wager or about what she learned of Max this morning. So a distraction was essential for her as well. “Did you happen to see Lilah this morning?”

Ivy nodded, her white teeth flashing in a broad grin that lifted her cheeks. “She stopped for a moment to tell me of her return and then professed that she should be fully prepared for callers tomorrow. Though if anyone can conquer an impossible task, it is Jack. He has already proven he would do anything for Lilah.”

“Very true.” And in Juliet's opinion, her cousin deserved every happiness. “Perhaps we can persuade her to host a small gathering. It would give Lilah the opportunity to have her first party as Lady Locke but also provide Gemma something else to think upon.”

“I think that is a splendid idea. Then again, who am I to say, when it is not my home that will be invaded?” Ivy laughed, opening the door at the end of the hall. “And here we are—
the realm of the heirs of Vale
, as my husband proudly declared, moments after the physician first confirmed the news our happy arrival.”

Juliet might have laughed as well, if not for her pleased gasp upon seeing the room. At first glance, the large rectangular room wooed her with the warmth of hardwood floors the color of dark honey, a cozy rocking chair beside a white brick fireplace, and two pairs of arched windows at either end, with wrought-iron hinges on the shutters.

“It's lovely,” she whispered.

Ivy led her into the room, pleasure glowing in her cheeks and in her winter blue eyes. Absently, she laid a hand over the tiniest bump in her middle. “What do you think of something whimsical? Bright colors. I do not know if Gemma paints at all, but her sketches are quite good. Perhaps I can persuade her to draw a pastoral mural on this larger wall, giving little Northcliff the notion that he is ruler over a great enchanted land.”

“Do you have a sense that the baby will be a boy?” Juliet asked, charmed by the idea.

Ivy grinned but shook her head. “Not yet.
Little Northcliff
is a moniker that North's cousin gave the child. Lord Wolford was merely jesting, of course, but we have grown fond of it.”

Juliet was immeasurably happy for Ivy and the duke. She wanted all that was good and bright in the world for her friends. And yet, with a great jolt of surprise, she realized that she also wanted it for herself.

Then again, perhaps she'd always wanted it but had never felt worthy of it before.

Juliet wondered what it would be like to have life growing inside her and to feel the sense of awe that was evident on Ivy's face. All she'd ever hoped for, when she was married, was to have a life of independence. To do as she pleased. To answer to no man. And she finally had that. Yet now she wanted more. The question was, however, was she ready to pursue it?

Juliet tucked the thought away for later. “And if it is a girl?”

Ivy sighed, her shoulders rolling forward marginally. “Ugh. There are so many from which to choose—our mother's names, his aunt's, Lilah's, yours—the list is endless.”

Emotion welled in Juliet's throat. “You have considered my name?”

“Well, yes. You are one of our closest friends, silly.”

Ivy embraced her, and in that same instant, the oddest thing occurred—a tear slipped down Juliet's cheek. Usually, she kept herself more composed than this, but the drop slipped free before she was even aware of the need to cry. What was happening to her? Usually, it was only with Max that she'd let down her guard.

Wiping the dampness from her cheek, she returned the embrace. “And you are mine as well.”

“I do hope it isn't true what Edith told me,” Ivy said with a frown. “That you have wagered with Thayne again, and this time you signed a contract, stating that you will leave London if you do not win.”

Juliet nodded solemnly, suddenly knowing how much more she stood to lose. “In my own defense, I never imagined that Max could win. I still don't. In fact, I'm certain that my candidate will become the
Original
.”

“Indeed?” Ivy lifted her pale brows and, after Juliet's affirmative response, continued. “Then what will happen to Thayne? He will be homeless.”

“Hardly.” Juliet laughed. “He may purchase a house anywhere. I have no qualms over where he lives. Just as long as it is not
that
house in particular.”

And yet, the idea of encountering him in the future with his wife and their children sat sourly in the pit of her stomach, and she doubted the existence of a remedy.

“Anywhere? You are quite generous to your enemy. What if he purchased the house next to yours? Would that spark your ire?”