When a Marquess Loves a Woman (9 page)

Juliet paused in her card shuffling, drawn away from her thoughts. “Here is a letter from the Dowager Duchess of Vale. Strange, but it is addressed to me.”

“Perhaps Edith is immersed in one of her projects and requires your assistance.”

Projects
was a euphemism for matchmaking. After having married off both of her nephews, the dowager duchess was determined to find a match for her niece. Unfortunately, Miss Desmond had a terrible black mark against her name. If this was her venture, Juliet did not believe the dowager duchess had much hope of success.

“I can think of no reason why she would ask for my help.” After all, Juliet had only managed to free herself of scandal by marrying one of the wealthiest men in England at the time. Unfortunately, there wasn't a surplus of those lying around.

“Have you not noticed how well received you are among the
ton
?”

Juliet dismissed this compliment as rose-colored nonsense from a family member who could no longer see her flaws. It was actually quite sweet of Zinnia. “I have noted their reception of me each morning in the
Standard
. I am merely a curiosity, or worse, a scandal waiting to happen once more.”

She was still grateful that no one had spotted her in Max's embrace at Lord and Lady Minchon's party or again in Lord and Lady Simpkin's library. No one else would have understood that those instances had only been part of their continued, if not escalating, animosity.

Mr. Wick cleared his throat from the doorway, putting a halt to her musings. When she looked over, she noted that he was holding a rather large package wrapped in brown paper.

“For you, my lady,” he said, placing it on the table before her.

There was nothing other than a red stamp of ink in the upper corner. There was no name. “It is from Hatchard's, only I don't recall placing a book order. Are you certain it is for me?”

“If I may, the delivery boy was something of a street urchin and not one of their usual runners. Nevertheless, he was quite insistent that it was for you, my lady.”

“Curious,” Zinnia said with a lift of her brows. “Much like that block of ice.”

With the reminder, Juliet wondered if perhaps . . .

And before she could even finish the thought, a wayward thrill took flight within the walls of her stomach, lifting it ever so slightly.

Outwardly keeping her composure, she set about untying the string with the unhurried patience of a centenarian on a final birthday, reveling in the moment and knowing that whatever it might be—even a mistaken delivery—it had already surpassed her expectations.

The moment she parted the paper and saw
Lady Granworth
in the familiar slanted scrawl on a small white card, Juliet knew it had not been a mistaken delivery. And the moment she read the title, she also knew it was from Max and no one else.

The Regal Traveler's Guide to Notable Libraries

She wanted to laugh. Their rivalry was certainly an oddity. And while he likely thought he was taunting her, she was secretly delighted. If her enemy was the only one who listened to her, then she would like to keep him as her enemy forever.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

A
s the Dowager Duchess of Vale requested, Juliet went to tea that afternoon.

By the firm set of Gemma Desmond's pert features, it was clear that she was attending the tea under duress. Even so, the dowager's niece was lovely—her skin slightly tanned from having lived abroad in southern climes for many years, her eyes a bluish myrtle green, made all the more compelling by a rim of black lashes. Her inky black hair, however, was pinned into such a confining coiffure that the sight of it made Juliet's scalp ache.

They had been introduced before, and even then, Gemma had not appeared overly pleased to be in society. Fortunately for her, her lips naturally followed an upward tilt. Otherwise, she might have had quite the formidable countenance.

“Lady Granworth, I'm so pleased you could attend,” the dowager duchess said, the penciled line of her brows slightly pinched with worry. “There are many—aside from my dear friends, of course—who would not think of stepping beneath this roof until the scandal of my brother-in-law's misdeeds have died down.”

Albert Desmond had become a notorious criminal in these past weeks after the knowledge of his forgery scheme came to light. Allegedly, he'd been robbing people of their fortunes, claiming to sell priceless artifacts and works of art. But his criminal acts turned violent when he'd kidnapped and nearly murdered Adeline Pimm after she'd caught him in the act.

Even though Adeline was a dear friend of Juliet's, she did not hold Gemma responsible for her father's treachery. “As you know, I am not unfamiliar with scandals.”

“Precisely,” the dowager duchess said with a pleased smile, as if a debutante caught kissing a gentleman in a library was a trifling occurrence.

Though in many ways, Juliet still felt like that same unprepared girl she'd once been, not truly knowing what had come over her in that all-too-brief moment in the library. “It is fortunate that the
ton
possesses more ardent curiosity than censure. I am thankful that my return inured the former and only a touch of the latter. Given enough time, I imagine all will be forgotten.”

Miss Desmond's posture softened in what could only be described as hopeful relief. “Would you agree that your hasty marriage aided in your acceptance?”

“Undoubtedly,” Juliet said with a nod but proceeded with caution. She did not want Gemma, or anyone, to rush into marriage solely to expunge a scandal. However, in Gemma's circumstances, she could see no other option. “Otherwise I would have been ruined, leaving a stain upon my family name.”

Of course, her father hadn't been too worried about his own behavior. He'd counted on Juliet marrying well. Yet even he had known that the good fortune he enjoyed, at her expense, would not last. Otherwise, he would not have tried to conceal the gold pieces from the highwayman who'd ended his and Mother's lives.

The dowager duchess waved her fingers in the air, moving on from those particulars. “Just so. And given the right circumstances surrounding an event, the
ton
can be quite forgiving.”

Gemma shook her head, her slender hands clenching into fists. “My father is guilty of numerous crimes, not the least of which is the attempted murder of a young woman. I doubt the
ton
will be quick to forgive, let alone forget.”

“Yes, well, our task is monumental, to be sure, but not impossible.”

“I apologize for disagreeing, Aunt Edith,”—Gemma stood—“but it is
quite
impossible.”

Then she turned to slip through the space between the gold chintz sofa and chair, no doubt heading toward the door.

“Not entirely,” Juliet heard herself say and wondered what she'd just gotten herself into.

Gemma stopped, issuing the quick exhale of exasperation as she looked over her shoulder. “Lady Granworth, forgive me, but your kissing scandal pales by comparison.”

A younger version of herself might have become irritated by a comment that wholly dismissed her own trials too, but her wiser self saw this as a way to help a young woman facing a dreadful circumstance. “Please call me Juliet, and if I may . . . Gemma?”

The petulant debutante inclined her head without hiding any reluctance and gradually resumed her seat.

Juliet continued. “Have you ever heard of Lord Corilew?”

While Gemma shook her head, the dowager duchess's eyes went round for an instant before a small smile curled her lips.

“Lord Corilew was once simply Jonathon Tibble, a disinherited younger son. He was renowned for his gambling and womanizing, so much so that he could have begun a
Duels at Dawn
club, with an extensive list of cuckolded husbands as members.” If there was one thing Juliet knew, it was the simple fact that learning of another's ruin always took one's mind off one's own. She was hoping this distraction would be just the thing to help Gemma open her eyes to new possibilities.

“Then one day, he altered his quarry from the wives of the
ton
to one of the innocents, a debutante in her fourth year.” Juliet shook her head solemnly before she continued. “There was little hope that Mary Brightwell would marry at all. You see, when she was younger, she'd suffered a terrible kick from a horse to her jaw, leaving her with a bit of a scar and speech impediment. Though it just so happened that one fateful morning, Tibble was caught”—she glanced to the dowager duchess and received a nod to continue—“leaving Mary's bedchamber window at the break of dawn.” As Juliet hoped, the subject held Gemma's rapt, unblinking attention.

“Of course, we know nothing of their romance or how it came to be. All we know is that her father, Lord Sharpton, was immensely wealthy, and Mary Brightwell was his only child. In addition, we know that by the end of the first year of their marriage, Mary Brightwell gifted her husband with a son, and thereby her own father with an heir.

“Furthermore, it was rumored that Lord Sharpton was so grateful to his son-in-law that he bestowed a substantial gift upon him, providing enough funds for Tibble to purchase an estate, complete with barony. From that point forward, the scandalous Mr. Tibble became Lord Corilew.” Juliet had chosen this story, in particular, to show Gemma that there were ways out of ruin, and to convince her not to lose hope. “So you see, it really is nothing more difficult than a name change.”

“And to change my name, you are suggesting that I marry?”

“I would never make that suggestion. Such a decision must be yours alone and for your own reasons,” Juliet said, concealing a rise of regret from her own mistakes. “It is my guess, however, that you are looking for an answer to clear away the mark on your name. Otherwise, I doubt your aunt would have called me here to speak on this topic.”

Gemma glanced at the dowager duchess and nodded. “We have spent so many years apart, and I . . . ” She cleared her throat. “Aunt Edith is like a mother to me, and I do not want her tainted by my name.”

The dowager duchess reached over the arm of the chair and patted Gemma's arm. “As I said before, it does not matter to me. I'm merely happy to have you here, where you belong. I was under the impression that you wanted to be married. Was I wrong?”

“I want to put the past behind me. That includes my father and
all
that he has done.” Gemma spoke with the type of firm vehemence that paired well with layers of mystery. And Juliet was fairly certain that she would not be the only one to feel her curiosity piqued. Therefore, she would need to offer a word or two of caution to her new friend. But first things first . . .

Juliet brushed her hands together as if the matter were settled. “Then we'll simply find a man so taken by—what we'll call—your
charm
that he'll sweep you off your feet.”

Gemma laughed softly at the euphemism. “As you might have concluded, I am not of a romantic nature.”

“Romance is highly overrated. I'm told it wreaks all sorts of havoc with the heart. Instead, it is far better to think of marriage as a mutual understanding.” And, at least with this, Juliet could offer firm advice. “It comes down to the matter of the marriage contract. In order to have everything you expect and nothing you don't, precise wording is essential.”

At last, those myrtle eyes brightened. “A marriage contract. I hadn't thought of that.”

The dowager duchess smiled and rested back into the chair. She silently mouthed a
thank-you
to Juliet.

“When do you propose that I begin my search for a new name?” Gemma asked, proving herself to be single-minded in her goal, which—in Juliet's opinion—was highly admirable for a young woman in the bloom of youth. In fact, with her determination, her intelligence, and her poise under duress, she would make a fine
Original
, flash of temper notwithstanding.

Hmm . . . that line of thought made her think of her own candidate, and suddenly an idea sprang to mind. It was perfect! After all, Ellery had made it known that he was in search of a wife. And he wasn't the only one. Max too wanted a wife, and soon.

Yet something about the latter thought did not sit well with Juliet. Certainly, Gemma had already proven herself to be a woman of strong character and not easily manipulated. She had her own mind and possessed the qualities that would make a fine match for Max. Still . . . Juliet could not picture them together. Her mind simply refused to place them side by side.

Therefore, she would concentrate her efforts on Ellery instead.

Armed with a list, Juliet withdrew it from her reticule. “I believe that Lady Haguelin is hosting a ball tomorrow evening. She is a friend of mine and would surely extend the invitation to include you.” In fact, nearly everyone would attend, even Max. “It would be the perfect venue to show the
ton
that you are not in hiding.”

Not only that, but with Gemma's presence at her side, Juliet would be able to show Max that she had no intention of going anywhere.

“What ever happened to Lord Corilew?” Gemma asked after they'd settled the particulars of tomorrow evening's event.

Juliet was sure to swallow her tea and offer a smile. “Oh, he was killed in a duel. However, I heard his son became a highly respected parish curate who garnered absolutely no interest from the
ton
at all.”

Gemma laughed aloud. “Splendid.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“S
urely there are several young women in attendance who are worthy of consideration,” Mother said with undisguised impatience from the gallery of Lady Haguelin's ballroom.

Leaning a shoulder against a Corinthian column, Max skimmed over the faces at large, many quite pretty. Some were even known to have sharp intellect and possessed all the graces that one would expect of a debutante. And yet, he wasn't drawn to a single one.

Spotting Juliet as she emerged through the ballroom doors sent an unwelcome jolt through him. And abruptly, he knew that a deep, consuming attraction of mind, body, and spirit would only lead to another disaster.

With his history, he would be better off to make do with any of the lot before him. “Are there any who hail from Lancashire? That would certainly save me the bother of having to journey too far to visit her parents. Better yet, are there any orphans among them, to save me from any relations whatsoever?”

“Tush! Maxwell, I am ashamed to hear such from you,” Mother exclaimed in a stage whisper. “Whatever happened to that gentle heart you've always possessed?”

Straightening, Max took a quick look around, seeing a few sideways glances from the nearby matrons standing amidst the potted palms and marble pedestals. Then he replied in a lowered tone. “And what mother have I that would insult my male pride with such a claim?”

“Oh, certainly, you were always finding yourself in one scrape after another, challenging the boys who were bigger than you. But don't forget who caught you feeding a litter of kittens with a makeshift milk dropper after their mother was crushed by a carriage wheel. And you nursed those wee creatures better than any—”

Max gritted his teeth. “Mother, we are in public. It is one thing if the servants hear these remembrances of yours, but I will not have them bandied about, only to appear in tomorrow morning's
Standard
.”

“It wouldn't hurt for any of these young women to know of your softer side. You glower so much, half of them are afraid of you.”

“I glower because the only reason they know of my existence is due to the fact that I inherited a marquessate and a fortune. For years no one knew my name.”

She tsked, flipping her hands in a helpless gesture. “My son, the dramatic. Oh, what a melancholy existence to have scores of young women willing to overlook your lack of charm and think of their own security.” Turning her head, her dark gaze met his, and her tone altered to the same one he heard when there was a newspaper in the breakfast room. “You forget. Women possess a good deal of sense, and most are here for the same purpose—because they need a husband while they are still pleasing enough in looks to find one. In a few years, a third of the women here will become burdens to their families. Men have the easy part of it. All you need do is offer a smile, and you'll have at least three debutantes swoon at your feet.”

“Then I should have brought my walking stick or perhaps a broom.” Even though it was a jest, his thoughts were on what his mother had said about wanting security. He knew that had been the reason she'd married his father. It was no secret that theirs had not been a love match but more of an understanding. But whenever she spoke of her first husband—which she had done to Bram each night in the nursery—her face would take on an otherworldly expression, and her voice would soften.

Now, three years after Max's father's death, whenever she spoke of him, it was with fondness and appreciation but little more. And that, he supposed, would be his own experience. He was marrying for the sake of checking a task off his list before returning to Lancashire, in the same manner that one packed for a long trip.

Of course, he would allow his bride to ride inside the carriage and not a trunk . . .

His thoughts drew a laugh from him. By the disapproving look Mother gave him, he imagined that she would not find his aside overly amusing.

“Do your poor, anxious mother a favor, hmm?”

He sighed, waiting for her to continue.

“Think of them all as kittens.”

“W
hat a pity. It does not appear that Viscount Ellery is in attendance,” Juliet said with genuine regret. She was certain that an introduction between him and Gemma would have benefited them both. For Gemma, being acknowledged by the
ton
's recent favorite would have ensured her success for this evening. And for Ellery, the gallantry of offering a courtly bow to one with such a black mark against her reputation would surely earn him even more favor. At least, she'd hoped it would. But all those hopes were for naught.

On the bright side, Gemma looked stunning this evening in white satin, her skin taking on an exotic glow, her hair drawn up in a white ribbon with black ringlets escaping. “Is he a particular friend of yours?”

“Ellery is a friend to all who know him. He is amiable, intelligent, handsome, and most importantly,” Juliet said with a grin, “looking for a bride.”

Gemma's gaze darted out across the room. “I'm still not certain that I'm looking for a husband. Marrying for the sake of requiring a new name seems so dishonest.”

“It might be if your reason were a secret. As luck would have it, however, everyone already knows.”

Gemma laughed wryly. “Oh, yes. I often think to myself how providential my circumstances are.” Then she issued a small sigh, her gaze flitting to the gallery, where her aunt stood with Zinnia and Marjorie, before returning to Juliet. “But aside from that, if your friend Ellery is perfect, then why do you not want him for yourself?”

“I have no need nor the smallest desire for a husband. Though if I did, be assured that Ellery would top the list,” she said instantly. Yet as the words left her lips, she knew they were a lie.

Of course, she hadn't intended to fib just now. After all, it was true that Ellery was everything a sensible woman would love, but for Juliet, he was a bit too agreeable, if such a thing were possible. He had no discernible flaws, no temper, and no argumentative nature. In fact, she expected that marriage to him would be the most harmonious of all existences.

The idea should be appealing. After her first marriage—her
only
marriage, she quickly corrected—a husband like Ellery was exactly what she should desire. Loving him would likely be easy too, like walking. One foot in front of the other, and all the while knowing that someone was always there, should you stumble.

By contrast, loving a man like Max would be like trying to fly. Flapping your arms madly and hoping that you wouldn't fall flat on the ground.

She stilled. Loving
Max
? Whyever would such a thought enter her mind?

Shaking herself free of the notion, she opened her fan as if to shoo it away. Unfortunately, she was so taken off guard by the thought that she didn't notice Lord Markham's sly approach until it was too late.

“Lady Granworth,” he intoned, bowing low and letting his gaze take the journey over her form at the same time. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, the cut of his clothes immaculate, and most discerning feature was the ever-present smug expression he wore. “How pleasant it is to see you here and with such a lovely companion.”

Juliet bristled. Other than giving him the cut direct, there was no way to avoid the association. She would have to warn Gemma of him once he left their presence. He was one of the many gentlemen who treated women with utter disregard unless they might look well upon his arm. Unable to prevent it, she made the proper introduction.

“I am thoroughly enchanted,” he said without batting an eye at the mention of Gemma's surname, which was a reluctant point in his favor. “I took notice of you when you first stepped into the room. I hope you forgive my boldness, but I also noticed how your brooch resembles an Egyptian scarab.”

“You are correct, my lord,” Gemma said with obvious pleasure as she touched the rose-tinted bronze with her gloved fingertip. “It is meant to symbolize good luck.”

“How fascinating.” Markham flashed a dazzling smile that truly made him appear quite handsome, but it was the cunning gleam in his gaze that never sat well with Juliet. She had encountered men like him far too often in Bath, the kind who possessed the detestable trio of wealth, power, and ego that made them immune to consequence.

Gemma did not seem to notice. “Are you a traveler?”

“I am. Perhaps we could speak of it more during this next set?” Then he bowed to Juliet. “That is, if Lady Granworth will permit me to dance with her companion.”

Juliet knew that if she refused Markham, then propriety demanded that Gemma not dance at all this evening. Of course, her own method for refusing politely was to have a dance card filled with illegible names—and thereby a ready excuse. However, Juliet had not thought such a device would be necessary for Gemma this evening. And now it was too late.

Even though it went against her own inner warnings to allow him to touch her charge in any way, she inclined her head. “If Miss Desmond approves.”

“I do.” Gemma dipped into a curtsy and slipped her fingers into Markham's hand.

For the next handful of minutes, Juliet could not shake her wariness, yet she had no reason to feel this way. After all, the pair of them were simply dancing a quadrille, Gemma's curls bobbing against her glowing cheeks. And for all of it, she appeared content, which was the most important thing, Juliet supposed.

Watching them, she felt like a veritable dragon, looking for any sign of impropriety, and taking her employment seriously, as the dowager duchess, Zinnia, and Marjorie looked down upon the dancers from the arched gallery up above. Juliet had seen Max there, frowning at them, a moment ago too.

When the dance ended, a troop of giggling girls and their partners crowded the area in front of her. Juliet stepped to the side, peering toward the floor, waiting to see Markham escort Gemma to her side. What she saw sent her into alarm. Neither Markham nor Gemma were within sight.

Not wanting to reveal her panic, she opened her fan and slyly peered around to each corner of the room, skimming every wall, finding every shadowed alcove. She thought she'd caught a glimpse of Gemma's raven hair heading toward the refreshment table, but the gown of that debutante was a pastel green.

After checking twice more, Juliet turned her gaze toward the terrace doors. If memory served, this particular house had a rather extensive stone terrace that wrapped around in an L-shape before leading off into the garden.

Juliet would not put it past a man like Markham to convince Gemma to be alone with him. Even though Juliet hadn't been considered approachable by most of the
ton
, neither in London nor in Bath, she'd had experience with unsavory flirtations. Not only that, but she'd witnessed enough to provide ample warning in this circumstance.

She found them on the terrace. A misting rain had begun, and no one else was about, and they were standing close beneath an overhang of wisteria. As Juliet neared, she noted that Gemma had removed her brooch and held it in the palm of her hand, speaking animatedly, and apparently oblivious to the indecent direction of Markham's gaze.

“And before I left the bazaar, I had bargained the merchant down to one
para
.” When Gemma lifted her face, her smile vanished, and she took a step back, as if only now realizing how close Markham stood.

Juliet hurried, the stones becoming slippery beneath her soles. “Ah, there you are, Gemma. I imagine, after a rousing dance, that you were in need of fresh air. But we must not tarry too long out of doors.”

Gemma looked to Juliet, her expression more relieved than contrite, revealing that she had not come here for the same purpose that Markham likely had. “I was overwarm. I hadn't danced in so long that I'd forgotten what sport it was.”

“Then we should dance again,” Markham said, all charm and friendliness as he acknowledged Juliet's approach with a nod. Clearly, he was not intimidated by the presence of a chaperone because then he angled his head toward Gemma's ear and kept his tone low as he spoke again. “The exertion is half the fun.”

Did he think so little of Juliet and of Gemma that he wouldn't even offer an apology for being caught alone with an unmarried woman?

“Thank you, but I had better not,” Gemma said and took a step from beneath the wisteria.

Markham, however, set his hand upon her wrist, that smile still on his lips. “I hope you do not imagine you'll have a better offer. After all, a pretty woman with a tainted reputation only serves one purpose for a man, and that is not by becoming his wife.”

He chuckled at both Juliet's and Gemma's gasps. As for Juliet, she was speechless, taken off guard by his callous insinuation. It was all too clear that he was speaking of making Gemma his mistress. The reason he did not care if Gemma was discovered alone with him was because another black mark on her reputation would not harm him in the least. She was already one smudge away from ruination in the eyes of the
ton
, and no one would expect Markham to marry her out of a sense of chivalry.

Gemma retreated a step, pulling her arm from his grip. But when he held fast, she jerked harder. “Unhand me.”

Outraged by what she'd heard and what she saw, Juliet gripped her fan and stepped near them. It wasn't until Juliet glanced over at Gemma that she saw how her charge's face had gone pale, her eyes wide and staring down at the hand that restrained her. “Lord Markham, remove your hand from Miss Desmond, or I shall remove it for you.”

He laughed. “You rail against my honesty when my only aim is to spare Miss Desmond pain. She has no future in society, no fortune, and nothing to appeal to a man with serious pursuits. And most of all, she comes from bad blood. There is no man who would willingly choose her to become his wife. At least I am offering her a chance to become something other than a shriveled-up spinster.”