by Donna Hatch
“I am.” She smiled as best as she could manage. “Thank you for asking.” She didn’t know what rumors had gone around about her health, but she didn’t have time to inquire. “Have you seen Lord Locken? My brother was looking for him.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it sounded plausible.
“Locken left early this morning,” Mr. Talbot said. “Had an urgent family matter is what we were told. I suspect it’s his father’s health. I hope he makes it home in time to pay his respects.”
Juliet couldn’t breathe. Victor had already left? “Thank you,” she managed to say. “I’ve got to see to something in the kitchen.” Without letting Mr. Talbot question her further, she hurried back inside the house.
Blinking back hot tears, she veered out a side door and headed for the stables. She arrived, out of breath, and found that indeed both of Victor’s bays were gone.
The groomsman approached. “Are you going riding again today, my lady?”
“No.” She wrapped her arms about her waist, if only to give herself more stability. “When did Lord Locken leave?”
The groomsman scratched at his stubbly chin. “It were still dark out,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “Maybe an hour before dawn?”
Victor hadn’t slept, then. He’d made the decision after the gazebo . . . How could he leave without speaking to her first? She thought they’d agreed to go their separate ways. He was going to marry Diana and keep his dukedom. She would marry Lord Stratford and save Southill Estate.
Now . . . Victor would be disinherited. It would be a public humiliation to say the least, and then what? Would she and Victor live at Southill Estate with John, all three of them destitute? Would the two men ever get along? As the years passed, would Victor resent the massive changes and turn to drink like his father had?
“Lady Juliet?” the groomsman said, and Juliet realized she was standing in the middle of the stables, tears dripping down her cheeks.
“I apologize,” she whispered, wiping at her tears. Then she hurried out of the stable. She felt heartsick thinking about Victor facing his father with such a request when she knew what a vile man the duke was. She’d do anything to prevent such a scene. But Victor had been gone for hours and had likely reached his family estate by now. She gazed up at the sky, wondering if he was now, at this very moment, speaking with his father.
A rider on horseback caught her attention. The man rode with all haste up the road toward the manor. Juliet raised a hand to her eyes to shield her gaze from the sun’s rays to get a better look. It wasn’t Victor. This man was thin and smaller in stature, but he rode his horse as if the devil himself were chasing him.
Juliet picked up her skirts and hurried to the driveway, where her brother John had come out of the house. So, John had seen the rider approach as well. Just as she reached the driveway, the rider reined his horse to a stop and dismounted.
The man had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and Juliet realized he was a post deliverer.
“Good day, sir,” the messenger said, greeting John. “I’ve an urgent message for Lord Locken.”
John held out his hand. “I will make sure he receives it.”
But the man stepped back. “I was told to deliver it in person. No offense, sir.”
“Lord Locken is occupied with another matter,” John ground out. “I am the master here, and if I say I will deliver it, it shall be done.”
The messenger hesitated, his gaze cutting to Juliet. Then, apparently, deciding to be done with his errand, he handed the letter to John, and John gave the messenger a couple of coins.
The moment the messenger had turned his horse and headed down the lane, John broke the seal.
Juliet was about to protest, telling John that the letter was Victor’s personal property, but before she could, John had already scanned the words.
He looked up, meeting her gaze. “Roland’s father’s dead. He probably passed the messenger on his way home.” John crumpled the letter in his hand and strode back into the house, the paper still clutched in his hand.
Juliet stared after her brother. Had he just said . . . No. This news was even worse than she could have imagined. It meant that Victor’s father had passed away before Victor had reached home, or else there would have been no need for a messenger to deliver the news. It also meant that it was too late to change the Duke of Wycliff’s will.
Juliet knew as well as Victor did that the contents of the will stated that his father’s decision still held after his death. Victor would have to marry Lady Diana by the end of the year in order to take over the dukedom.
“Oh, there you are!” a female voice rang out.
Juliet wiped at her tears and turned to face Lady Diana and Lady Penelope, who’d just come around the house, walking arm in arm.
“Whatever is wrong?” Diana asked.
Juliet had been too slow to hide her distress. She might as well confess, because the news would reach the guests soon enough. “We’ve just received word,” she said in a trembling voice, “Lord Locken’s father has passed away.”
“Oh.” Diana covered her mouth, and Penelope did the same. “Poor man. He must be devastated.” She looked at Penelope. “We must prepare to go to Locken. Even if it’s not proper for us to attend the funeral, Lord Locken will need the comfort of friends around him.”
Juliet stared at the two women. Just like that, they would change their plans. Travel to Locken where they would see Victor, and Victor would certainly know what he must do. There was no other option.
Juliet blinked a few times, determined to keep any new tears at bay. “You are very kind.”
Penelope spoke up. “They are nearly betrothed. Of course he would want Diana by his side at a time like this.”
“Of course,” Juliet said, although her voice sounded faint to her ears. “How may I help you prepare?”
“Send the maids to our rooms,” Diana said. “We will leave first thing in the morning.”
Chapter Thirteen
News of the upcoming funeral for the Duke of Wycliff reached Southill Estate, and everyone made preparations to leave. Juliet didn’t think everyone intended to go to the funeral, especially the ladies, since nighttime burials were the custom and the night brought out the ruffians and looting. But once Lady Diana and Lady Penelope announced their intention to leave, the others began to make plans too. And all the while, as Juliet kissed and hugged and bade her guests farewell, she could not forget the words of Victor’s letter: Dear Juliet, Do not accept any offers . . .
Mr. Talbot had not proposed. His good-bye was charming enough, and Juliet saw the interest in his eyes, but she knew that the momentum of their flirtations would dissipate with his departure. Perhaps he’d heard of Lord Stratford’s intentions, or perhaps her brother had warned off Mr. Talbot.
She continued to hold out hope for Victor, although she hated that he’d have to turn his back on his dukedom for her. Yet every night she went to bed, she wondered if a rider would come to Southill Estate and bang on the door. She imagined opening the door to a middle-of-the-night visitor and finding Victor. He’d say he’d come to fetch her, that he’d procured a cottage where they’d live out their days in marital bliss.
But the nights faded to dawn, and dawn gave way to the heat of the summer, and . . . Victor did not come.
Two weeks passed in this manner, then three, and still Juliet held out hope.
That was, until her brother put a stop to it on week six.
He found her in the garden, where she spent an inordinate amount of time in the gazebo reading, or composing letters she promptly ripped up, or simply staring into the garden.
“Lord Stratford will be our guest for dinner tonight,” her brother said, stepping into the shade of the gazebo.
Juliet gazed at her brother. New lines pulled at his eyes, and his mouth was a permanent scowl. The sound of his voice grated on her, and she tried not to flinch.
“You have put him off long enough,” John continued. “You can
not continue acting in this manner. You are of an age to marry, and we both know we cannot afford a coming out in London.”
Juliet exhaled and looked away.
He took another step closer and peered down at her. “You will wear your best dress, you will fashion your hair, and you will treat our guest well.”
Juliet could not answer. To do so made it feel like she was giving up all hope. But it had been six long weeks since she last saw Lord Victor Roland. Not a word had been sent her way. There hadn’t been an announcement of his marriage, at least not as far as Southill Estate. Her brother didn’t pay for the London papers to be brought, so as far as Juliet knew, Victor could already be married to Lady Diana.
“Look at me, Juliet!” her brother barked.
She blinked back the hot tears building in her eyes and lifted her chin to look at her brother.
“You will marry Lord Stratford, or you will take on the post of a governess.” He glowered at her. “Is that what you want our family reduced to?”
She shook her head, even though a governess would be a better option than becoming the wife of Lord Stratford.
“Now,” John continued in his derisive tone, “Go and make yourself presentable. You have the fate of our family in your hands, and I’ll not have you ruin our future with your stubbornness.”
Juliet took a deep breath. “You could marry, John. There were plenty of heiresses at the house party. Why did you not propose?”
His mouth twisted into a hard smile. “We both know that my reputation has suffered, and your marriage to Lord Stratford will help restore it. Once we are more financially stable, I can court an heiress without the least suspicion.”
Juliet hated that her brother was right. The pettiness of the ton reached far and wide, and time and money would bring her brother back into favor. The house party had been a large boon toward that, but work was still to be done.
Six weeks. She’d waited long enough. John was right. Marriage to Lord Stratford was her only choice now.
She rose to her feet and walked past her brother. She could do this. She had to do this. Something inside her broke when she reached her room, and her hope finally fled. As she prepared for their evening guest, she began the slow and painful process of purging the memories of Victor one by one.
* * *
Nine weeks. It had been nine weeks since Juliet had last seen Victor Roland. The banns had been read in the village church for the past three weeks, and now Juliet was to stand before the priest and make marriage vows before God and become Lord Stratford’s wife.
“The carriage is ready,” her brother said from where he stood at the base of the stairs.
Juliet walked down the stairs, holding one side of her pale lavender wedding gown so that she wouldn’t trip. Her brother watched her descend, approval in his eyes. It was the only type of compliment she could ever earn from him.
She picked up the bouquet of wildflowers tied with a lavender ribbon from the hall table. Lord Stratford’s daughters had sent them over. They’d now be waiting at the church with their families and the rest of the congregation.
Juliet followed her brother outside, and he handed her up into the carriage lent to them by Lord Stratford. Then they were truly on their way. The early September heat would be merciless by the afternoon, but by then, they should be at the Stratford Estate, where banquet tables would be laden with food and drink. And . . . Juliet would be a married woman.
She tried not to think of how her life would change, of how tonight she’d be sleeping in her new husband’s bed since they were foregoing any type of honeymoon, and how in the morning, she’d take on the duties of the mistress of his home. And how her husband and brother would begin their shared business ventures right away while Juliet . . . watched from afar. She would be no more alone than she was now, except for the fact that more would be expected of her. Namely, producing a male heir.
She tried not to think of such details, because then surely the tears would fall, and she feared they’d never stop. The farther the carriage traveled from Southill Estate, the farther her former hopes and dreams seemed to be. She kept her face turned from John, because the last thing she needed was another reprimand.
“Here we are,” John said as the carriage pulled up to the church and parked among other carriages, curricles, and wagons.
As John handed her down from the carriage, she gripped the bouquet of flowers while she clutched John’s arm with her other hand. He didn’t comment on her tight hold, and it was perhaps an allowance on his part. Juliet noticed the garland of flowers and greenery arching across the church’s entrance, and she took in their beauty and fragrance. She would have to focus on the good things about her new life and forget the things she’d once hoped for.
All eyes turned on her as she entered the church, and she tried to smile, but it was a rather weak attempt. She also told herself to breathe, in and out, so that she didn’t faint in the middle of the aisle.
Up ahead, Lord Stratford waited, standing next to the priest. His oily smile and his searching gaze made Juliet’s stomach flip, and not in a good way. She would not become ill. She would keep her chin lifted, her eyes forward, her expression serene. She would save her family’s estate, not for her brother, but in honor of her parents and for the children John might have some day.
John released Juliet when she arrived at Lord Stratford’s side, and even though she mostly loathed her brother, she didn’t want to let go of him, because that meant it was nearly time to say her vows.
“Good morning, dear,” Lord Stratford said, his eyes blinking down at her.
Juliet glanced up at him and smiled. At least she tried. She feared the smile was more of a grimace.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony . . .”
Juliet couldn’t concentrate on what the priest was saying. Her mind kept tumbling through scenarios of what her new life would be like. When the priest mentioned children, she felt her headache start.
“Marriage was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy name,” the priest continued. “Therefore if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
The language was standard, but it seemed hope was still a living, breathing thing inside of her, because she imagined the doors of the church flying open and Victor Roland striding through to claim her as his bride. Of course she would have to turn him away, because crying off from Stratford would plunge her brother’s reputation deeper into ridicule. And she could not live with herself knowing that Victor had given up his inheritance for her.
But no such thing happened, and the priest continued, looking at Lord Stratford. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Juliet heard Lord Stratford’s voice in her head before he spoke his vow. It would be the voice she’d listen to for the rest of her life.
But then, before Lord Stratford could reply, the priest said, “What is happening?”
Juliet snapped her head up to look at the priest, not sure what he was asking. Had he been speaking to her? But the man wasn’t looking at her or Lord Stratford. The priest’s gaze was focused on the church doors—doors that were rattling as if someone was trying to open them.
“Unlock the doors,” the priest said in the shocked silence of the congregation. “Who locked them?”
Murmurs arose, and finally a young boy sprang to the doors and lifted the latch that barred whoever was the late comer.
Several men strode inside, dressed in gentlemen’s clothing. Juliet didn�
��t recognize any of them and assumed they were friends of Lord Stratford. But when she saw that they carried pistols out in the open, she gasped along with the congregation. Had John’s philandering finally caught up with him? Yet, when Juliet looked over at her brother, he appeared as shocked as everyone else.
“Southill, what is going on?” Lord Stratford asked, but her brother merely shook his head, the color of his face nearly white.
Juliet looked again toward the men who circled the congregation as if they were a small army. The women and children shied away from the pistols, and the men appeared ready to bolt out the open doors. “Who are you men?” Lord Stratford called out. “And what are you doing at my wedding?”
“They’re my insurance policy that everything runs smoothly,” another man’s voice answered.
At the same moment Juliet realized she did recognize at least one of the men—Lord Hudson—she saw Victor stride through the now open church doors.
Victor was here. Here. In the church. At her wedding.
Juliet couldn’t breathe. It seemed that Victor’s answer had cast a muteness over the rest of the congregation, because no one spoke as he strode up the aisle. Juliet convinced herself that she was dreaming, yet the man walking toward her was real and solid, with a determination in his eyes that could only belong to Lord Victor Roland.
He no longer had his cane, and the set of his shoulders and steadiness of his stride told her that he was fully recovered from his injury. After all, it had been nine weeks. The only sound in the church was the sound of his footsteps, solid and sure as he walked in boots that looked like he’d encountered a good deal of mud along the way. His boots were black, as were his jacket, vest, and breeches—befitting his state of mourning for his father. Victor neared where Juliet stood with the priest and Lord Stratford, stopping only a couple of feet away. He stood close enough that she could see the perspiration on his forehead and how his hair was windblown from not wearing a hat.
His brown eyes connected with hers as he pulled off his riding gloves. “Tell me, Lady Juliet, have I arrived too late?”
