by Kim Bowman
Lady Fenimore jerked and her mouth fell open. Then she smiled as well. “Lady Harmony. I haven’t seen you since Bath when I was there with Mother… why, it must be five years gone now.”
Juliet’s eyes widened as she realized the two women were acquainted with one another. Would that complicate matters? Did Lady Fenimore somehow know Annabella as well? Her heart slammed against her chest and she held her breath. The room began to fade into a plum-colored mist.
“Oh,” moaned Lady Charity, shifting in her seat.
Juliet jerked back to awareness. “La— Auntie? Is something amiss?”
“Oh,” she moaned again. “I just knocked my ankle against the couch, dear. Thank you for inquiring.”
“Lucien Giles Warren Markwythe, the Earl of Melfax,” intoned Higgins from the doorway of the drawing room.
Lady Fenimore blanched. “If you will excuse me. I must speak with my husband.” She bustled off without another word.
“Huh, little chit’s every bit as rude as her mother was,” murmured Harmony.
A tingle worked its way along Juliet’s spine, leaving a chill in its wake, and she swiveled about. Had a goose walked over her grave?
Across the room stood a man of about the duke’s years. His hair was dark, his eyes piercing, and they were focused directly on her. She struggled for a name but nothing came to mind.
When the man smiled and tipped his glass of port in her direction, she smiled and quickly turned away. What did his name matter after all, since Annabella would surely send the letter soon? Remembering the names of people the duke would introduce her to was bound to be a fruitless exercise and completely unnecessary when “Annabella” was sent for by the duchess.
Gracious, she hardly knew the duke himself. Even residing in his home, she’d not seen him more than a few times in the prior week. He’d taken supper with her and the aunts one time and shared Sunday dinner with them, but then retired behind the heavy door to his study after that.
Juliet was actually relieved his grace had spent little time with her. She lived in constant fear of saying or doing something wrong, something that would make it quite clear she was not Annabella. Why hadn’t her friend written requesting Juliet come to Bath? Surely she should have managed to send off a message by now.
It wasn’t like being sent for would interrupt anything. Juliet had spent much of the week inside sitting with Lady Charity, the old aunt being indisposed with her injury. It might have been nice to see just a bit of London while she was there, but she couldn’t very well take to the streets alone.
“Dinner is served.” The butler stood stiff and straight in the archway of the drawing room, his lips barely moving, though he somehow managed to form crisp sounds as he introduced the host of the gathering. “Graeme Roland Dominick Markwythe, the Sixth Duke of Wyndham, and Miss Annabella Mary Lysandra Price.”
His grace — no, no! Graeme or Markwyth, for that’s what Annabella called him when she was being benevolent and polite — exuded confidence as he stood waiting near the doorway. He was quite handsome, and a warm flush crept into her cheeks as she recalled his informal name, the one Annabelle said his father had called him by… Grey.
No one moved.
Beside her, Charity gave a delicate cough. Juliet started. Had she spoken his name aloud? Charity touched her on the arm.
Oh! He means me.
She crossed the room, trying to walk gracefully in shoes that pinched her toes. The primrose and white gown Annabella had packed swirled around her feet. The soft muslin was the most beautiful garment Juliet had ever worn, but like all of Annabella’s other gowns, it was a bit too long and the tips of her shoes repeatedly caught on the hem. Grey presented his arm and Juliet slipped her hand over the muscular appendage the way Annabella had taught her. Except her heart hadn’t fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings when she’d taken Annabella’s arm. Nor was the sensation in any way alleviated by the feel of soft muslin swishing across her legs.
Grey led her to the first chair after the host’s seat at the imposing table. She stared at the place settings, so many more of them and so much more formal than the quieter table Regina kept at Wyndham Green… or the breakfast room where she and the aunts had dined since their arrival. Grey released her and held the chair for her. He inclined his head slightly as though waiting for something.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Apparently satisfied, Grey moved to stand behind the chair at the head of the table while the other guests took their seats. One by one, the butler introduced the rest of the family and the guests as they entered the dining room. Juliet struggled to remember all the names but they were simply too long to keep straight.
Lady Harmony entered the dining room on the arm of an older gentleman with an unfortunately tight, forest green tailcoat. Lord Green Coat held the chair, and the old auntie’s eyes gleamed as she smiled and thanked him. A flurry of activity from across the table drew Juliet’s attention as Lord Lucien assisted Lady Charity to her seat directly across the table. When Lucien directed a courtly bow in Charity’s direction, Lady Harmony released a soft sigh.
A distressingly tall man with ruddy skin and spindly arms led his wife to her seat. The woman’s dark hair was streaked with gray that reminded Juliet of a spider web. It was pulled back rather severely from her face, revealing the deep V of a widow’s peak. Lady Spider cast a sharp-eyed stare in Juliet’s direction before arranging herself, and her unfashionable bright red gown, regally on the chair her husband held.
The Earl of Seabrook claimed his seat. Ah, now she had a name to place on that piercing gaze she had noticed earlier. Only now his attention was centered on Lady Rosy Cheeks, the tittering chit seated across from him.
Grey sat and Juliet shifted a little to the side. She hadn’t expected to be seated in the second chair. She’d rather have sat at the farthest end of the long table, as distant from his grace as possible. Masquerading as Annabella was hard enough without spending too much time in close proximity to her stepbrother. The man quite unnerved her.
Lady Charity smiled at Juliet. “That’s a lovely dress, my dear. That primrose shade suits your delicate coloring. Is it a gift from Regina?”
Juliet’s mind refused to form the proper answer and she stumbled over her words. “I-I — ah, it was a gift, yes. From h — from Mother. She’s quite partial to this color.”
Next to Charity, Lord Lucien allowed his gaze to fall briefly upon Juliet’s bosom, and she instantly wished she’d worn a pinner to cover the low neckline, which was more revealing than anything she’d worn in her life. With a heavy sigh, Lady Harmony adjusted herself in her seat to Juliet’s left, and Lord Lucien shifted the direction of his stare.
Lady Charity tittered into her hand; the white ostrich plume affixed to her red turban fluttering as she bobbed her head up and down.
The butler removed the lids from colorful soup tureens made of fine china, resting in the center of the beautifully appointed table, and began filling the bowls sitting in front of each guest with potato soup. Juliet’s stomach rumbled softly as the aroma rose to greet her nostrils.
After the bowls were filled, the guests continued to sit unmoving. Conversation drifted into silence. At the foot of the table, a portly gentleman cleared his throat. Snuffling sounds emanated from beneath the chair on which Lord Lucien sat, and Juliet realized Percy had accompanied the duke’s eccentric old uncle to dinner.
When the guests continued to sit in silence, Juliet shifted in her seat. Was it her imagination or were they all staring in her direction?
Lady Harmony leaned over and whispered in Juliet’s ear. “Everyone’s waiting for you dear. After all, this is your birthday celebration.”
“Oh, but it’s not—”
Lady Harmony cleared her throat softly, her fingers making distressed motions along the edge of the tablecloth. Juliet froze.
No, it wasn’t her birthday. But it was Annabella’s! Oh, dear. She’d almost ruined everything with her denial.
She glanced at the place setting of fine china before her. The creamy white soup smelled delicious. Were the hunks of dark bread on the side plate meant to accompany the soup? Back home with her family, they would soak the soup into the bread and eat it that way to make it stretch.
“Did Cook get the menu wrong, dear?” asked Lady Harmony. “I thought potato soup was your favorite.”
“It is,” said Juliet quickly. She reached for her spoon, but faltered when she noted two of them rested to the side of her plate, one larger than the other. She kept her hand hovering over the spoons, noting the other guests were all doing the same. What was wrong with her? She’d helped serve meals back at Wyndham two years gone now. She knew what silver was to be used. Why had she suddenly gone daft? People are watching. Gather your wits, Juliet — Annabella. Ann-a-bell-a. I’m Annabella. The very room seemed to hold its breath while the guests waited. A lady would use the more petite spoon to eat with, wouldn’t she? Pulling in a lungful of air, Juliet plucked the smaller spoon from the table.
At the soft murmur that went around the table, Juliet cringed inside. Apparently she’d chosen incorrectly. But it was too late to put the spoon down. All the other guests had followed her lead. They held their spoons expectantly as she dipped hers into the potato soup and brought some of the creamy liquid to her lips, sipping delicately.
“My compliments to the cook on this soup, my boy,” offered Lord Lucien after a healthy slurp.
The buzz of conversation began again, the sound blending with the clink of the silver on fine china. Juliet spared a thought for the wooden dishes her mother had used to serve the family and a pang of homesickness pricked at her heart like a sharp sewing needle.
She lifted the spoon to her lips and took another sip, keeping her attention centered on the bowl before her. Snatches of conversation made its way to her hearing, mainly a discussion among the men about business matters and the state of Parliament.
A platter holding a fine roast of beef was placed before Lord Lucien, who put on a particularly pleased expression when his gaze fell on the impressive carving knife.
Grey made a quick negating motion with his right hand and the butler retrieved the platter. “Lord Seabrook, will you do us the honor of carving the roast?” asked the duke.
Across the table, about midway down, Lord Jonathan, Earl of Seabrook, inclined his head and smiled. Dark eyes glittered in Juliet’s direction as he accepted the platter of beef. At the other end of the table, a platter on which rested boiled duck in onion sauce was placed before Lord Fenimore. With a great amount of fanfare and flourish, both the chosen guests set about carving the meat, to a chorus of oohs and ahhs from the other dinner guests.
Footmen collected the platters and delivered them around the table, and the guests served themselves. Juliet kept her eyes on the others at the table, seeking signs of them waiting for her, but apparently she wouldn’t be leading each course.
Thankfully, the silence was broken when Lord Fenimore addressed his grace. “Did you enjoy the hunt this winter past, Wyndham?”
“Not as much as I’d hoped,” answered Grey with a polite smile.
Hardly any at all unless you did it on someone else’s estate. Juliet smiled in Grey’s direction, hoping her thoughts weren’t too obvious. What was it like to have so many properties he had his choice of where he laid his head? She released a soft sigh.
“The table is simply beautiful,” observed Harmony, touching Juliet on the arm. “I want to thank you for allowing me the honor of being seated next to my niece at her birthday celebration.”
Juliet looked up into the spinster aunt’s merry blue eyes. So much kindness and all of it aimed at her. She had no choice but to smile in response.
“Of course, Lady Harmony. It was but a simple request and easy to fulfill.” Grey’s smooth tones washed over Juliet like a cool spring on a summer’s day.
Keep your mind on the task at hand, Ju— Annabella.
The all-too-familiar smell of creamed turnips wafted toward Juliet and she held her breath, afraid she would embarrass herself right there. Bowls filled with fluffy white vegetable were placed at strategic intervals along the center of the table, within easy reach of each guest. Juliet’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in protest as Grey passed one to her. She shook her head gently in refusal but he raised one perfectly shaped dark eyebrow. With an inward groan, Juliet silently cursed Annabella for her love of the revolting dish.
Forcing her lips upward into a smile, she graciously thanked her “stepbrother,” and vowed to push Annabella into a well the next time she saw her for daring to like creamed turnips. Grey watched her closely as she spooned some of the hideous mixture onto her plate and then set the bowl aside. When he continued to stare in her direction, Juliet considered how difficult it might be to tip Grey into the well along with his horrid stepsister. Her throat threatened to close when she slipped the first forkful into her mouth and she simply could not swallow. She sat there with the lump of disgusting mixture resting on her tongue. Bile rose and she blinked her eyes against the prick of tears behind her lids. Under the duke’s continued scrutiny, she pretended to swallow but instead pushed the creamed turnips into one cheek and then slid another small forkful into her mouth.
“Tell me, my dear,” began Charity, placing her hand on Grey’s arm and nodding at the bowl of turnips. “Does your cook use cloves and peppercorns in this recipe?”
When the duke looked away to answer, Juliet lifted the napkin from her lap and daintily dabbed at her lips, surreptitiously spitting the huge globs of disgusting creamed turnips into the white cloth as she did. Then she folded one corner of linen over the mess and returned the napkin to her lap. Nothing could be done to clear the bitter aftertaste of the turnips save take a sip of red wine from the fine goblet above her plate. She swished the beverage over her tongue, wishing she’d saved some of the bread from the soup to cleanse her palate. She turned her concentration to the roast beef, far preferring that to some greasy boiled duck.
“Try some anchovy sauce?” suggested Grey with a smile. His clear blue eyes glinted in the flickering lamplight.
“No, thank you, brother,” answered Juliet with a slight shake of her head, striving for as much haughtiness as she could achieve and hoping she sounded enough like Annabella to circumvent suspicion. “I’ve quite gone off my taste for that particular sauce. But thank you ever so much for thinking of me.”
Grey’s lips twitched and he spooned a liberal measure of the dark brown sauce over his meat. The spicy fishy stench reached across the space between them to assault Juliet’s nostrils and she swore her stomach flipped over. Pressing one hand to her protesting belly, she reached for the only drink provided with the meal and sipped more wine.
She then chased pieces of the boiled duck around her plate with a fork, but didn’t pick up any of the greasy meat as she tried to quell the queasiness brought on by nerves. She’d been right to dread “her” birthday dinner.
“Is the meal not to your liking, Annabella?” Grey’s smooth tones wore her composure ever more thin. Why couldn’t the man converse with his other guests? Or better yet, eat his meal in silence.
“It’s a lovely meal.” Juliet injected as much brightness as she could into her voice. “So lovely that I fear I’ve partaken too much. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Oh, my dear, I hope that isn’t true,” said Lady Charity. “Harmony and I have arranged for your favorite dessert. Lemon syllabub and Shrewsbury cakes.”
Finally, something that didn’t turn her stomach at the very thought. In fact, a lemon sweet sounded very appealing indeed. “Oh, well I always have room for dessert,” answered Juliet, smiling at Lady Charity.
Conversation halted again as several heads turned to look in her direction. Oh, dear! What had she done now?
“Hear, hear!” Lady Harmony raised her glass. “Isn’t it refreshing when a young lady isn’t afraid to show her affection for sweets?”
Amid a few heart
y chuckles and murmurs of agreement, the butler and footmen delivered crystal bowls set atop lacy-appearing crystal plates lined with golden brown Shrewsbury biscuits. Juliet leaned forward and inhaled the fresh lemon scent rising from the whipped confection garnished with grated lemon peel. Instantly, her mouth watered.
She picked up the remaining spoon next to her plate, the bigger one, and swirled it through the airy white confection. As soon as she put the spoon in her mouth, the blend of tart and sweet exploded over her palate and a groan escaped her lips.
Grey’s head snapped back in her direction again and he regarded her with those narrowed eyes that made her want to poke him with a stick.
Across the table, Lady Charity again giggled from behind her fingers.
“This is quite delicious,” murmured Juliet, endeavoring to present herself as demure when all she wanted to do was gobble up the dessert in front of her. She swirled her spoon through the whipped sweetness again and closed her eyes while she swallowed the bite, savoring the delicious smoothness. Then she picked up one of the biscuits and took a delicate little nibble. “Oh, this is very nice as well. Mother makes Shrewsbury cakes with blackberries in them.”
Grey abruptly halted his movements in the middle of raising his own spoon to his lips and stared at her with that horrid eyebrow raised in silent mocking question. “Your mother?” he finally choked out around his smirk. He set the spoon back in the dish, the confection apparently forgotten. “When did your mother do anything in the kitchen?”
Oh, dear, she’d really done it this time. “I-I-I m-mean, Mother’s c-cook. Back h-home at W-Wyndham Green. She makes the most delicious Shrewsbury cake with… blackberries.”
Grey picked up his spoon again and continued to eat his dessert. Juliet did the same, watching the duke from the corner of her eye. Once more her heart pounded so hard she heard it in her ears. Could the duke hear it as well? Did he suspect something was amiss? She’d certainly made a mull of things. At least the Duke of Wyndham had stopped sending her odd glances. Surely if he knew she was shamming for Annabella, he’d have called her out on it by now. Perhaps not in view of his guests, though.
