by Kim Bowman
He’d been embarrassed for Magpie… mortified for himself. The ton would tear her to shreds and him along with her. He scrubbed his face with his hands. It was an impossible situation. He stopped his motion and slowly dropped his hand as a current of truth edged into his rumination.
Could he really be more perturbed at Regina for her innocent revelation that Juliet was a servant than he was at the girl for her deceit?
“Ridiculous!” He strode to his desk. He’d needed to know the truth. Juliet should have informed him herself. Then he could have…
Could have… What? Offered her a position on his staff in London? Given her a townhouse near Cheapside and visited her to scratch his urges?
Absurd. Best it all stopped now. With her return to Wyndham Green.
Grey allowed his restless feet to once again carry him to the window.
Juliet.
He sighed. The name fit her.
“Excuse me, your grace.”
Grey jerked around to see his butler hovering in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
“What is it, Higgins?” Grey turned his back on the window.
“I do apologize, your grace, but m’lady asked that I give you this.” His voice shook as he spoke, revealing a raw edge of emotion Grey had never heard from the man before.
Higgins laid the slim wooden box on the desk. The case that held his mother’s pearls. Grey clenched his fingers, resisting the urge to punch his hand through the window. So she thought to avoid him? Refuse his summons? Well, he would just go to her.
He stalked to the desk and plucked up the container without stopping.
“I’m sorry, your grace, but she’s gone.”
Grey halted, whipped around, and glared at the servant. “I beg your pardon? Gone?”
“Yes, sir.”
Fist clenched around the jewelry case, Grey marched back to Higgins. He forced calm into his voice. “Where did she go?”
“I’m… not certain, your grace. She wouldn’t say.” Higgins lowered his gaze.
A raging fire boiled through Grey’s veins and erupted. “You allowed her to leave at this late hour, alone, without telling me?”
Higgins barely flinched. “Of course not, your grace. I sent Sam Foster, the footman, to ensure the lady remains safe. He will see she is unharmed.”
Relief soothed the fire. At least she wasn’t on the London streets alone. The burn slowly chilled until ice gripped his heart.
So this was her answer. To run. To show little care for her deplorable actions and avoid the consequences. And his own servants had apparently helped her do it.
“Get out!” He snapped as he rounded his desk. When the butler just continued to stand with his head bowed, Grey’s control shattered. “Higgins!”
The man jumped. “Begging your pardon, your grace. There seems to be…” He bent down then stood, holding a sheet of folded paper in his hand. “This was lodged in the paneling of your desk.” The butler laid the paper on the desk. After a final bow, he hurried out the door.
With a muttered curse, Grey raked his hands through his hair. He snatched the page from his desk and started to crumple it up when he noticed writing on it… in an unfamiliar hand. Curious, he sank into his chair and started to read.
…never meant to hurt you… trying to protect Annabella… I am truly sorry for my deceit…
A blanket of numbness settled over Grey. He tossed the missive on the desk then rubbed his forehead. Reaching out a finger, he traced the letters on the paper. Splendid. Another person I care about leaving me nothing but written words to say goodbye. His finger stopped, hovered over the page.
The next words blurred and Grey traced the two round splotches of long dried tear stains. His heart gave him an unwelcome wrench at the picture of her crying while she had penned the note.
Blast it all! No! That was part of her allure. Rather than the sheen of hardened veneer, she had a peculiar vulnerability that made him want to hold her in his embrace and keep the rest of the world at bay. He wouldn’t allow the fact that she’d shed a few tears to lessen his annoyance.
Juliet had been encouraged to read his books. She came to the study frequently to retrieve or return a book. When had she left the note? And why in such an odd place? How long had the note been lodged in the desk?
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and his mind flashed to the evening he’d received the message from his brother, when she’d slipped into his study and been surprised to find him there.
“Perhaps I should just call you Grey,” she’d whispered that night before he’d come within inches of taking her on his desk. Grey’s eyes flew open, the memory so real he thought he might have really heard her. But he was alone and he let his memory carry him back again.
That day… when they’d gone to the museum… when he’d kissed her… and asked for her real name. She’d come to his study that evening for a reason and he’d not given her the chance to accomplish what she’d been about. He rubbed his jaw. No. Indeed he’d set upon her like some sort of feral rutting beast. And what had she done? Nothing more than offer him comfort in his distress.
Grey slapped his hand against the top of his desk. And what would have come of that? Had she been scheming even then? Would she have turned up a year later with a child claiming it was his? Demanding he acknowledge his heir? He crumpled the letter and aimed for the fire but hesitated, then smoothed the paper and slid it into his top desk drawer. Even now, he couldn’t — quite eliminate all trace of her.
Slumping back in his chair, Grey closed his eyes again and let the pain wash over him. He wanted to hate her — needed to. But his heart would have to heal from the rend she’d put in it first.
At the whisper of the study door being pushed open again, Grey ground his teeth. Shuffling footfalls over the carpet approached the desk. Could no one leave him in peace?
Grey sighed and spoke without opening his eyes. “I do not wish to be disturbed, Higgins. Please see to it I am left alone.”
“I do beg your pardon, my boy.” Lucien cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I should be securing transport to Gretna Green for myself and my lovely bride-to-be.”
Grey popped his eyes open, leaned forward, and fixed his uncle with a stony stare. “Have you asked for the lady’s hand?”
Lucien nodded eagerly.
“She’s accepted?”
Again his uncle nodded.
“Then I shall secure a special license for you and we will have a quiet ceremony here.” Grey sighed, suddenly feeling the burden of his responsibilities even heavier than before, though the Lord knew Lucien and Harmony deserved one another. “Now please, Lucien, leave me in peace.”
“Certainly, nephew… er…” He lingered with his hand on the door.
“What is it?” Grey held his temper in check with difficulty.
“Well, it’s only… will your lady be returning in time to attend with you?”
Grey clutched the edge of his desk to keep from crossing the room and throttling his uncle. “I do not have a lady, Lucien. Therefore, I shall likely attend alone.”
Inviting one of the respectable ladies of the ton to his eccentric uncle’s scandalous nuptials was out of the question. Besides, it wasn’t one of those ladies he longed for.
Lucien grunted but made no move to leave. At his feet, Percy whined and began to scratch himself. “I say then, why don’t you follow after her and bring her home?”
A harsh laugh escaped Grey’s lips and he pushed to his feet, intent upon ejecting Lucien from his study physically if need be. “Because, Uncle Lucien, the lady in question is not, in fact, a lady. She never was, and she has left in disgrace. She was simply not — not who she claimed to be. She wasn’t Annabella.”
Lucien appeared puzzled as he scratched his jaw. “Why would you think she was Annabella?”
“Because she said she was.” Grey slapped his palm on the desk.
Percy stopped scratching his hindquarters
and subjected Grey to a low growl. Then he began to chew his front paw.
“She did?” Lucien cocked his head to one side. “Dang me if I remember the chit saying her name was Annabella.”
Grey curled his lip. “Maybe she didn’t say her name was Annabella, but she—”
“Well then, did you ask her for her name?” Lucien puffed out his chest.
“Of course I did!” How was it Lucien knew exactly where to poke and prod to irritate him the most?
”And what did she say?”
Grey opened his mouth to answer then snapped it closed. His mind drifted back to the night before at the masquerade ball. They’d danced and danced. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from claiming a kiss. And he’d begged her to reveal her real name.
“Juliet,” she’d answered.
“Well, boy, what did the girl tell you when you asked?”
A chill washed over Grey and he heaved a deep sigh. “The truth, Lucien. She told me the truth.”
Lucien shook his head slowly and made to leave. He then halted and turned to face Grey. “Boy, do you know why I named my dog after the Marquess of Clareborne Pool?”
Grey brought his hand up to rub his eyes. He had to stop that infernal twitching. “I can only imagine you did it for the same reason you do everything — to shock people.”
His uncle snorted. “You would think that.” He shook his head. “No, I named him after Perceval because I respect the man… he’s one of the most noble people I know. Why I remember one time—”
Grey let out an exasperated sigh.
Lucien waved his hand. “Yes yes, of course… never mind about that. What I’m trying to say is that they might have the same name, but Percy is still a dog and the marquess is every bit an aristocrat.”
The dog stopped chewing his paw, stood, and stared at his hindquarters. Then he bent himself nearly in half and began chewing at an area just in front of his tail.
Grey rolled his eyes. “Your point, Lucien?” he nearly growled.
His uncle stood up taller, stuck his nose in the air. “The point is that a name is just that — a name. And a title is just that — a title. It’s what you do with it that matters. That girl might not be of noble birth, but a more genteel lady I’ve never met.”
Grey raked his hands through his hair and cursed. “But she’s still a servant.” And she’d lied about it.
Lucien’s mouth fell open. “A… you… I…” He scratched his chin and then shook his head. Grey wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn his uncle mumbled a few pithy words under his breath. When he finally lifted his eyes, anger flashed in their depths. “Better to be a servant that a fool — which is exactly what you are if you don’t go after her. She is the best thing that has ever happened to you.”
Grey glared at his uncle, considering whether he could strangle him before his flea-bitten mongrel got in a few good bites.
Lucien turned for the door again. “Come along, Lord Perceval.”
The cur scrambled to his feet and then ambled toward the door as if on a stroll in the park.
Lucien stared hard at Grey and then snorted. “Blasted fool,” he muttered as he pulled the door closed.
Grey sank in his chair, leaned his elbows on the desk, and rested his head in his hands. How could he possibly go after her? What could he offer her? Certainly not marriage. He had duties… a responsibility to the family name…
He pushed himself upright. She’d mentioned his father. When she had first arrived and he’d still been under the impression she was Annabella, she’d mentioned how compassionate she had found the late duke. Annabella had always made her feelings of disdain for his father quite clear.
Grey rubbed his aching head and struggled to remember. A vision of two girls formed in his mind. One of debutante age, the other perhaps a bit younger…
“You should greet your brother, Annabella,” Regina said, meeting the girls at the door. She gave the taller girl a gentle push in Grey’s direction.
The girl placed her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. Her black velvet mourning gown swirled delicately around her feet. “Stepbrother,” she shrieked. “He is my stepbrother.”
Grey clenched his teeth and started toward the chit. The young girl standing next to her laid a hand on her arm and whispered in her ear. The temper vanished from Annabella’s face and she favored her companion with a warm smile.
What had she said to his stepsister? He strained to see her through the crowd. Something about her struck him as vaguely familiar but he couldn’t put a name to her. From across the room, he got the impression of reddened eyes and a tear-streaked face. Her pale hair had been pulled up in a style similar to that of his stepsister. Her dress was much simpler than Annabella’s, dark gray and plain even by country standards. But she carried herself with grace.
“I do not wish to speak with him, Mother. Stop pushing me at every man who breathes and possesses a title.”
The young girl took his sister’s hand and led her to the other side of the drawing room, whispering and patting her hand. Annabella’s outbursts grew tiresome, but each time she became petulant, the stranger murmured to her. Whoever she was, Grey was grateful she’d come.
The log in the fireplace crackled and a tiny flame danced along the top before the charted wood split and fell through the grate, snuffing it out.
Grey shook his head as the memory faded. The signs had all been present. He’d known his magpie wasn’t a noblewoman. But she’d been hauntingly familiar, and she’d known so much of his family history. It had been a simple assumption to decide she was a friend of Annabella’s — someone from school perhaps. It had never occurred to him that she’d been a lot closer than that… or that he’d seen her once before.
Chapter Eighteen
May 9, 1813
Haselmere, England
The morning sun had just begun pushing back the mist when Juliet paid the hackney driver from the money Higgins had slipped her — double the fare as agreed so he would travel at night.
“Are ye sure ye want me to leave ye here, m’lady?” The young man glanced at the stone cottage. “It looks fair deserted.”
She barely glanced at the guest house. If Regina hadn’t known Annabella had not gone to London, she must still be hiding. “Yes, this is the place. Thank you.”
With a shrug that clearly said he believed she was dashed in the nob, the man climbed on his rig and headed off the way they’d come.
Juliet picked up her valise and crossed the yard to the cottage door. The place did look deserted. Had Annabella gone running back to the main house after all?
Why didn’t you send the blasted note? Now we’ve both made a mull of things, and I have no intentions o’ facin’ yer mother without you!
The door was locked tight, so she gave it three sharp raps. “Annabella?” A startled mouse darted from the overgrown bush near the door. “Oh!” screamed Juliet. In the apple trees behind her, a magpie scolded. Blinking back tears, she knocked again and called out a bit louder. “Annabella! Open this door!”
Leaving the valise at the front of the cottage, Juliet picked her way through the unkempt yard to the rear entrance. She rattled the handle but it wouldn’t give.
“I shoulda known better’n to trust a plan o’ yours to work, ye chicken brain.” She gave the door a solid kick, imagining it to be Annabella’s backside, then stalked around to the front of the cottage again and picked up her bag.
The sun poked its fingers through the canopy of elm leaves as she strode along the narrow lane. A red squirrel raced ahead of her along the top of the moss-covered stone fence, every once in awhile stopping to chitter at her before scampering off again.
By the time the main house came into view, she was nearly dragging the valise along the lane behind her. Good. It belonged to Annabella and she hated dirt.
She didn’t even glance at the front of the house, but walked straight around to the rear entrance. Dropping the valise on the path, she drew a fortifying
breath and then threw open the door. Patricia Baines stood at one of the tables perusing a sheet of paper. That would be the menu for the day, which meant Regina was expected to arrive home in time for supper.
Juliet’s mother ran a finger down the page, then tapped it twice when she got to the bottom. Only then did she glance up and smile. “Hello, Juliet. Did you enjoy your stay in London with Lady Annabella?”
“Mummy…” Tears welled and spilled over, cascading like a waterfall off Juliet’s cheeks. “Oh, Mummy! I’ve done something terribly foolish.”
****
“You asked to see me before I leave, your grace?” Regina lingered in the doorway. She wore a traveling gown, this one in a too-vivid shade of blue, apparently planning to make good on her departure plans as soon as they finished conducting their business.
“Yes, come in.” Grey pushed away from his desk and crossed the room to escort his stepmother to the reading area. “Please… have a seat. Can I have Emily bring you some chocolate?” He gestured to one of the red velvet chairs near the window.
Regina’s head jerked up and she glanced from him to the door then back at him, a smile curving her lips. “My, how you’ve changed.” She arranged herself on the chair. “Was a time you barely acknowledged the help, let alone knew their names.”
Grey stiffened. Had she just hinted at something unseemly because of his unwitting involvement with her maid? He drew a breath to speak.
“Your father would have been proud,” she added softly, tracing a finger along the arm of her chair.
Startled, Grey straightened his back. If she’s after making implications of Father’s impropriety with servants…
“He made it a point to learn the names of all those in his employ.” She met his eyes and her smile warmed. “Taught me a lesson about how to treat servants with that.”
Grey blinked, unable to keep up. The resemblance between his stepmother and her aunts was amazing.
“Yes, well, my father was…” Words left him and Grey cleared his throat. “In any case, might I inquire what brought you to London?”
