When a Marquess Loves a Woman

by Vivienne Lorret

  The warning sent an ominous shiver through Juliet, and her smile faded, her expression uncertain. Turning away from the mirror, she stood. “You are assuming far too much. I do not even know if I am having a love affair.”

  Marguerite smiled and kissed Juliet on both cheeks. “Then for your sake, I hope Lord Thayne will make it perfectly clear tonight. Vive la romance!”

  The receiving line at Lady Falksworth’s concert followed the curved wall around the overly gilded, art-choked first floor hall and continued down the carpeted stairs. Like the surroundings, most of the guests fairly dripped with adornments—a profusion of jewels, tiaras, and turbans meant to impress their hostess.

  Unlike the prediction in the Standard, Juliet had not gone to any particular effort. She dressed with the simplicity that she always preferred. A single jewel and a well-designed gown was all she required. When it was her turn to greet Lady Falksworth, however, Juliet felt a modicum of pleasure at receiving squinty-eyed disapproval.

  “Lady Granworth, how good of you to attend,” she said with a pinched smile. “I seem to recall admiring the cut of that gown Wednesday last.”

  It was no accident that Juliet was wearing the same gown she had worn on a prior occasion, which they’d both attended.

  “Oh dear,” Juliet said without an ounce of chagrin. “How very frugal of me.”

  Lady Falksworth’s cold blue eyes turned icy, clearly perturbed by the slight. “Hmm . . . quite. One would have thought, however, that my cousin’s fortune might have afforded you a new gown for such an event. Unless, of course, your father’s affliction has turned into your own.” She tsked, not bothering to lower her voice but adding a dusty chortle to remove the weight from the slanderous comment. The small titters from those nearest proved she’d effectively made it seem as if they were close acquaintances.

  Juliet had expected such a retaliation and did not bat an eye. Saying nothing only made her hostess appear peevish.

  Lady Falksworth continued. “Oh, but aren’t we all gamblers from time to time? I myself enjoy a rousing game of whist. Though I must offer a word of caution because, as it is, I have no more cousins to spare you from ruin.”

  This time there were a series of sharp inhales of shock.

  Not wanting to give Lady Falksworth the satisfaction of thinking that she’d struck a nerve, Juliet gripped her composure as if her life depended upon it. “It is fortunate that I have no need of assistance.”

  “Ah, then we must play sometime.”

  Juliet inclined her head and withheld further comment. It was far better to retain the high road than to lower oneself into the muck. For those who dwell within it are far too pleased when company joins them. And yet, Juliet wished she would have said or done something. Years of injustice were still raging inside her.

  She knew very well that nearly all the guests in attendance had fallen victim to their hostess’s waspish tongue at one time or another. Society, however, was a fickle beast that cared more for pleasing itself whenever possible than for slaying old dragons. Proof of that was in the crush gathered inside the ballroom.

  The moment Juliet entered the room, she searched for Ellery, still hoping that she might accomplish the goal for which she’d come, sooner rather than later. If she could feign an injury before the performance even began, then all the better for her.

  Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen. Worse yet were the whispers gathering like a gale wind through a rocky cove. Apparently, Lady Falksworth’s invitation to the Duke of Vale, Ivy, and the dowager duchess purposely excluded Gemma Desmond.

  Juliet was incensed. That condescending shrew!

  If Juliet would have known about this, she would have declined to attend out of solidarity. Regret and disappointment filled her.

  She looked to the exit, prepared to show her support, even if after the fact. Yet as the troupe of Italian opera singers began their performance, the French doors leading to the ballroom closed. A footman in scarlet and gold livery stood sentinel in front of them.

  It was common knowledge that Lady Falksworth despised tardiness and disruptions of any sort. Priding herself on following the rules of society to the letter, she also demanded clockwork precision of her servants, as well as punctuality and perfection in her companions. She had been known to say, “A life is not worthwhile without order.”

  But now, Juliet was set on disturbing Lady Falksworth’s order.

  When the moment was right, Juliet stood. Pressing a hand to her temple, she knew that any onlookers would assume she merely had a headache. It worked for the footman, after all. He was even kind enough to show her to the retiring room, where she could wait until the end of the performance.

  “Thank you, but I would prefer to leave,” she said, with a smile to him once they were alone in the hallway.

  The young footman blushed all the way to the tips of his ears and began to stammer. “Her ladyship wouldn’t . . . that is to say . . . Lady Falksworth prefers for her guests to stay until the evening’s . . . festivities have ended.”

  Feeling penned in, Juliet glanced to the stairs. “And if a guest desires to leave, regardless?”

  “I’m afraid, my lady, that Mr. Bowson, at the main door, would only show you to the parlor.”

  The gall of that woman! Juliet was even more determined to create a little chaos. And she knew exactly how to do it.

  Not revealing the animosity that rushed through her, she inclined her head, dismissing the footman as she stepped into the retiring room. The moment he was gone, however, she set a course for rebellion.

  Traversing a corridor and a set of stairs, Juliet crept into the aviary and closed the door behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. Only the soft, fuzzy gleam from a half moon filtered through the clear glass-dome ceiling. Potted trees, perfectly pruned into spheres, surrounded the exterior walls. In the center, five Moorish white-capped cages hung from chains, and within them, her quarry.

  Another well-known fact about Lady Falksworth was that—much like Lord Granworth—she was a collector. Most of all, she adored her collection of over a hundred green and gold finches.

  Rows upon rows of golden birds with pinkish beaks were sitting on perches, chattering and chirruping noisily. A few of them flitted restlessly about, their tiny talons strumming against the thin bars, dipping with a twist of the neck to sip a bit of water, or winnowing a seed, gnashing endlessly to find the meat within. But for the most part, they stayed on their perches.

  Juliet looked over her shoulder at the door, to make sure she was alone, before preparing to lift the latch of the first cage. Already, she could imagine the birds flying about and leaving their droppings all over the floor and benches. Then, when Lady Falksworth next showed off her collection, she would be humiliated. It was the least she deserved.

  Besides, the birds should not be caged at all. Lady Falksworth had no right to keep these beautiful creatures imprisoned for her own amusement.

  Juliet knew too well what that felt like.

  Night after night, she’d disrobed for Lord Granworth’s inspection and admiration. As per the marriage contract, she had no right to refuse him. Payment of her father’s debts and even her own settlement was contingent on her pleasing him. Her only reprieve from being a spectacle had been during her womanly courses. Lord Granworth had found that unfortunate and unappealing but often said that it was “an ordeal one must endure when having living art within one’s house.”

  Of course, after her parents’ deaths, Lord Granworth no longer had any hold over her. She’d thought about leaving hundreds of times in that last year before his death. At the time, however, she’d had nowhere to go, no family, no home, no money, and nothing to call her own. She was a prisoner in a gilded cage, wanting for nothing except for her freedom.

  Standing in Lady Falksworth’s aviary, Juliet smiled with delight as she stepped back, waiting for the birds to rush out and take flight, finding purchase on a branch instead.

>   Yet after Juliet opened the first cage, she noticed that something strange was happening—or rather not happening. The birds had gone quiet, all huddled together on the perches. There was no more chatter, no more flitting about.

  “Come on,” Juliet encouraged them, clucking her tongue in a staccato rhythm. “You’re free now. Look.” She slipped her hand through the opening and wiggled her fingers before withdrawing.

  Then, guessing that these birds were not the brightest, she went to a different cage and did the same thing. But those birds went quiet too. In fact, all of the birds remained silent, watching her carefully, as if she were some sort of predator instead of their savior.

  Frustrated, she unlatched all the cages, leaving the doors gaping like mouths open in a silent scream. She felt tears sting her eyes. “Damn it all, why won’t you fly?”

  Max arrived late to Lady Falksworth’s soiree. He had a devil of a time trying to get in, since the man at the door refused him. The butler had made it clear that tardiness was not permitted beneath her ladyship’s roof, and the concert had already begun.

  Of course, he hadn’t intended to come at all. He didn’t care for Lady Falksworth, as she had been the main instigator that renewed the ton’s interest in the kissing scandal upon Juliet’s return.

  Then, after learning from Mother that Juliet planned to attend, Max was astonished. Juliet had made her dislike of Lady Falksworth apparent to him on several occasions, so he could not help but wonder why she would make this choice.

  Having the butler close the door in his face did not deter Max in the least. He would simply find another way inside.

  Standing on the pavement, he took in the golden shimmer of candlelight warming the panes of white-trimmed box windows set in rows along the pale gray stone facade. Erected on a corner, the property hosted a garden wall that lined the pavement, the towering structure more like that of a rampart barring intruders.

  With a quick pace, he followed the wall as it wrapped around the back, and there he found an ivy-shrouded gate. In no time, he swept into the garden and, after a few steps, met with the domed glass structure of Lady Falksworth’s famed aviary.

  As luck would have it, the narrow whitewashed door leading to the garden was unlatched.

  “Damn it all, why won’t you fly?”

  Once Max stepped inside, he stopped short. “Juliet?”

  There she stood, bathed in moonlight and tears glistening in her eyes.

  She looked at him, blinking slowly several times, and then said on a sigh, “You came.”

  He didn’t know what had happened, but he would find the culprit and murder him later. In the meantime, he simply strode to her, gathered her close, and tucked her head beneath his chin. “What is wrong, my goddess?”

  “I wanted to cause a scandal, but it isn’t working.”

  “Ah,” he said, as if he completely understood and knew exactly why she was standing in the aviary. “But we are much better at causing scandals together. So tell me what I can do.”

  “Stay just as you are,” she said softly, resting her cheek upon his lapel. “I don’t even know why I came. I should have given Lady Falksworth the cut direct when she brought up my father’s gambling debts. Not many knew about it or that it was part of the contract he’d signed with Lord Granworth.”

  “Your father’s . . . ” Max stilled, a memory assailing him. “So the rumors were true.”

  She nodded, expelling a slow exhale. “He’d been only days away from debtors’ prison. That night, Lord Granworth offered him a life of luxury, travel, parties . . . and all for the price of one worthless daughter. All that man wanted was my soul.”

  Max tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her rose-scented hair. “But you fooled them all, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You never gave them your soul. You kept it locked away for safekeeping.”

  She scoffed and gestured toward the cages. “I think I was more like these birds—too foolish to fly.”

  When he glanced at the cages and saw all the doors hanging wide, he began to put the pieces together. Only now did he fully realize what it must have been like for her, all those years trapped in a life that was not of her making. She was born beautiful and to parents who did not cherish her as they ought to have done but instead sold her into a loveless marriage.

  He couldn’t help but think how different it might have been. How fiercely he would have loved her, leaving her without any doubts.

  “They won’t fly. They’re just sitting there.” She sniffed, continuing. “And they deserve more than this life in a cage.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple and drew in the faint rose scent from her hair. “Perhaps they are afraid. They know what their life entails inside their cage—plenty of food, a dish of water, a community where they feel like they belong. It would take an act of bravery to leave and venture into the unknown.”

  She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was as frail and stained as lace trim caught underfoot. “I’d always had the freedom to leave Lord Granworth. I thought about it every moment of every day. I could have found employment as a companion or even a governess. Instead, I stayed and blamed my fate on my father’s debts. When the truth was, I was afraid of what was waiting beyond my own cage. Most of all, I feared learning that everyone was right about me—that I possessed no true value.”

  “How could you have ever believed that?”

  Again, her head rested against his shoulder. “Far too easily.”

  More than anything, he wanted to press his suit, to tell her that he thought she was brave for returning to London and especially for facing her opposition—him—head on. He hadn’t made it easy on her. Yet through all their squabbles, she never once conceded to him, and that—he realized now—had made him love her all the more. The feelings that he’d always had for her were still with him. But as much as he wanted to tell her, he also didn’t want to frighten her.

  “When you’re ready,” he said, “I’ll escort you back inside.”

  She lifted her face, her spine abruptly rigid. “You know very well that we cannot be seen together.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Someone will surely notice how well we”—she broke off, her gaze flitting to his and then away—“walk together.”

  He nodded sagely, trying not to laugh. “It is true. You and I have been walking for many years now, and I do believe we are experts.”

  “Be sure you do not say that with Zinnia nearby. She would be crushed to learn that she is not the leading example,” she teased in return, relaxing into his embrace once more. “But all jesting aside, I think you understand my meaning.”

  “Yes, we do walk quite well together.” He studied her carefully and risked stealing a kiss. “It is a pity that you would give us away, unable to keep from caressing me with your gaze. You ought to learn to control that, you know.”

  She grinned, and the moonlight reflected in her eyes was soft and tender. “I shall put forth an effort, but I cannot make any promises.”

  And with so little, she filled him with the hope that, perhaps, she might not be as skittish as he feared.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The following morning, Juliet met with her solicitor and went over her accounts.

  Young Mr. Sternham stood on the opposite side of her desk, his gloved hands clasped in front of the brown suit hanging on his boney frame. Like his father, the elder party of Sternham & Son, he wore a monocle, pinched beneath a lowered wiry gray brow and a lifted cheek that caused an arc of wrinkles from one side of his nose to his jaw. The fact that she’d never seen either gentleman without his eyepiece made her wonder if it was fastened upon birth. Though, regardless of the origin, that large monocled eye was now staring at her with undisguised impatience.

  “I am nearly finished, Mr. Sternham,” she said with an apologetic smile. She preferred to check the books herself and keep a close watch over her spending. Even though s
he had an immense fortune, she could never forget her father’s inadvertent lesson to her—that poor decisions are often the result of desperation.

  Unfortunately, she was not wholly able to concentrate on numbers. Not since last night. Neither she nor Max had returned to the concert. Instead, Max had driven her home, holding her close in the dark interior of the carriage. There was something simple and intimate about leaning against him, her head resting upon his shoulder.

  The wonder she felt in that moment still lingered with her today. Likely that was the reason her gaze kept veering to every M on the page, her eyes seeing Max everywhere.

  Max’s Millinery Shop—straw hat, ribbon, gloves

  Smythe’s Florists—Max, Fern, and Gypsophila

  Draber’s Confectionary—Max

  In fact, she had to blink several times to see what was actually there.

  Merlin’s Millinery Shop—straw hat, ribbon, gloves

  Smythe’s Florists—Myrtle, Fern, and Gypsophila

  Draber’s Confectionary—Macaroons

  Perhaps she required a monocle too.

  After another minute or so, she reluctantly gave up the effort and closed the ledger. Instead of adding up the column with her solicitor waiting, she simply handed it over to him, thanked him for his patience, and stated that she would come to his office on the morrow. She hoped her thoughts would be in the right place by then, yet she had her doubts.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Max, wondering what he was doing and if he was thinking of her. Pathetic, really.

  Her stomach fluttered continuously, as if she’d swallowed a hummingbird that was trying to escape. Her heart vacillated from a quick, light cadence to an irregular, anxious, and wary rhythm. And worst of all, she caught herself sighing—sighing, for heaven’s sake—at regular intervals, as if she were on a schedule.

  This morning, Zinnia had asked if she was coming down with a fever.