Her Secondhand Groom

by Rose Gordon

  “An annulment,” Father wheezed, sinking into a vacant leather chair.

  “Come now, Mr. Hughes,” Lord Drakely coaxed, “you didn’t honestly think I’d just let you make a mockery of me, did you?”

  “A mockery?” Father repeated.

  Juliet so badly wanted to get up off the settee and fan her father before he fainted. She clasped her hands together in her lap to help fight the urge. It wouldn’t do to give this demeaning man any more ground than he already had. Father may be having a moment of shock right now, but he had his pride, too.

  “Also,” Lord Presumptuous continued, “now that our bargain has been forfeited, I expect full payment of your loan upon the completion of Miss Hughes’ schooling.”

  Father made some odd gurgling noise in his throat and patted his chest while Juliet burned with rage. Was this how it was to be, then? Perhaps it was time to set him to rights. She knew she should be ashamed for the thoughts she was entertaining about how delicious his reaction would be when he learned her real identity and the fault was all his. She just couldn’t care.

  Of course she started the day with the notion she was going to shock him a little at the church, but just now, with him bullying her father this way, she was going to revel in his surprise and rub his nose in his mistake. Just see if she didn’t.

  “My lord,” Juliet said sharply, garnering his full attention. “You’ll apologize to my father at once and rescind your last statement.”

  A sound that could have passed for a snort or a laugh erupted from somewhere in Lord Presumptuous’ vicinity. “And who do you think you are to demand such a thing?”

  “Juliet Ann Ramsey, Lady Drakely. Your wife.”

  He stared at her in disbelief and shook his head. “No you’re not. You may have been asked to pretend to be, but we both know you’re not.”

  “Yes. I am,” she said, standing up to her full five foot four inches and meeting his intent gaze.

  He scoffed. “Yes, and I’m a thinner version of Prinny.”

  “Are you now?” she asked, challenging him with her eyes.

  “You know full well I’m not. Just as you’re not Juliet.”

  “And if I can prove that I am?”

  The look of disbelief on his face coupled with the snort that rent the air only served to irritate Juliet more. “I don’t know how on earth you could possibly do that.”

  “Easily.”

  With an arrogant air fit for a king, Lord Presumptuous took a seat and waved his hand in front of himself in a way that spoke volumes about his lofty attitude which went hand in hand with his lofty position.

  Shooting Father a smile she hoped he understood to mean she had this well-in-hand, she marched over to the bell pull and gave the red velvet chord a hearty yank.

  Less than a minute later, the tall, thin butler named Links entered the room.

  Juliet strolled over to him and spoke soft and low.

  “What are you doing?” Lord Presumptuous barked. “If you think he’s going to run off and see some hack you call a physician and pay him to forge you some sort of nonsense document saying he was present at your birth and shove it under my nose and expect me to accept that, you’re mistaken. Not only is Links loyal to a fault, no document will prove to me just who you are.”

  “No document is being fetched,” Juliet said coolly. “Your daughters are.”

  “The devil they are,” Lord Presumptuous said, lurching to his feet. “Those girls don’t need to be put in the middle of this. It’s bad enough they’re going to be disappointed tonight when I have to tell them they’ll have to wait for another motherne―”

  The way he broke off after nearly slurring the word mother made Juliet’s blood turn to ice. Those little girls were going to be disappointed, indeed. Only it wasn’t because of her they were going to be disappointed. It would be because of him. She pushed the thought from her mind and smoothed her skirts as they were paraded into the room.

  As instructed, Celia, Helena and Kate marched into the room and flashed happy smiles at both Juliet and their father. Juliet’s heart clenched at what she was about to do.

  “Just so we’re all in agreement,” she started, casting cold eyes on his lordship, “I have not spoken to your girls since the day I watched them in my cottage, which, as you know, was before you spoke to my father about a betrothal.”

  “Yes, yes, I know that,” Lord Presumptuous said with a shrug of indifference.

  “Nor did I instruct your butler to say anything to them,” she continued just to cover any loopholes there might be by pursuing this means to prove her point.

  “Fine.” Lord Presumptuous shot her a smug look of his own, and added, “Not that it would matter if you did. Links is as loyal as they come.”

  She shrugged and looked down at her little row of troops. She’d thought it odd when not a one of them had uttered as much as a syllable in the carriage. Now she was glad they’d been so quiet. It added credibility to what she was about to do. Clearing her throat, she made eye contact with their insufferable father and said, “Girls, do you remember the day you came to play at my cottage?”

  “Yes,” all three chorused in happy unison.

  “And, do you by any chance remember what I told you that you may call me?”

  “Have you forgotten your name?” Kate asked, her tone full of wonder and disbelief.

  Juliet smiled down at the little girl. “No, I haven’t, but your father has. Care to inform him?”

  “Her name is Juliet Ramsey, Lady Drakely,” Helena proclaimed loud and clear.

  A triumphant feeling washed over Juliet, and Lord Presumptuous turned white as a sheet.

  “I just don’t believe it,” he whispered while literally falling back into his chair.

  Chapter 7

  “Believe it,” came five quiet, uneven voices.

  Patrick’s brain commanded the muscles in the lower half of his face to close his mouth. Unfortunately, they weren’t strong enough to keep it held shut. How could he have been wrong? His eyes moved from one set of eyes to the next, looking for some weakness. Some sort of sign that he’d not just made the biggest ass of himself all day long as he was beginning to believe.

  “You mean…”

  “What we mean, my lord,” Juliet―his wife, the one he’d actually betrothed himself to, married and treated lower than dirt―began calmly, “is while you seem to have difficulty believing yourself capable of making an error, you have and you’ve just been caught.”

  Patrick stared at her. That was all he could do. For the life of him he couldn’t think of a single coherent thought to voice. He’d been mistaken! He’d really been the one in the wrong! Clearing his throat, he took to his unsteady feet and schooled his features as best he could to keep his face as impassive as possible. “Mr. Hughes,” he began roughly before clearing his throat once again. “I apologize for my earlier statements. Please disregard everything I’ve said today. As agreed before, the loan is forgiven.”

  Hughes, who had at some point taken out his snowy white handkerchief and was vigorously dabbing his damp forehead, haphazardly shoved his folded linen in his pocket and stood up, straightening his coat at the same time.

  Casting what could only be considered a sympathetic glance at his daughter, the man nodded his agreement and took slow steps in the direction of the door.

  Next to Patrick, Juliet whispered something to his daughters. He dropped his gaze just in time to see her use the edge of one of her sleeves to wipe Kate’s eyes before giving her a quick hug and scurrying off to catch Mr. Hughes before he crossed the threshold.

  “We’ll be waiting for you here,” Patrick said inanely.

  Juliet’s head whipped around to face him so fast he was certain she was going to have a kink in her neck for the rest of the day. “Pardon me?” she asked frigidly, her hands hastily pushing her spectacles back into place.

  “Once you’ve seen your family out, return here,” he returned casually.

  “I thi
nk not.”

  “Oh, and where do you plan to spend the rest of your day?”

  “At home.”

  “You are home.”

  A harsh laugh escaped her lips. “No, I’m not. This is your home. I will be spending the afternoon in my home.”

  “This is your home,” he said casually, daring her to argue.

  She shook her head. “No, my lord, this is your home. Not mine.”

  “And why is that?”

  She looked at him strangely. “Not five minutes ago you announced our marriage was to be annulled. And while I’m sure I might need to be present to sign a paper or two, I’m sure arrangements can be made that will allow you to come to my father’s cottage in order for me to sign the papers. You do remember where that is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I remember your father’s direction,” he answered testily. “But that is of no account. There will not be an annulment; therefore, there is no need for you to go back to your father’s house.” His words came out smooth and easy, belying the inner turmoil swirling within him.

  “But why?” she asked in a strangled cry.

  He shrugged. “As you so kindly pointed out, I married the correct person.”

  Her slate grey eyes pierced him in a way that made him, lord of the manor, feel uncomfortable. “You may have married me, but you didn’t wish to. And since you are so set on an annulment, that is exactly what you shall have. I see no reason to stay here until all the formalities can be dealt with. It would damage my reputation.”

  He scoffed. Her reputation wouldn’t be in any danger staying here with him. Besides, no matter how much she wanted to push him, an annulment was not going to happen. “As I’ve said, I married the right woman. There will not be an annulment. Go see your family out and return here when you’re finished. We have much to discuss, Lady Drakely.” He wasn’t sure who winced more upon hearing her name. He presumed she didn’t like to be called that after the horrible treatment she’d received from her new husband; and he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge it was hard to call a woman other than Abigail Lady Drakely.

  Steeling her spine and not even bothering to flash a halfway cordial smile in his direction, Juliet nodded curtly. She murmured something to her father, then the pair left the room.

  “Is she coming back?” Celia blurted as soon as Juliet and Mr. Hughes were out the door.

  “Yes,” he answered confidently. Whether she came back on her own accord or he had to chase her down, he wasn’t sure which, but one thing he was sure of was she was coming back. She was his wife and for as much as she may not like it, she was going to remain his wife. She was right when she had said she wasn’t the woman he’d expected to see beneath the veil, but on paper, she was the right woman and that’s all that mattered.

  “But she said she wasn’t,” Helena argued. She crossed her little arms and cast inquisitive eyes on him.

  “She is,” he confirmed. “Say, why don’t the three of you go find Mrs. Jenkins and tell her I said you may go down to the kitchen for a treat since this is her last day here? I’ll make sure you get to see your new motherness...er...mother...er...Juliet once more before bedtime.”

  Excited at the prospect of one of Cook’s famous tarts, his three girls quit the room without further argument, leaving Patrick completely alone with his self-condemning thoughts.

  He should have treated her better today, he thought, dropping down onto the nearest settee. Even if she wasn’t the woman he’d thought he was marrying, he should have treated her better until he’d had time to sort through everything.

  With what felt like the hundredth sigh so far that day, he racked his brain to think of how to make this up to her. No doubt she thought him a blackhearted arse. He’d have to do something to charm her into forgiveness. But what? In all the years he’d been married to Abigail, he’d never blundered this badly. Well, almost never, he amended with a bitter twist of his lips. For the most part, though, any time he had done something to upset her, he’d been able to buy her forgiveness with nothing more than another piece of jewelry. Juliet didn’t seem the sort who put much stock in things like jewels or fancy attire. He’d have to think of another way to get on friendlier terms with her.

  “You requested my return,” chirped an unhappy Juliet from the doorway.

  Patrick took to his feet. “Yes. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to an empty spot on the settee.

  She didn’t budge.

  “Come now,” he encouraged, patting the backrest of the settee.

  “Why?” she ground out, leaning against the doorjamb with a stubborn, bullheaded look on her face.

  For as difficult as she was making this, he had to admit he admired her determination. “Juliet,” he began softly, “please come sit. I want nothing more than to apologize to you.”

  “I can hear your apology from here.”

  He casually crossed his arms. She was a stubborn one, wasn’t she? “All right, fine. Stay there.”

  Her face and eyes didn’t soften a fraction.

  Patrick ran his fingers through his hair and let out a pent up breath. “Juliet, I’m sorry I’ve treated you so poorly today. You didn’t deserve it.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she agreed coldly. “But that matters naught now. You can’t change what you’ve done.”

  “Yes, I know," he conceded. “I’m trying to make it right.”

  “I don’t see why that’s necessary,” she argued with a simple shrug. “You didn’t wish to marry me, and you made it clear. There’s really nothing to apologize for.”

  “Yes, there is,” he nearly snapped. “I didn’t know you were you. I thought you were...”

  “My sister,” she supplied for him. “Yes, I thought as much.”

  Patrick closed his eyes and ground his teeth to keep tight rein on his temper at both her bluntness and accuracy. Perhaps it was best at this point to charm her. All women liked to have a handsome man fall over themselves for them, didn’t they? “Juliet,” he said silkily, spreading his lips into what he honestly hoped was a wolfish smile, “I may have been expecting to see your sister, but I was expecting to marry you. You’re the one I want.”

  A delightful peal of laughter that did unusual things to his stomach came from where his wife stood in the doorway. “You are ridiculous, my lord.”

  “Ridiculous?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “You’re playing the rake-who’s-just-found-the-woman-he-claims-can-reform-him routine will not work with me.”

  He stared at her unblinkingly. Is that what she took away from that? No matter. “All right,” he drawled, “I can see I’m nowhere near making my way into your good graces, am I?”

  The question was rhetorical since it was obvious she wasn’t about to give him an inch. However, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when her lips thinned and she said, “No, you’re not. And another round of theatrics isn’t going to help.”

  “What will help?”

  “An annulment should do nicely, I should think,” she said calmly, the hard set in her face indicating just how serious she was.

  “No,” he told her firmly. “An annulment is not an option. What else?”

  “There’s nothing else I want.”

  “How about a new wardrobe?” he offered. He strode over to stand beside her. Perhaps he’d be able to charm her better if he were closer to her.

  “I can wear what I have, thank you.”

  He grimaced. He’d only seen her twice before their wedding, but both times she’d worn something he wouldn’t even allow his lowest maid to wear. “You’re getting the wardrobe.”

  Her eyes burned into his. “I don’t want it.”

  “I don’t care, you’re getting it. I’ll not have my wife go around in rags.”

  If it were possible, she looked even angrier. “Short of you holding me down and dressing me, which I highly doubt you’d trouble yourself to do, I’ll wear whatever I like, thank you.”


  He leaned his face in close to hers, so close in fact, there couldn’t have been more than in inch between them. “You truly don’t think I’d do such a thing?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said, the only thing giving away her unease at his closeness was the slight hitch in her words.

  “Try it,” he countered, his determined eyes locking with her wide, apprehensive ones.

  “You’d like that far too much.”

  Patrick shook his head. Despite what she thought, he wouldn’t like to do that at all. But he would if she didn’t dress her part. “I’ll contact Mrs. Somers tomorrow about commissioning a new wardrobe for you. What else would you like?”

  Cold eyes and flaring nostrils was her only response. Oh, and perhaps a bit of steam he imagined emanating from her ears and nose.

  “Well, if you’re not going to name your price, I guess you don’t want anything,” he said. She’d better realize this was her last chance to squeeze anything out of him.

  Once again, she said nothing.

  “All right, then. I suppose you’d like a bit of time by yourself to get acquainted with your new home,” he stated. It didn’t take a genius to know she’d refuse his offer if he suggested he show her about. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

  Forcing his eyes to avoid looking at her, and commanding his guilt over his poor treatment of her to vanish, Patrick quit the room

  Chapter 8

  Juliet had never been so angry in her whole life. And she wouldn’t be fooling anybody if she didn’t admit it was entirely her fault. If only she’d not been so intent on seeing him get what he deserved for attempting to snare her sister that way, this all could have been avoided.

  She exited the drawing room and walked down the hall in search of Links, the butler. She’d need his help to navigate this maze that she might truly have to accept as her new home.

  Links was a tall, thin, grey-headed man, the epitome of an English butler. Just from the brief statements the two had exchanged, it was clear he was a man of few words. That suited her just fine. She had no interest in having a conversation right now. All she wanted to do was be shown to her room.