by Rose Gordon
“Are you sure, Juliet? You’d get to have green lenses.”
She ignored him. “I think I should like the silver rectangles.”
Drake waved her off. “Reconsider. Just think of how much fun it would be to walk around with the world tinted green.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Here, won’t you just try them on?” He extended the spectacles to her.
“No, and I’d suggest you not put them on, either.”
Of course, like a child who’d just been told not to go somewhere, Drake slipped those silly-looking spectacles on. “You can’t imagine yourself wearing these?”
She pursed her lips so she wouldn’t smile at the ridiculous image her husband was creating in front of her. “No.”
“Pity.” He took them off and immediately began rubbing the pads of his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyelids.
“Get a headache, did you?”
He scowled.
“I bet you’ll listen to me next time.” She laughed and handed the lenses she’d been holding next to her eyes to Mr. Nills, who handed her her new pair of spectacles.
“There won’t be a next time,” Drake said, practically shoving those ridiculous spectacles into Mr. Nills’ hand.
Juliet stood and adjusted her scarf then walked over and picked up those two, inch-thick lenses she used to wear and dropped them into her pocket.
“A souvenir?” Drake asked.
“No. I thought Edward might like them.”
Drake’s brow puckered. “Who?”
“Caroline’s son.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “I bet he would like those. He’s too young to play with them now, but I imagine when he gets older, he’ll have an excellent time using them to start small fires at Watson Estate. Won’t his Papa love you?”
Who cared if Alex loved her? She only cared if Drake did. She started at the thought, then cleared her throat. “Oh, he won’t do anything to get into trouble with them.”
“That’s what you think.” Drake picked up her old, empty frames and slipped them into his breast pocket. “Just think though, you can give them to him to play with now, and Caroline won’t have to worry about him choking on them.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Might I suggest the British Museum of Natural History,” Mr. Nills said abruptly as the two were almost out of the room.
“Pardon?” Juliet and Drake asked in unison, turning their heads back to face him.
“You were planning to take your lady out to put her new spectacles to the test, were you not?” Mr. Nills asked, pride for his mastery of his trade evident in his voice and face.
Drake smiled. “Oh, I have plans for her all right.”
Juliet shivered. She’d bet Drake did have plans for her, and those plans had nothing to do with her new spectacles. Not unless one considered them sitting on the nightstand beside his bed a plan.
Chapter 20
“Are you ready?” Patrick asked when Juliet walked into his London study in the second most beautiful gown he’d ever seen. The first being the one she wore last week to Caroline’s dinner.
“Yes,” she said with a blush. She clasped her white-gloved hands in front of her crimson dress in a way that, unbeknownst to her, treated him to an excellent view of the tops of her bosom.
He walked over to her and bent his head to kiss her lips. It was so much easier to kiss her now that she didn’t wear those clunky spectacles anymore.
“We should probably leave soon if we don’t wish to be late,” Juliet whispered.
Patrick nodded. His Aunt Harriet, Lady Benedict, was hosting a small dinner gathering at her home and asked―or pleaded with, depending on who one asked―Drake to join them. Since the Season officially ended over a month ago, Patrick agreed. It might just be several of his family members present, but at least it was somewhere to take Juliet.
Juliet’s fingers came up and straightened his cravat then smoothed his coat. “There you are.”
“Thank you.” He lifted one of her hands and pressed a sweet kiss to her fingertips before placing it in the crook of his arm.
“Will there be a lot of people in attendance tonight?” Juliet asked as they reached the front door.
Patrick glanced down at her. Was that nervousness he’d heard in her voice? Surely not. Nothing rattled Juliet. Ever. “Not many, I suppose. Twenty, maybe twenty-four at most.”
Juliet licked her lips. “Oh.”
“There’s no need to worry, Juliet. I’ll be there, too.” He opened the door. “Besides, my cousin Sir Wallace will be there. So if you find yourself lacking for anything to add to the conversation, just ask whoever’s trying to talk to you what they think Wallace is counting.”
Her brows knit.
He chuckled. “You’ll understand better in a bit.”
Three hours and one boring dinner later, Patrick was quite sure Juliet understood exactly what he had said to her about Wallace and his counting habit.
Scooping up two cups of punch, Patrick made his way back to where Juliet and Wallace were occupying the yellow settee closest to the fire. Patrick handed Juliet her glass.
“Thank you,” she murmured before taking a swig.
Patrick’s gaze shot to Wallace. The poor man, dressed in a crisp black coat, perfectly pleated superfine black trousers, a mustard yellow waistcoat that covered a white shirt and matching cravat with a sapphire pin in the middle, sat with his fists clenched in his lap, mumbling numbers under his breath while his eyes were fastened on an object across the room. Patrick’s eyes followed Sir Wallace’s line of vision and his stomach lurched.
Straight across the room sat Jane Cloy, Lady Chatterfield, the very woman to whom Wallace had once declared his love. Aunt Harriet, Wallace’s mother, sat perched on the settee next to her. The two ladies seemed to be making idle chit-chat, and Patrick couldn’t help the pang of sympathy he felt for Wallace. Not only had the woman Wallace once loved been stolen from him, but he was still forced to see her—and consequently her husband—from time to time due to his mother’s friendship with the chit.
“Say, Wallace, why don’t you tell Juliet about your recent hobby?”
“You mean he has a hobby other than counting?” Lord Chatterfield asked rather rudely.
Patrick turned cold eyes on Lord Chatterfield. Had they been somewhere else, just about anywhere else, Patrick would have leveled him with a set down. But since the gentleman being insulted by Lord Chatterfield was also the unwilling host of this party, Patrick settled for piercing the offending lord with an icy glare.
“As a matter-of-fact, I do,” Wallace said. His voice was just as brittle as his posture. Without much interest or emotion, Wallace slid out the drawer in the end table next to him. A moment later, he pulled out a large, thick rectangular box and handed it to Juliet. “Open it.”
Juliet blushed, presumably from all the attention that was now on her. With a tentative smile at Patrick, she flipped the latch then opened the box and gasped. “Did you carve these? They’re beautiful.”
Wallace nodded. “Thank you.”
“What did you make for me, Wal?” Lady Chatterfield asked.
Wallace bridled. Whether his reaction stemmed from Lady Chatterfield’s informal address, or her public implication that he still held feelings for her, thus the reason he’d make her a gift, Patrick didn’t know. “I didn’t make anything for you,” he said pointedly. “However, I did whittle a complete chess set for common use in the drawing room.”
“And a beautiful one at that,” Juliet remarked. She picked up one of the wooden knights and studied the intricate carvings of his mane. “Did you make the board, too?”
Wallace flicked his wrist. “Yes. But any nodcock could carve one of those. You just have to cut eight measured planks of wood, two that are twelve inches long, six inches wide and a half inch thick. Then cut four more pieces―”
“Perhaps we could skip the woodworking lesson, Wallace,” Aunt Harriet cut in, not
unkindly. “Whenever you’re done admiring my son’s craftsmanship, Lady Drakely, I should like to show the pieces to Janie.”
Juliet flushed slightly then handed the box to Lady Benedict who went about examining all the pieces with keen interest.
Patrick found a vacant chair and sat down. “Sorry,” he muttered to Wallace.
“It’s not your fault. Why mother feels the need to invite them, I’ll never understand.”
Juliet licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak, then just as suddenly, clamped it closed.
“May I announce, Lord and Lady Lipscomb,” the butler said from the doorway of the drawing room. “They have arrived just in time to take part in the after dinner activities.”
Patrick cocked his head in interest. Juliet’s skin had gone ashen white. Why? His eyes traveled to the newest arrivals then back to Juliet. Surely Juliet hadn’t once had a romantic interest in Lord Lipscomb. He was more than thrice her age, for goodness’ sake.
“Is everything all right,” he whispered, taking the space on the settee Sir Wallace had just vacated.
Juliet nodded once.
“You do know we’ll have to go greet them, too, in a moment. Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“No,” she said with a swallow.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded again. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Drake,” Wallace called.
Patrick’s eyes shot to his cousin. “Right.” He stood then extended his hand down to help Juliet off the settee.
When Juliet gripped his hand, it was a touch tighter than normal. Odd.
“Lord and Lady Lipscomb, may I introduce you to my cousin, Lord Drakely, and his wife, Lady Drakely?”
The four made their formal introductions with bows and curtsies, and the like.
“I didn’t know your cousin had such lofty acquaintances,” Juliet murmured when they resumed their spots on the settee.
“I didn’t, either.” Wallace was a mere baronet, albeit a wealthy one, but a baronet all the same. It was obvious why Patrick was here, he was Wallace’s cousin, but the other two lords? He shrugged off the thought. “Have you ever heard of the term social climber?”
Juliet shook her head.
“It’s where someone of a lower station tries to use their means, either direct money or sometimes connections, to get a better spot in Society. I believe that’s what’s going on here?”
A small burble of laughter passed Juliet’s lips. “I don’t believe that. I’m sorry, Drake, but your cousin does not strike me as one who enjoys participating in Society.”
“You’re correct. But his mother, on the other hand, does.”
Juliet’s gaze shifted to where Lady Benedict sat between both Lady Chatterfield and Lady Lipscomb on the far settee. “What does a dowager baronetess possibly have to offer a countess and a marchioness to get them to pay her court?”
“Money.”
“Does she pay them to visit her?”
Patrick nearly choked on his laughter. “No. Well, yes, just not directly.” He scooted as close to Juliet as he dared and dropped his voice as low as he could. “See, Lady Chatterfield grew up not far from Wallace’s country estate. So they’ve known each other for years. However, I doubt it has anything to do with their knowing each other since Lady Chatterfield was in leading strings that she’s here. My bet’s on her gambling habit.”
“You mean?”
“Shhh. Yes, Lady Chatterfield is rumored to have a rather remarkable gambling debt.”
Juliet’s eyes widened. “And Lady Benedict pays it in exchange for her presence at dinner parties?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Goodness.” Juliet’s gaze lowered to where the point of her cream slipper was drawing circles on the plush rug. “What of Agatha?”
“Who?”
“Agatha.” Juliet whispered.
“Who the blazes is Agatha?”
“Lady Lipscomb.”
“Oh. I don’t know what favor she does for her.”
“But you think she does her some sort of financial favor?”
Patrick locked eyes with his wife. Why was she so curious? “Juliet, do you know Lady Lipscomb?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” He shook his head. “All right, Juliet. What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing. I was just curious.”
“Curious about the condition of Lord Lipscomb’s coffers?” he asked dubiously. “No. You have more than just a passing curiosity. I can see it in your eyes.”
She jerked her gaze away and returned it to her slipper in the carpet. “Never mind.”
Patrick fisted his hands so not to embarrass them both by showing any sign of affection toward his wife in public. Clearly Juliet and Lady Lipscomb knew each other from somewhere, but where? Juliet never came to London. Where would these two have met, and when? Juliet had lived in Devon all her life, except for the five years she had attended school. His eyes snapped to Lady Lipscomb. She looked about Juliet’s age, maybe a year or two off, but close enough. They must have attended that girls’ school together. Or had their come out together?
His stomach knotted. Either of those prospects suggested an unpleasant experience for Juliet. He may not have attended Harrow for more than a couple of terms, but that was enough to know exactly what happened to those who were what most would consider different. And there was no doubting it, Juliet was different. She wasn’t buxom or beautiful by most standards. Until yesterday, she’d had those hideous spectacles. Her hair was thick and unruly. Heaven only knew what her wardrobe looked like back then. If what she wore to their wedding was any indication as to the state of her “nicest” gowns, she would have certainly stood out in a room, and not in a good way.
Not to mention her unusual personality. She was nothing like what other young ladies aspired to be. She wasn’t frail or weak. Nor did she forget the purpose of both her brain and tongue the moment a gentleman looked in her direction. And while young ladies with these sorts of appropriate attributes were favored by many men, her lack of becoming a featherbrain was a point in her favor to Patrick. But men like him were rare. Most wouldn’t have given her as much as a second glance, and definitely not a third.
Rage pumped through him. For what exactly? He didn’t know. Perhaps it was for Mr. Hughes not borrowing enough money to see to his daughter’s wardrobe. Or perhaps it was rage directed at all the ladies, and even gentlemen, who dared treat Juliet poorly for her looks or disposition. Either way, it didn’t matter just what the cause of the rage was. He was angry on her behalf, and since Mr. Hughes wasn’t here to confront, Lady Lipscomb would have to do.
“What did she do to you?”
Juliet jumped, presumably at the roughness in his voice. “Nothing. Please, forget I even mentioned her.”
“No. I will not forget about it, Juliet. I want to know what she did to you.”
“She didn’t do anything to me,” Juliet said in stilted tones. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Drake, please. This is not the time.”
“Yes, it is. It’s the perfect time. Just tell me what she did, and I’ll fix it.”
Juliet looked at him with an expression he couldn’t fully read, but somehow knew it wasn’t one that held a lot of promise for her next words. “Drake, I do not need you to protect me. I may not care overmuch for her, but there is no reason for you or anyone else to confront her on my behalf.”
He blinked. He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear those words come out of Juliet’s mouth. She wasn’t one who relied on others to solve her problems for her. But just because she wasn’t like that didn’t make it any easier for him to accept the fact that she was forced to be seated across the room from someone who’d treated her poorly. “Would you like to leave?”
“No.” A teasing smile spread her lips. “Unless by leave, you meant go for an exploration of the gardens?”
&
nbsp; “I did, indeed.”
She swatted at him with her fan when he actually stood. He sat down. “I thought you said you wanted to take me to the gardens.”
Juliet closed her eyes for an extended blink. “Just because Agatha said I’d never be able to get a gentleman under the age of seventy to take me to the gardens, doesn’t mean I intend to prove her wrong.”
“You don’t?” Patrick asked, taken aback. Putting aside the fact that “Agatha’s” husband was probably fast approaching seventy, if not there already, the Juliet he knew, would not only delight in proving that silly chit wrong, but would take it a step further and purposely get caught kissing a gentleman who just so happened to be her younger, wealthier, and dare he admit, better-looking husband in the gardens.
“No. Just because I like proving you wrong every chance I get, doesn’t mean I intend to publicly embarrass you or myself, especially myself.”
He chuckled. “That’s very reassuring, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?”
All eyes shot to where Wallace stood in the middle of the room.
“Yes?” one of the older gentleman barked.
Wallace swallowed visibly. “It has been decided we should all play a group game.”
Patrick had to stop himself from groaning. He hated games. From chess to boxing and everything in between, he couldn’t think of a single game he enjoyed.
“What kind of game?” Mrs. Gulch, an uninteresting older woman, asked from her chair by the far window.
“A hiding game, I hope,” Patrick grumbled.
Juliet lightly elbowed him.
He dropped his head to whisper in her ear. “You cannot tell me you weren’t thinking the same. Everyone here was, including Wallace.”
Juliet elbowed him again, harder this time.
He sat back upright just in time to hear Wallace announce they were indeed about to play a hiding game.
“And while you all go hide. I shall sit right here and count to one thousand,” Wallace informed them.
