by Jo Beverley
“I never doubted you wouldn’t.” Juliette flopped down on her quilt-covered bed and curled her legs under her lawn nightgown. Colette never trusted her alone in the shop for long, and she wondered why she had done so this evening.
With a weary sigh, Colette sat on her own little bed across from Juliette’s and removed her shoes, kicking them across the room. “How are Mother and the girls?”
Juliette noted her sister’s actions with a growing sense of unease, but answered calmly. “They are fine. We had stew for supper. Lisette still had nothing to wear to go to the dance with Henry, but I gave her that pink gown of mine. You know that new one with the little puff sleeves? It never suited me anyway. Paulette annoyed me all evening long. Yvette is getting a cold. And Mother is suffering from her usual headache. There. That’s all there is to tell. Now, stop evading and tell me what you’ve been up to this afternoon.”
Ignoring her sister’s demands, Colette asked, “Did Mother ask where I was?”
Juliette shook her head. “Of course not. Does she ever? She assumed you were working down in the shop all evening.” Noticing Colette’s red-rimmed eyes and haunted expression, she suddenly had a feeling that more had happened at Lord Waverly’s than she suspected. And that something was not good. “Did Lucien kiss you again?”
Colette buried her face in her hands.
Juliette jumped off the bed and flew to her sister’s side. Placing a consoling arm around her, she asked, “What happened?”
“I don’t know if I can talk about it yet,” Colette confided in an anguished whisper.
“Why not?”
“It’s too dreadful, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, then you had definitely better tell me. Honestly, Colette, I can’t imagine you doing anything that’s so bad that you couldn’t tell me about it.”
“I’ve made a terrible, irrevocable mistake.”
“Take a deep breath, and start from the beginning,” Juliette instructed soothingly.
She listened while Colette haltingly began to explain the events that occurred after she delivered the books to Devon House. It all seemed perfectly fine. “So you met his father and dined with them. Agreeing to refurbish his library was a brilliant stroke of business genius. The shop will make a mint of money from his book orders alone! Even I can see the sense in that. So far, I see no problems. Supper is over, you said good-bye to his father, you’re on your way out the door, and what? He kissed you?”
Colette nodded imperceptibly and whispered, “Yes.” Her cheeks flamed scarlet.
“You kissed him before, so that can’t be what you’re upset about. What else happened?”
“We did more than just kiss.” Once again Colette hid her face in her hands after her guilty admission.
Stunned by the news, Juliette pondered what “more” referred to exactly. Over the years she had had her share of fleeting romances with eager boys who fancied themselves in love with her. She had let them kiss her once or twice and she had been unimpressed by them, and therefore had never ventured on to “more” than kissing. Now her imagination raced.
“What did you do?” Juliette asked in a hushed tone, fearful their sisters might overhear their conversation. Especially Paulette, who possessed exceptionally keen little ears.
“I cannot even say it,” Colette whimpered, her voice muffled in her hands.
Juliette thought for a moment, her imagination running wild. “All right, then, if you can’t tell me what you did, then at least tell me where you did it.”
Colette mumbled something unintelligible through her fingers.
“Say that again?”
“In his bed.”
Her sister’s voice was so soft Juliette thought she had not heard correctly. Surely Colette didn’t mean that! For Juliette knew what those words implied. Years ago she and Colette had hid behind a back shelf in the bookshop and furtively read about human reproduction in one of the large, leather-bound medical texts in the shop. A Complete Study of the Human Anatomy and All Its Functions by Doctor T. Everett had explained the act in detail and she and Colette had thought it all quite bizarre and cold, definitely not something one would engage in willingly.
“Oh, Colette,” Juliette whispered. “Are you okay?”
Colette groaned with a sheepish expression.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Juliette advised dryly.
“I feel sick to my stomach.”
Alarmed, she asked her, “Was it that terrible?”
“It’s not like the book at all,” Colette murmured under her breath.
Stunned by that bit of information, Juliette could only wonder, “Is it worse?”
Colette lifted her head, wiping stray tears from her red-rimmed eyes. She sniffled. “No. It was actually wonderful.”
Left speechless, Juliette stared wide-eyed at the implications of this development. “He didn’t…He didn’t force you to do it, did he?”
“No!” Colette responded so vociferously that Juliette was taken aback. “Lucien would never do that.”
She regarded her sister with a sense of wonder, having no frame of reference to guide her. “Well, what happens now?”
Colette’s face clouded with sadness. “That’s what I asked him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He won’t marry me.”
“He said that?” Juliette asked.
“Well, not in those exact words, but that’s what he meant.”
“But, Colette, do you want to marry him?” That was the more important question to Juliette’s way of thinking.
“Yes, I suppose,” she sighed. “But it’s pointless. He will never marry me. He wants a traditional wife. He disapproves of my working in a bookshop. I could never give up the shop, and he knows that.”
“You and the shop!” Juliette muttered in scorn. “Sell the shop and marry Lucien. It’s obvious that you’re in love with him.”
Colette’s tears began. “That’s the thing, Julie, I think I am in love with him, but he’s not in love with me.”
“But he should marry you. He’s a gentleman and it’s the right thing to do.” Growing angry, Juliette wanted to throttle Lucien Sinclair. How dare that man take advantage of her sister in such a way and then not have the decency to offer for her!
“He won’t,” Colette sniffled. “He’d rather marry that Faith Bromleigh.”
“He’s afraid of you, Colette!”
Colette shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. He’s been with so many other women and I’m simply another one on his list. In any case, I would more than likely not make a good countess or an eventual marchioness. I don’t think he loves me. If he did, none of the other things would matter all that much.”
“Maybe he loves you and just doesn’t know it yet?”
At Colette’s dire look of exasperation, Juliette continued, “Men often have difficulty recognizing their own feelings. Perhaps Lucien is just slow to warm up.”
“After what we just did this evening, I don’t think warming up is his problem.”
Juliette giggled helplessly at her sister’s little innuendo. “What was it like?”
Colette had always been forthright and honest with her. They had shared confidences about everything since the time they could talk. But ever since she met Lucien Sinclair, Juliette had sensed a reticence, a preoccupation, about Colette. She was not her usual self. It was as if Lucien had placed a spell over her, changing her somehow. Falling in love must have something to do with it, Juliette surmised. It seemed that Colette felt her feelings would be tarnished in some way by sharing them with her. Looking at her bright eyes and flushed cheeks, one would think she had a fever. Juliette knew instinctively that she would get no details on the subject of male and female sexual interaction from her.
“I can’t talk about it.” Colette’s voice filled with anguish. “Oh, Juliette, what am I going to do? He doesn’t want to marry me, and who will want to marry me the way I am now?”
“This is a problem.” Juliette nodded sympathetically. “Yet I’m still a little surprised that it’s your problem and not mine, quite frankly.”
Colette laughed a little and gave a halfhearted smile. “Me, too.”
“Well, I think you need to marry someone who may not know the difference or who would not really care that you’ve already been with someone else.”
“There is no such man,” Colette scoffed.
“Yes, there is.”
“Who?”
“Jeffrey Eddington.” Juliette’s words had an instant impact on her sister.
“That’s impossible!” cried Colette. “He would know right away if a woman was experienced or not, because he is so experienced. And a man like Jeffrey, just like any other man, would expect his wife to be a virgin.”
Juliette shook her head. “Not Jeffrey.”
“How would you know such a thing?”
“We talk about a lot of different things.” Juliette truly adored Jeffrey and they had become rather good friends over the last few weeks. It was nice to have a male who was completely candid and honest with her, who spoke his opinion and did not sugarcoat everything for her like other men did. Jeffrey was not in love with her, nor she with him. Most men of her acquaintance panted after her, trying to persuade her to marry them. But not Jeffrey Eddington.
Juliette knew she was beautiful and that men fell in love with her easily, but she had no use for most of the men she met. They bored her. They treated her as if she were made of glass and the slightest upset might shatter her. They didn’t understand her or believe that she had a brain and thoughts and opinions of her own. When she let loose her caustic wit, they did not know how to respond to her and fled. Now she had earned herself a reputation as a heartless flirt.
It was why she appreciated Jeffrey Eddington. He treated her like an equal, while always behaving as if she were a lady.
“You talk about such things with him?” Colette asked, her mouth gaping wide, scandalized at the idea.
Juliette gave her a meaningful glare. “I only talked with him about intimate activities between men and women. Unlike you, I have not engaged in those activities.”
At Juliette’s riposte, Colette could say little in her own defense. Deflated, she said, “You are right. Forgive me. I have no room to criticize you after my own behavior. Please tell me what Jeffrey said.”
Feeling justified and somewhat superior to her older sister for the first time, Juliette explained, “He is of the opinion that a woman’s past is her own business.”
“That is surprising.”
“Not once you get to know him better. It must have something to do with his mother and her affair with the Duke of Rathmore. Jeffrey has had an unconventional family life, and that has opened him up to a wider range of thinking. I think you should marry him.”
“Jeffrey Eddington?” Colette’s voice almost rose to a screech.
“Yes. I believe he has some tender feelings for you. And he’d be a wonderful husband.”
“Tell me how he would feel knowing I have been intimate with his best friend?”
“Yes,” Juliette acknowledged with a frown, “that might be a little tricky.”
“And you are forgetting that I don’t love him.”
“Love has little to do with anything in many marriages, Colette. You know that as well as I do. And you have precious few options as it is. For all that he is an illegitimate rogue, Jeffrey is young and handsome, in addition to being wealthy, smart, humorous, and kind. You couldn’t do much better than him.”
Colette was silent for a few moments. “Do you really believe he has feelings for me?”
Nodding, Juliette suddenly realized what she had to do to save her sister. She needed Jeffrey’s help, but she was not certain she would get it. Given the right opportunity and timing, this idea could work…
Chapter Eighteen
A Cottage by the Sea
Colette sat frozen in place, not believing what she heard, too stunned to move. The pretty cabbage rose–patterned wallpaper in the parlor blurred in front of her, forming a hazy sea of red before her eyes. Her heart hammered wildly and her hands shook in her lap. Staring numbly at her mother and Uncle Randall, she could barely make her mouth form the terrible words. “You sold it? You sold the shop? Our home, the building, everything?”
“We had no choice, Colette. Money had to be gotten from somewhere. You and your sister turned down half a dozen offers of marriage. Selling this building was the most logical solution.” Uncle Randall’s voice seemed hollow and surreal to her. The spider veins on his nose seemed more prominent and his bushy eyebrows narrowed over his cold eyes.
“Who bought it?” Colette could focus on nothing but the fact that she’d lost the bookshop. Her mother and her uncle had betrayed her. She had suddenly lost everything she had ever worked for. They had not even consulted her before ripping her heart out.
“That is the strange part,” he explained, sitting back in the armchair near the mantle. “It was bought, for a higher price than we asked for I might add, under the strict condition that the buyer remain anonymous.”
“What in heaven’s name does that mean?” Colette cried in confusion.
Uncle Randall shrugged. “It’s none of my business why, but someone wishes to keep the fact that he bought this building a secret. So for the time being there is no rush. The contract stipulated that the new owner was not interested in occupying the space anytime soon, so no changes are necessary right away. Ample notice will be given before they even require you to vacate the premises, which means that your mother can choose a new house with ease. Isn’t that right, Genevieve?”
Swallowing against the wave of nausea that flooded her, Colette could not look at her mother. Genevieve had sold the shop without a word to her eldest daughter, knowing how much it would hurt her. After all Colette had done to support the family. The feeling of betrayal knifed her heart deeply. Her mother had given Uncle Randall her consent to sell, when she had promised Colette that she would not.
“C’est pour le mieux.” Her mother’s weak voice wafted over from the velvet chaise where she reclined in her usual debilitated pose. “It is all for the best, Colette.”
Ignoring her, Colette asked a question of her uncle. “Does that mean I can at least keep the shop open until I hear otherwise from the new owner?” If the new owner had no imminent plans to occupy the building, then perhaps Colette had a chance to try to buy or even rent the shop back. However remote such a possibility was.
“I suppose so, although why you are spending your time there baffles me,” her uncle said gruffly. “You need to put your energies into finding a husband, not managing a bookshop. You should be grateful to be rid of the place.”
“Your uncle is right.” Again her mother chimed in. “It is high time you were married and had a husband to look after you.”
Colette still refused to look at her mother or even acknowledge that she had spoken. An anger, a white-hot rage, that she had never before experienced flooded every fiber of her being. Suddenly unable to speak for fear she would begin screaming, she stood without a backward glance to her mother or uncle and left the room, slamming the door behind her. She raced down the steps and out the front door.
Once out on the street, she was not sure where to go. She stood looking up at the small dark green building she had loved her entire life. The sight of the elegantly scripted letters that spelled out “Hamilton’s Book Shoppe” above the front window brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She stood there for some minutes, staring until she could bear it no longer. But the pent-up anger and frustration within her compelled her to go somewhere. Anywhere but where she stood.
Turning hurriedly, she walked ahead blindly, blinking back tears, not seeing the ladies and gentlemen strolling by or hearing the large omnibuses loaded with passengers clambering along the street. The dusky sun lowered behind a cloud-strewn sky. Shops closed their doors for the night. Lamps were b
eing lit in the windows of the houses. Colette kept walking, oblivious to where she was going. Her steps became more hurried as she went. She had to think what she would do next.
Mother sold the shop. Mother lied to me. Mother sold the shop. Mother lied to me. The words repeated over and over in her head, becoming louder and louder. She’d lost everything, everything she had worked so hard for, all for a little cottage by the sea. Not only had she lost the bookshop, but she had made a complete fool of herself over Lucien Sinclair. Now she would be reduced to an old maid in a cottage by the sea, spending the rest of her life living with her mother. Tears ran down her face as she made her way along the street.
Her mother, her bitter mother who carelessly dropped the responsibility of raising her children on Colette’s shoulders, who could not be bothered with the tedious task of paying the bills or managing the bookshop, suddenly felt she knew what was best for Colette and sold the shop. The woman who cried, fainted, and pleaded a headache at the slightest inconvenience, the woman who avoided financial matters, the woman who had not left the confines of her house in years and was content to let her daughters manage everything on their own—now she knew how to make a business decision without consulting Colette?
Her anger at her mother seethed and roiled within her.
In one calculated move, her mother had swept away the one part of Colette’s life that she had made her own.
She ignored the strange looks she received from passersby, not caring what anyone thought of her. She simply needed to get away. Away from her mother. Away from her uncle. Her sisters. The shop. But where could she possibly go? It did not really matter as long as it was not home. For an instant she thought of walking to Devon House to see Lucien, and then just as quickly as she considered it, she dismissed the idea. She had not seen Lucien since their passionate night together, and her pride would not allow her to go crawling back to him. She would not go back to Lucien, however much she longed to be held in his arms.
She crossed the crowded street and continued up the avenue, just walking.
