Page 47 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

Juliana fell back, releasing Honoria’s hands and seating herself fully on the floor. Perhaps she didn’t know her sister-in-law as well as she’d thought. “You didn’t?!”

Honoria’s smile turned sly, and she gave a tiny nod.

“But what about Victor?”

“Please believe me. I had no idea Victor’s intentions toward Adalyn had become so serious. At the ball Miranda mentioned, he tried to propose to Adalyn, but she rejected him.”

“Poor Victor.”

Honoria’s gaze became unfocused. “The heart wants what it wants.”

Somehow, Juliana understood Honoria wasn’t only speaking of Victor.

“Do you think Victor still loves her?”

“I don’t know. Adalyn wasn’t convinced he lovedheras much as the idea of her.” Honoria retook Juliana’s hands in hers. “You’re concerned because I said you resemble Adalyn?”

Even though her attachment to Victor wasn’t real, the question lingered. “Yes.” Victor’s tender touches, his kiss upon her hand, the softness in his eyes when he looked at her—could they be because he was imagining Adalyn?

“You are your own woman, Juliana. Are there similarities? Yes. But Victor is an honorable man. He’s proven that today. He cares for you—you, Juliana.”

A knock at the door drew their attention to the nurse in the doorway. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace. Lady Kitty is awake.”

With a final squeeze to Juliana’s hands, Honoria rose. “Trust Victor, Juliana.”

Juliana hoped with all her heart she could.

Seatedbefore his father’s desk, Victor tried to explain. “As usual, the reports inThe Muckrakerare false. However, to save Miss Merrick’s reputation, I have offered for her.”

His father nodded, the dark half-moon shadows under his eyes disturbing. “I would expect no less. Any speculation as to why such lurid claims were levied against you and the good lady?”

“There issomething.” Victor trusted his father. “When Mother and Miss Whyte visited a few days ago, I had some sketches of another lady out. I placed them aside, but...”

His father’s face reddened as he straightened in his chair. “If your mother had anything to do with this, I shall send her back to Lincolnshire forthwith!”

“Calm yourself, Father. I’m formulating a plan. I don’t think either Lydia or Mother is directly responsible.” At least he prayed his mother wasn’t directly responsible. What type of mother would spread gossip that her own son had sketches of an unclothed woman lying about, even if her son was an artist?

Father answered that question, veritably spitting out the words. “Unless she hopes that publicly shaming you will force you to give up on your dreams. After what happened with Priscilla, nothing your mother does surprises me.” He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the disgust rattling in his brain.

“If Mother did have a hand in this, it backfired. Miss Merrick is the last person she wishes to see me wed.”

“Hmph. Her brother is a duke. And I happen to like Burwood. He’s a very ambitious young man for one so new to the title. I expect we’ll see great things from him. You could do much worse than align yourself with his family.”

Victor didn’t disagree. But . . .

His father interrupted Victor’s wandering mind. “Do you care for the girl?”

“I like her very much.”

With a nod, his father said, “Then I have something for you.” He placed both hands on the desk’s surface and pushed up, a quiet moan escaping his lips. When had he needed such assistance?

“Father, are you unwell?”

His father glanced over his shoulder. “Only old bones. Enjoy your youth while you can.”

Awareness flashed in Victor’s mind of his father’s stiff gait, the placement of a hand on his back after rising. When had he grown—old?

Victor had always admired his father, aspired to be like him when the day came and Victor inherited the title. A good man who wielded power justly. However, he had no wish to have those aspirations come to fruition so soon. He wasn’t ready to assume the responsibilities of the viscountcy.

---