Page 47 of A Marriage for the Marquess

It was strange. As she approached his desk, she half-expected him to walk in, sit down, and begin his correspondence. Her fingers brushed over his crystal inkwell, his quill, and his blotter. She opened the single desk drawer, and her heart skipped a beat. She found his leather-bound diary.

Lifting it out, she chuckled softly. It was an old one from 1813. She knew Bradley kept a diary for each year. This was just one piece of his meticulous record-keeping.

“Bradley, what secrets have you kept?” she murmured, flipping through the pages filled with his elegant script.

1 January 1813

The Collingwood soiree was as grand as expected, though I confess I would have much preferred a day of hunting with my friends. I wore my finest navy tailcoat with silver buttons, a crisp white cravat, and freshly polished black boots.

The evening began with a dance with Celeste Collingwood. She looked lovely in her emerald gown, but I found her company rather dull. I suspect our conversation will not be one I’ll remember.

I was fortunate to find a chess game in the game room, where I spent most of the evening. It provided the stimulation I craved. Lord Aurington had remarkable luck at the card table, earning my admiration for his skill and composure.

Dinner was a feast. The menu included:

•Roasted pheasant with chestnut stuffing

•Creamed carrots and peas

•A rich beef consommé

•Freshly baked bread rolls

•Plum pudding for dessert

As the evening draws to a close, I reflect on the festivities with a mixture of satisfaction and longing for simpler pleasures. Tomorrow, perhaps, there will be time for more invigorating pursuits.

She chuckled at his description of Celeste Collingwood and his preference for chess over dancing. It was so very Bradley—reserved, thoughtful, and always seeking intellectual stimulation. Yet, beneath the lightheartedness, she felt a pang of sorrow. This was a window into a time when he was alive, when their family wasn’t shrouded in disaster and grief. She traced her fingers over the ink, imagining him sitting at his desk, writing these words, unaware of the dark shadows that would envelop their lives.

Reading his thoughts brought him closer, even if just for a moment. She sighed, closing the book with care. There were somany questions left unanswered, and she wondered if the pages of his other diaries might hold the key to understanding his secrets—and perhaps even her own.

Beneath the diary, a stack of letters caught her attention. Each was folded meticulously, bound not with ribbon but with the precision of a man who valued order even in chaos, but with twine. She untied them, her heart aching with each crease she smoothed out. There were several condolence messages, but others spoke of debts, of desperation, of a man cornered by his own folly.

Determined to find his current diary, she searched his wardrobe, under the cushions of his armchair, and even the window seat. Juliet pulled back the carpet and looked for signs of loose floorboards. She found nothing there. Her hands searched for loose bricks along the hearth but found none.

A small, carved chess piece, a black king, rested on the mantle. She picked it up, the wood warm from the sun that filtered through the window. “You were always the protector, weren’t you?” she said to the figure as if it were a channel to her brother. “Always rushing headlong into battle.”

With the diary, the letters, and the king as her talismans in hand, she glanced around the room to ensure everything was in order. She closed the door behind her and heard a familiar voice from downstairs. A moment of panic came over her before she hurried to her room and quietly closed the door.

*

“Lord Glenraven, welcome.”Mr. Wilcox greeted him and led him into the drawing room, where he found Mrs. Murthy serving tea to Aunt Geraldine.

“Good afternoon.” He was in a hurry and not his usual casual self. “Please tell Juliet that I’m here.”

Aunt Geraldine glanced at Mrs. Murthy and then at him. “We thought she was with you?”

He asked them questions, but they could offer no answers, heightening his anxiety. “Please inform me immediately when she returns,” he implored them before he rushed out.

As the sound of Ewan’s coach departing, Juliet came down the stairs, a small bag in hand filled with some essential items, including Bradley’s diary, correspondence, and the chess piece. Mrs. Murthy and Aunt Geraldine exchanged a glance before turning to her.

“Are you certain this is necessary? What will you do?” they asked, their voices filled with worry.

Juliet accepted Mrs. Murthy’s basket of food. “I must handle my family’s troubles without risking Glenraven’s future. He has much more to lose.”

“But he has so much more to gain with you by his side.” Both women protested.

Juliet smiled and hugged her aunt. “I wouldn’t expect you to say anything else, but don’t you see, he cannot announce our marriage without me. It’s safer this way.” She could see they weren’t convinced. “If he announced our marriage, what would stop Sebastian from making Glenraven his next target?”

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