Page 60 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“Goodness, we’ve got a house full of guests. Who’s been looking after our visitors?” Juliet’s duties as hostess had completely fled her mind. The people lucky enough to be invited to stay at Afton were supposed to remain for a short house party after the gala.
Mary finished fastening her gown and started arranging Juliet’s hair. “Everyone left after breakfast, my lady, apart from the Edgecombes, and they’re away after lunch.”
They’d probably stayed to see if they could ferret out more gossip, Juliet thought uncharitably. She winced when Mary began to work at a knot. Her troubled night meant that her hair was a complete bird’s nest this morning.
Her life was a complete bird’s nest, too.
“We have no more guests?”
“The two dukes have stayed on, my lady.”
Of course they had. Her torments were far from over. “I suspect they’ll be away today, too.”
Mary began to arrange Juliet’s hair in a soft chignon. For a moment, she almost told her maid to do something more severe. Then she stopped herself. She refused to go to this interview in sackcloth and ashes. That would give her father too much advantage.
“I don’t think so, my lady. They’ll both be here tonight at least. Not that the staff mind. They’re considerate, easygoing gentlemen who do most of their own organizing. Unlike some who don’t bear nearly such lofty titles. We’ve all been honored to serve the two His Graces. Nice, appreciative, polite guests.”
That was unexpected enough to penetrate Juliet’s gloom. She’d imagined that Evesham would be a nightmare of untidiness and disorganization and that Granville would be cold and distant and demanding.
Mary must know by now that Juliet had kissed Evesham, yet one would never guess it from her respectful manner. But then most of the staff here had known her all her life. They would be slower to judge her unfit for company than society would. As Afton Park was to be her lair for the foreseeable future, that mightn’t be a bad thing.
Finally, both too late and too soon, she was ready. She checked her appearance in the mirror. She almost looked her capable, composed self, if one ignored the purple shadows under her eyes and the strained line of her lips.
“Would you like a morsel to eat before you go downstairs, madam?”
A breakfast tray had arrived as she’d left her bed. So far, it remained untouched. To prove that her calm was only on the surface, the thought of food made her gorge rise. “No, thank you. Although a cup of tea would be nice.”
“It will be cold by now. Shall I order some more?”
Juliet could imagine her father, never the most patient of men, fuming if she delayed any further. “I’ll drink it cold.”
After a mouthful of unpleasantly stewed tea, she stood and trudged toward the door. She almost didn’t feel frightened, until she caught Mary’s reflection in the mirror. Now that her maid didn’t have to pretend to tactful ignorance, she looked sick with anxiety.
The tea threatened to come up again. Because last night, Juliet had broken too many rules to find quick redemption.
Most of all because she refused to contemplate an uncongenial marriage, which was the shortest road to restoring her good name.
Chapter 17
Evesham sat in Portdown’s library, as an increasingly awkward silence built. His lordship did his best to pretend the two dukes who shared this room with him didn’t detest each other, but it was a losing battle.
Evesham also suspected that, right now, Portdown would dearly like to punch him in the nose for destroying his daughter’s formerly unsullied reputation. But he couldn’t risk sending any of Juliet’s suitors away in a huff before a wedding could be arranged.
A punch in the nose would give him a bruise to match the mottled purple and green extravaganza on his jaw. He’d spent more time than usual dressing this morning, but his marked face rather counteracted the effect of combed hair, a snowy neckcloth and a fashionable navy blue coat.
When he’d entered the library, Evesham had been surprised – and displeased – to see Granville present as well. He’d hoped that the sod would scuttle back to London with the other guests, who had taken off in a flying hurry to spread word of Lady Juliet Frain’s fall.
It was apparent that Portdown hoped that if Juliet wouldn’t take on his disreputable self, Granville could persuade her to accept him as an alternative.
Evesham remained astounded that Granville was willing to stand by Juliet. Even more astounded that she hadn’t leaped at the offer.
They’d all sparked a gigantic scandal last night, but if Juliet became a duchess, she’d come out ahead. There might be a few whispers about her flirtation with Evesham. More than a few, given his tricky history with her new husband. But whatever her reputation, the Duchess of Granville would be accepted everywhere.
The unexpected generosity of Granville’s response made Evesham question the low opinion that he’d always held of the fellow. Vanessa had hated the man, but she’d had her reasons. And if Evesham was honest, he’d accepted her assessment of her betrothed without too much analysis. Now, he wondered if perhaps His Grace mightn’t be quite the sink of irredeemable dreariness that Evesham had always judged him to be.
Which didn’t stop Granville despising him with every atom in his body. Last night, the man had wanted to commit murder. Evesham knew that hadn’t changed. It said something for the swine’s affection for Juliet that he could stomach Evesham’s company this morning.
The door opened, and Juliet appeared on the threshold. As Evesham rose to bow, he studied her. Last night in the play, she’d been incandescent. Even more incandescent in his arms afterward.
