Page 61 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
The woman who stepped into the library now was elegant and self-possessed. Her dress was unadorned, and her curtain of golden hair was drawn back from a face that was grave and composed. She didn’t look like she’d had much more sleep than Evesham had.
She returned to her role as the unruffled chatelaine of Afton Park. It was a pity that her severe demeanor summoned to mind a march to the guillotine. This was someone prepared to face her fate, but there was no joy in her.
How could there be? His dashed irresponsibility had inveigled her into a scandal. He’d wager that she’d spent the night cursing his name. He’d spent quite a bit of the night doing the same. And struggling to come to terms with how low he felt because she wouldn’t marry him, even when a wedding was the only thing that would save her from disaster.
Without looking at either him or Granville, she curtsied. She was wan and determined. The line of her jaw told him that she meant to hold her own.
Bugger it. That meant that, this morning, his chances of changing her mind about marrying him were slim. He’d hoped against hope that a night of reflection would bring her around to accepting him, if only to restore her good name. What a moment to realize that claiming this exquisite woman would be his crowning achievement.
“Good morning, Juliet.” Portdown’s coldness surprised Evesham. He was usually the jolliest of fellows.
“Good morning, Papa,” she said with a hint of wariness.
Evesham couldn’t blame her. She must feel like she’d entered an ambush. An ambush where she was severely outnumbered.
As he greeted her, he fought the urge to stand up and tell her that he was going to whisk her away from all this misery. There had been quite enough histrionics last night. And anyway, she’d say no. The way she always said no to him.
“Good morning, Lady Juliet,” Granville said, rising and bowing.
“I’ve invited Granville and Evesham to join us, as they have a stake in this matter,” Portdown said with a dignity he’d lacked last night.
Juliet’s lips firmed, but she didn’t protest. “Good morning, Your Grace and Your Grace.”
“Please sit down. Because of last night’s events, we need to settle your future before the scandal engulfs all of us.”
Looking more like a doomed French aristo than ever, Juliet took a chair opposite Portdown. At least her father had resisted the impulse to berate her from behind his desk, as if she was a naughty schoolgirl.
Evesham waited for her to speak up, but she remained silent. Her graceful hands twisted in her lap, the only sign that she was more nervous than she appeared.
Granville cast him a lethal glance and sat beside her. Evesham took the place on the other side of her. He only realized his mistake when she shot him a resentful glare. Sitting between her two suitors would make her feel like a besieged castle.
Something that had puzzled him last night niggled at his mind. He knew why his proposal was unwelcome, however physically attractive she found him.
But why in hell had she broken her engagement to Granville?
“I’m appalled at your behavior, Juliet,” Portdown said. “Appalled and astounded. You’ve always been such a proper young lady. I’m ashamed of you.”
Evesham watched Juliet closely enough to see her hide a wince. This dressing-down in front of outsiders would humiliate her, he knew.
His “Any blame in this matter is entirely mine” clashed with Granville’s “My lord, chastising Lady Juliet serves no purpose.”
Juliet sent Granville a grateful glance. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Evesham tried not to mind that she ignored him.
Portdown went on. “What’s important is that we act to scotch any talk as soon as possible.”
Juliet looked directly at her father. “Papa, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I spoiled your Shakespeare gala.”
Her father scowled at her. “That’s not the worst of it. It was bad enough when Viola decided to kick over the traces. I never imagined that I needed to worry about you. You’ve never set a foot wrong. Damn it, Juliet, what on earth got into you?”
Faint color marked her cheekbones, and the hands in her lap clasped each other so tightly, her knuckles gleamed white. “Midsummer madness. I can only apologize again.”
Her father’s scowl intensified. “You can do more than that.”
He meant a wedding. Evesham spoke up. “Lady Juliet, please say you’ll be my wife. I swear I’ll do my best to be worthy of you.”
Blistering looks from Juliet and Granville told him that they found his statement unpersuasive.
