Page 6 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“Honestly, sometimes I think you live under a rock.” She clenched her fists in her skirts with frustration. “Granville has indicated that he considers me a suitable duchess.”
Her father still looked nonplussed, although surely he couldn’t be quite as ingenuous as he pretended. He’d attended almost as many balls this season as she had. He must have heard the gossip about a possible match. “Of course you are. You were born to be a duchess. Everyone has always said so. In fact, you would have become a duchess two years ago, if dear Bolton hadn’t suffered his unfortunate accident with those cart horses.”
Juliet hid a wince at the mention of her late suitor. “I have ambitions to become the Duchess of Granville. I believe His Grace and I will suit admirably.”
“He’ll be lucky to get you.”
“You’re not following me, Papa,” she said with some heat. “Thanks to Viola, I’m tainted by scandal.”
“We hushed that up with a quick wedding.”
“Which caused so much talk that Portia and I had to leave Town before the season ended. It’s possible that Granville has already shelved any plans to propose. If I’m embroiled with his worst enemy, I can kiss an offer goodbye.”
“How do you know that Granville and Evesham are at daggers drawn? I thought you and Evesham were strangers.”
“How do you not? The scandal was bad enough to keep tongues wagging for years. Heavens above, they were still talking about it seven years ago, the first time I went to London. Nine years ago, Granville was engaged to Vanessa Gould, before she ran off with Evesham.”
Her father frowned. “Now you mention it, I might have heard something along those lines. Did Evesham marry the chit?”
“No. That was the worst of it. There was a duel, and Granville winged Evesham. Evesham fired into the air, as well he should, given he was at fault. Then he and Lady Vanessa took off for the Continent and a life of sin. I heard they parted company soon afterward, and she disappeared from view. Whereas he’s devoted the time since then to offending every rule of morality. He’s not a fit person to introduce to your daughters.”
“He’s a duke. Dukes are always fit persons.” Papa gave her a critical glance. “Don’t get yourself in such a state, poppet. You’ll have plenty of chaperones while he’s here. Anyway, you’re more than capable of deterring improper overtures. I’ve seen you crush masculine impertinence a hundred times. I’m sure you’ll be safe.”
“I don’t care about my safety.” Telling herself a howling fit of rage would do nobody any good, she spoke through her teeth. “I care about people calling me one of Evesham’s strumpets.”
“You have such a pristine reputation. Nobody would say that.”
“What about Granville?”
“If he’s a man of sense, he won’t fly up into the boughs over a bit of playacting.”
Except knowing that the woman he courted was whispering romantic nonsense to Evesham must bring back painful memories. And while Granville liked Juliet and had made no secret of his intentions before Viola’s misstep, she’d been out of his sight now for several weeks. A lot could happen in London in several weeks.
Not only that, at twenty-six, Juliet was dangerously close to being an old maid. The world might say that she was born to be a duchess. She might picture herself sporting the famous Granville emeralds. But thanks to Viola’s misbehavior, Juliet Frain wasn’t quite the desirable match that she’d been at the start of the season.
Linking her name with Granville’s bête noire wouldn’t improve her chances of becoming his duchess. Granville was the last unmarried duke in England. Or at least unmarried and eligible.
Evesham wasn’t married, but she’d rather remain a spinster for the rest of her life than tie her future to that reprobate’s wagon.
Not that the reprobate would ever consider marrying her either. She was altogether too stiff-rumped for the ramshackle Duke of Evesham. Even if he was in the habit of wedding the women he ruined.
No, Granville was her only remaining chance at a duchess’s coronet. And with every second, she felt him slipping out of reach. It was enough to make her want to throw a tantrum. Even if elegant, composed Juliet Frain never allowed her temper to get the better of her.
Another reason why she’d make a superb duchess.
It seemed so unfair that having lost Bolton in tragic circumstances, fate should deprive her of the perfect replacement. She admired Granville more than anyone she’d ever met, and they had so much in common. A firm grip on duty, an understanding of propriety, a reforming temperament. They could establish a useful partnership that would benefit the nation.
Damn Viola and Renfrew. Damn her father. Damn the beau monde and its addiction to tattle. And damn Evesham for agreeing to play Romeo. Right now, she’d happily pitch every one of them into the lake that lay a mere stone’s throw from where she stood.
“If you lose me my chance to marry Granville, I’ll never forgive you, Papa,” she said with a bite that she hoped would pierce her father’s habitual self-satisfaction.
It didn’t. Instead, her father gave her a blithe smile that didn’t put her any more in charity with him. “You’re fretting unnecessarily. It’s all water under the bridge, my love. What’s important is the play. You and Evesham will make magic together. You mark my words. Then you can toddle off to wed Granville, and the two of you can set up home as happy as two pigeons in a nest.”
“Papa—” she began, but he raised his hand.
“We can’t leave His Grace waiting any longer. As it is, he must wonder why you needed to whisk me away for a coze the minute he appeared.”
She’d wager good money that His Grace knew exactly why she wanted to talk to her father. Evesham looked wicked. He looked worldly. He looked like he didn’t give a fig for public opinion. What he didn’t look was stupid.
