Page 18 of His Perfect Bride
Juliet nodded. “We shared a cabin on theRobert Loweduring the voyage here to the colony and became fast friends.”
Augusta must have discovered Juliet’s connection with Willow during the tea a short while ago and made arrangements with Juliet—probably secretly—to meet at the back gate.
Juliet was still smiling and taking in Sage, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “You’ll never guess, not in a hundred thousand years, what happened to Willow.”
Was that a note of sarcasm in Juliet’s tone? Or was she being serious?
“She got married,” Juliet continued.
“That’s wonderful.” Willow had come on a bride ship, so it was only natural she would have found a husband after being in the area for nine months. Sage knew she ought to be happy for her sister. Why then did the news only make her feel the pain of losing David all over again?
“I’m sure you’ll also never guess who the lucky fellow is.”
“I’m sure I won’t.”
Juliet’s smile turned into a smirk.
Was Juliet referring to Caleb, Willow’s long-time best friend, the man she’d sworn she would never marry because they were ever and only friends? Caleb had also been adamant that he would never get married. “It has to be Caleb.”
Juliet nodded.
Oh dear. What had changed Willow’s mind about marrying Caleb? And his about her?
The last night that Sage had spent with Willow on their pallets in the chilled dampness of their flat, Sage had encouraged her sister to use the opportunity to break free of Caleb and learn to be independent.
That obviously hadn’t happened. In fact, it would appear the complete opposite had occurred.
“She and Caleb got married back in the spring.” Juliet seemed to sense the questions that Sage hadn’t yet voiced. “Never saw anyone as much in love as the two of them.”
“That’s lovely to hear.” The words sounded forced, certainly not congratulatory or excited that Willow had finally found love, even if it was with Caleb.
“Theirs is a long story.” At a call from somewhere in the Firths’ yard, Juliet glanced toward the upper stories of the house which rose above the gardens. She was probably being summoned back to her work. “I’ll have to let them tell you their tale when you see them.”
Did that mean Willow wasn’t working in service as a domestic after all? “Where are they living?”
At another distant call, this one more demanding, Juliet backed up a step and began to make her way to the gate. “They have a farm on Salt Spring Island.”
A farm? On an island? “So she’s not in Victoria?”
“No, the island is north of Victoria and north of Saanich Peninsula. Not too far if you go by steamboat.”
“Lovely,” Augusta interjected. “Sage and I shall go together and make a day of it, sightseeing along the way. Perhaps on Saturday once the dinner party is behind us.”
“Of course.” Sage tried to feel grateful to Augusta for her generosity, but she didn’t want to wait to see Willow, and she certainly didn’t want just infrequent visits by steamboat. But after more than a year of being apart from Willow, what were a few more days?
Juliet entered back through the gate, latched it, and then began to stride away with a wave. “When you see her, tell her hello from me. And let her know I’m still happily working for the Firths.”
“I will.”
After Juliet disappeared through the Firths’ elaborate garden, Sage followed Augusta back inside. She was grateful to the dear woman for finally locating someone who could give her information about Willow. Even so, Sage found herself feeling more homesick than ever for her family, knowing Willow was so close and yet still so far away.
When Augusta insisted on going to her dress fitting alone, Sage didn’t protest. Instead, she’d assured Augusta she would be busy with her lists of chores, which included tidying the dining room.
Thankfully, Augusta had already convinced Jackson to relocate his current bridge model to his study. Now that the study was organized, they’d discovered there was room for a table, especially after they’d moved out two wingback chairs.
After transferring the model, Jackson had left behind a mess of fragments and glue and nails and other items that Sage couldn’t name. As usual, though, she organized everything, sorting the pieces by size and kind into small bowls.
When she finished, she hesitated outside the closed door of his study with the tray of bowls. Should she just place it on the hallway floor?
