Page 11 of His Unforgettable Bride
When a whistle screeched from a steamboat in the harbor, she peered over her shoulder. The town was nestled on a cleared hill that sloped gently toward the water at the Fraser River Delta’s fork. Whitewashed houses mixed with shops on Everly’s Main Street at the foot of the hill. A fishmonger along the shore hawked his wares, his voice echoing.
Against the backdrop of mountains to the north, the town sat on the mainland of British Columbia across the Strait of Georgia from Vancouver Island, a seven-hour steamboat ride. The northern range, with its rocky peaks and massive forests, was a magnificent sight, especially from the hilltop where she now stood.
She spun around and continued toward her destination, taking her merry time. The town had not yet built wooden walkways in the neighborhood. The higher she climbed, the fancier the houses. A hefty breeze rippled the puddles. A vast grassy park stood to her left, and evergreens hemmed the town on three sides and the mighty Fraser River behind her.
Her sodden shoes squeaked with each step. Her stockings stuck to her legs, and her cold skin had shriveled and sprouted gooseflesh. She stopped walking and yanked up her skirts to wring out all the moisture she could summon as she tried to recall Mrs. Morseby’s specific instructions.
Didn’t she say the respectable sisters resided across from Queen’s Park in a pink-and-green two-story house with a copper roof on Birch Street? Also, the dwelling had a lattice and a turret, whatever that was.
Her gaze swept across the road and over the surrounding houses, halting abruptly at two women staring at her from the front steps of a property that matched Mrs. Morseby’s description.
Snakes alive. She dropped her skirts. Had they watched her hike her garment above her knees? Well, of course, they had.
Juliet’s stomach sank.
Both appeared to be middle-aged based on the lack of youthfulness on their faces. The shorter sister wore more white ruffles than should be allowed and an enormous flouncy hat. Long of limb, the other one held a closed umbrella. Her oatmeal-beige dress was fancy yet simple at the same time.
Although Juliet had learned to stand up to a gang of no-good hoodlums in England, high-class ladies made her quake. Now she risked losing her job before stepping foot in their house, and she couldn’t let that happen. No, ma’am.
Focused on the house, she strode forward. Buildings offered no judgment. Two chimneys stuck up on each end. The remainder of the home included four upstairs windows, three down, an imposing door left of center, and wrought iron railings beside the steps. Shrubs trimmed the front and large side lawns, probably keeping the neighbors from snooping too much.
Juliet, her resolve firm, didn’t stop until she stood near the bottom of the stairs, below the two women. She straightened her shoulders and offered a tight smile. “I’m Juliet Dash. Mrs. Moresby sent me. I’m here for a one-month trial or something along those lines.”
The lady in beige had sharp, bright eyes, more green than blue. Although willowy in build, she had a staunchness about her, perhaps due to her arrow-straight posture and raised chin. Her hair, the color of weak tea, was gathered and trapped in a crocheted netting at her nape. “Allow me to introduce my younger sister and myself. This is Livy Sherwood, and I’m Tabitha Pierce. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”
“I apologize for looking like a wet cat, but I got caught in the rain.”
Livy offered a genuine, welcoming grin, descended the steps, and closed the gap between them. Everything about her appeared as soft as a pillow—fleshy chin, plump rosy cheeks, and whatever hid beneath her shapeless dress. Her red nose signaled a cold. Pearls trimmed her monstrous hat, covering all evidence of hair, and her greenish eyes were as inviting as her smile.
“We were going to the park since the rain stopped.” Standing before Juliet, Livy tilted her head as she examined her. “Let me get a good look at you instead. You have beautifully high cheekbones, a fine figure, and the starkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Umm…thank you.” Over the years, boys and men had praised her looks, but she didn’t put much stock in compliments. Sometimes, hearing flowery words was nice, but all too often, the compliments came with a motive or a price.
With her lips pursed, Tabitha clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m afraid I must mention the inappropriateness of you wringing out your skirts in the street moments ago, Miss Dash.”
Juliet had no excuse for her careless actions and would never conjure up such a thing. But now the ladies likely deemed her a wild hoyden. She truly wasn’t, not anymore. “My behavior wasn’t ladylike. I know that, and I’m probably not what you expected.”
Sure as shooting, they’d fire her. Now that they’d met her, they’d see she didn’t belong in a tearoom. “Do you want me to leave?”
Livy reached for Juliet’s wrist, her fingers warm. “Of course not. Isn’t that correct, Tabitha?”
“It is.” Her tone and facial expression were frank and unconvincing.
Livy’s oversized hat bounced as she nodded. Any minute, the breeze might pitch it across the lawn. “When Mrs. Moresby wrote, she explained your unique circumstances.”
Unique? That was one word for it. “Yes, ma’am.”
Tabitha’s face somehow grew even tighter than before. “A young lady in our care does not chase wherever her impulses lead her. Is that understood?”
“Yes, and I’ll do my best to stop doing that, starting now.” Except Juliet’s whims sprinted every which way far too often.
A raindrop plopped onto Juliet, quickly followed by more, cooling her suddenly warm face.
“Let’s assemble inside, shall we?” Livy turned and led the way, hurrying up the broad steps and opening the door wide.
Tabitha entered the house ahead of her sister, but Juliet remained rooted where she stood.
“Hippity hop, Miss Dash,” Livy called from the doorway. “Otherwise, my lovely hat may slump in this weather. I was convinced the sun wanted to shine, but alas, I was mistaken.”
