Page 22 of Taken By the Broken Duke
“I think I will go for a walk,” Juliet replied, resolving to be out of her Aunt’s company for a while.
“You will sit down,” Aunt Margaret repeated, pointing at the chair opposite her.
For so long, Juliet had been deferential to her Aunt and Uncle. After all, they had taken her in when she was orphaned. Her home had been sold to pay for her mother’s care. When her father had followed his wife to the grave so soon after she had passed, Juliet was left with no one and nowhere to turn to. Since then, she owed everything she had to the Godwins. It made her feel beholden to them. It was a debt she could not repay, having no means of her own. Instead, she could be obedient and respectful, mindful of the debt.
She pulled out the chair and sat, folding her hands in her lap. Aunt Margaret made a satisfied sound and then Juliet heard the nib of the quill scratching against paper. She heard but did not see as she cast her eyes downwards.
“I must say, that intentional or not, your actionshaveproven advantageous for our family,” Aunt Margaret began, her tone clipped. “I would have preferred Frances to be the sacrifice made to prevent scandal. But you will serve just as well. Consider it repayment of the debt you owe your uncle and me.”
Juliet felt a stab of irritation at her words. Enough to shatter her usual docility.
“I was not in your debt when I lived with Mama and Papa. I did not choose for them to die.”
“Did you not? Such ingratitude,” Aunt Margaret tutted, not looking up.
“I am grateful—for a roof over my head, and—”
“And food, and fine clothes, and being taken to society balls,” her aunt went on waspishly.
“I did not ask for fine clothes or society balls,” Juliet shot back, her voice rising with the injustice of it all. “If I had been left at Wetherby as I wished, none of this would have happened, and no sacrifice would be needed.”
She looked up defiantly, meeting Aunt Margaret’s cold stare. Once upon a time, that stare would have left Juliet stammering and begging for forgiveness. As a child, it would have presaged an order for Juliet to be beaten by the governess she shared with Frances and Edith. Now, she refused to look away. Refused to apologize.
Perhaps the predicament which she found herself in had made her braver. After all, what more could they do to her? She was already being forced to marry a man she hadn’t chosen, a man who would wield power over her whether the union was one of convenience or not. Suddenly, the threat of Aunt Margaret’s temper seemed to pale.
Juliet’s eyes were drawn by movement behind Aunt Margaret. At a first-floor window, she saw the Duke, looking down at her. Their eyes met, and a sharp thrill ran through her. The memory of her dream surged back. A scandalous echo of her sleeping thoughts. Heat flared in her cheeks, vivid and unmistakable. She prayed the Duke was too far to notice, though Aunt Margaret certainly was not.
“You do well to blush, child! Never have I heard such disrespectful ingratitude. We could have dragged you to the workhouse. We could have abandoned you to become a ward of the parish… what are you looking at?”
Aunt Margaret had realized that Juliet was looking over her shoulder. She turned, but as she did, the Duke stepped away from the window. Juliet felt a pang of loss. She told herself that it was the dream that was having such an effect on her emotions.A vivid dream brought on by the symptoms of the illness. The Duke was an intensely attractive man, but she could not allow herself to consider him as a viable husband.
“Well?” Aunt Margaret demanded.
“I thought I saw someone at the window,” Juliet murmured, feeling somewhat deflated.
“The Duke, perhaps?” Aunt Margaret said with sudden interest. “Do not make the mistake of thinking of him as a husband,” she went on, unconsciously echoing Juliet’s own thoughts, “I should be very surprised if he does not dislike you, or even hate you. After all, it must seem to him that we are conspiring to entrap him—”
That is because you are.
“I am not,” Juliet muttered instead.
“That is what I should expect you to say. Regardless, you will be legally married to him and that is all that matters. It is not necessary for him to love you or even like you. We shall reap what we can from the match while it lasts.”
Juliet could not quite believe her Aunt’s openly mercenary attitude. There was a fresh contempt in her eyes when she looked at Juliet and she clearly felt no need to conceal her plans from her niece. Aunt Margaret must think nothing of her at all to be so open.
“You clearly do not believe that I will do anything to…rock the boat,as it were,” Juliet said, “you are being so open with me, not attempting to conceal your true feelings towards me. Do you believe, perhaps, that there is no danger at all in speaking so openly of your plans? That I can do nothing to upset them?” Juliet finished, coldly.
The customary meekness she felt before her domineering Aunt was fading away. Anger replaced it, inspired by her Aunt’s contemptuous tone. Juliet was suffering from an illness that had killed her mother. Could not get an answer from the far-off doctor who had been treating her and was the only authority on the condition in the country. Had been humiliated in public and was now being passed to the Duke like an object. Like a parcel. Her Aunt believed she could be handed over without so much as consulting her. The Duke believed he could command the marriage. Again, without a word of consent from Juliet.
No one cared for how she felt or what she thought.
“You will do nothing to upset them. Or you might live to regret it—”
Juliet shot to her feet, the sudden movement toppling the wrought iron chair backward with a resounding clatter. She jumped at the noise, though Aunt Margaret remained unmoved. Her knees shook beneath her, her breath coming in shallow, frantic bursts.
“Will I? Then do your worst, Lady Swindon. Throw me out of Wetherby. Take the fine clothes, take everything! I will wanderthe byroads of England and sleep under a hedge if I must—but I will not be bullied by you any longer!”
She refused to even dignify Aunt Margaret with her familial title. Her hands clenched into fists. Her head spun and she hoped that it would not become a full swoon. She did not want her act of defiance to end with collapse. Aunt Margaret’s eyes bulged and her face turned from red to purple. She put down the quill so hard that it snapped under her hand.
