Page 1 of A Marquess' Season of Secrets
Chapter 1
Juliana lifted her face to the sun, enjoying its warm rays for a brief moment before covering it under the shade of her parasol. Winter had finally relinquished its hold on Northamptonshire, and spring had taken its place.
Her friends chatted on either side of her as they walked through the village park late one morning, each one talking over the other as they discussed their plans for the warmer season.
“I cannot bear this sun!” Hannah suddenly wailed, startling them all. “Why did we choose to go walking today?”
Juliana laughed. “How can you ask that? You wished to promenade through the park to catch the attention of potential male suitors. I suggested fishing in Lord Richardson’s lake. At least be thankful this spring has not started out as wet as the previous year.”
The year 1811 had been a miserable wet spring and a dry summer by most standards, and many hoped for a better year.
“Be reasonable, Juliana,” said Emma. “How can you believe fishing in Lord Richardson’s lake is a worthy activity for us?”
“I would not have suggested it unless I thought it worthy,” Juliana insisted.
All three of her friends curled their lips in distaste at the very thought of standing with a fishing rod in their hands and catching stinky fish. Juliana sighed and shook her head. She loved her friends, but they had no sense of adventure.
“I would rather have my fish served on a platter and covered in parsley or butter sauce,” Emma claimed.
“I do not even like fish!” Phoebe added. “And fishing is a man’s sport. Why step on their terrain?”
“Do you not ever grow tired of the monotony?” Juliana asked, her exasperation growing. “We walk in the park, write letters, paint and draw, play instruments, dance ... why not widen our repertoire and try such things as fishing, archery, hunting, or perhaps even cooking?”
All three women gasped.
“Cooking?” Emma asked. “Surely you do not mean that? Have you attempted to cook?”
Last week, Juliana had attempted to flavour a stew while no one was looking, but she had not been successful. Their poor cook still had no explanation for the sudden bitterness of her venison stew, and Juliana had been too embarrassed to reveal what she had done.
“I said try,” she told Emma, ignoring her question. “You make it sound as though I have just asked you to become a servant.”
“You might as well have asked that very thing,” Hannah insisted. “Cooking is not for people of our class, and neither is all that manly sport acceptable for ladies. I cannot understand why you find such things interesting, Juliana. I still cannot believe you convinced your father that you should join his hunting club.”
“I’m a better hunter than most of the men in his club,” Juliana said with a shrug. “Why not include me?”
Phoebe shook her head. “You do all these odd things and still win our quarterly popularity contests. Why?”
“What do you wish me to say?” Juliana asked her. “I have never asked anyone to favour me above others.”
Northampton had a long-standing tradition of holding numerous contests throughout the year, such as catching the biggest fish or who could grow the biggest pumpkin. Phoebe’s mother had come up with the idea of having all the eligible young men and women cast a vote for who they believed was best suited for “Most Well-liked Person” title. It was silly, really, but it amused some.
“When shall we sit and rest our weary feet?” Hannah asked some moments later.
Of the four of them, Hannah was the one who detested long walks, but she was determined to be the first of the group to get married, and that included a sacrifice of doing what she hated.
“The closest bench is up ahead,” Juliana said. “Another minute or two of walking, and you can sit down. I wonder if Mr Giles is about? We can buy a few ices from him while we rest.”
“If he is, I would like the blackcurrant flavour,” Emma piped in. She seemed to think about that for a moment and shook her head. “Perhaps not. It dyed my mouth purple and made me look hideous in front of Geoffrey. Apple might be best.”
Juliana almost laughed as she recalled that day, but that would send Emma into tears, and she would have to spend the rest of the day making it up to the sensitive woman.
“Geoffrey didn’t mind,” Hannah told her.
“He couldn’t get away soon enough the second I opened my mouth,” Emma protested. “I doubt he’ll wish to dance with me at our next ball.”
Hannah and Phoebe tried to comfort the woman, but Juliana wisely said nothing. Geoffrey Atkins was a superficial man and would have found Emma’s stained mouth distasteful. He was already showing interest in Mary Peeple, the vicar’s wayward daughter.
They reached the bench, and fortunately, it wasn’t occupied. Juliana went off to look for the street vendor for their ices, worried he might be sold out or the ices had melted. The warm spring sun would not help keep his blocks of ice solid for long, even if they were packed with salt.
