And then—there she was.
Miss Potter, in all her unabashed glory, stood near the punch bowl. Tonight’s triumphant hat featured a stuffed owl, an arch of black lace, and what Juliet swore were actual ribbons of spiraled beetroot trailing down like streamers. The woman’s audacity knew no bounds, nor did her apparent lack of self-consciousness. Juliet wasn’t sure whether to envy her, admire her, or toss the owl a breadcrumb.
The sight drew a reluctant smile, one of the first she’d felt all evening. The familiarity of such an assembly put her at ease, reminding her of better times, whispered praises, the giddy swirlings on a dance floor. This was her element. Her home. A place she’d once commanded with nothing but a smile … at least it had been.
But that was in the past now.
She tucked in a stray curl, acutely aware she no longer belonged to this world in her borrowed dress and fake dignity. Were she not accompanied by Henry and his sister, she’d not have been allowed through the door.
“Ahh, Henry. Miss Russell. Good evening.” A stocky fellow in burgundy trousers that were far too tight dipped a bow.
Juliet edged behind Henry, allowing them to exchange pleasantries without having to introduce her. Despite the press of partygoers, she hadn’t felt this alone in a long time. Perhaps it was the memories crowding her throat that inspired such melancholy. Or maybe it was the fact that once Charity sailed for Italy, she would no longer be needed. Either way, she’d be glad when she could drift off to sleep tonight and escape reality, if only for a few hours.
She scanned the room by instinct, her attention catching on a solitary figure in the corner gripping a glass of blood-red wine that caught the light like a warning. Edwin Parker stood stiff and unsmiling, balanced by his polished cane. Anchored solidly. His eyes locked on Charity with such fierce focus it was as though no one else existed. For a fleeting moment, something unguarded softened the sharp angles of his face. Not calculation. Not disdain.
Longing.
Juliet’s breath hitched. Perhaps there was still feeling there—hidden beneath pride and distance. Love, especially when mingled with resentment or regret, could drive a person to strange choices. Whether that made Edwin Parker dangerous was impossible to say—but it was a possibility she could not dismiss outright.
Rising to her toes, she whispered behind Henry’s ear. “Mr. Parker is here and has noticed Charity, so be on alert.”
The fabric stretched taut across Henry’s back, yet his tone gave no hint of alarm as he addressed the man in front of him. “Pardon me, Mr. Hexam. I should not take up all your time tonight.”
“Nothing of the sort, my good fellow. I was just about to part ways and visit the punch table. I see Miss Potter and wish to examine her latest millinery conquest. The old girl never fails to surprise.”
As Charity bid Mr. Hexam goodbye, Henry turned on his heel, a muscle on his neck standing out like a whip staff. “Where is he?”
Juliet tipped her head. “Over—”
“Henry! I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.” Clara floated over, her ruby earbobs swaying against her stately neck. She truly was a picture, clad in white silk with golden embroidery—her gowna summer day against Henry’s winter night. A perfect match to him in every way.
Which oddly chafed.
Clara beamed a brilliant smile, her blue eyes aglow. “Charity, Juliet, you two are heavenly dreams, you look so lovely.”
“As do you, Clara.” Charity swept her hand from Clara’s shoulder to toes. “Your gown is exquisite.”
“Isn’t it?” She twirled in a graceful circle. The fabric shimmered as it cascaded around her shape, highlighting her curves. “Mrs. Fan did a splendid job, did she not? The most talented seamstress in all of Bedford, I daresay. And oh, Juliet, I had so hoped you would join me for tea after my final fitting, but you”—she turned to Henry with a mock glower—“have been keeping your houseguest far too occupied.”
He merely shrugged. “There has been much going on.”
“Oh?” Interest curved her lips. “I suppose I haven’t been over this week to catch up on all the latest. Nothing bad, I trust?”
“Nothing to concern yourself about.” Henry straightened his sleeves as if he hadn’t a care in the world. What composure, especially since he had to be itching to confront Mr. Parker.
Charity looped her arm through Clara’s, oblivious to any danger. “I really should make sure the silent auction items are in order. Would you like to join me?”
“I would, but the first dance is about to begin and who am I to break the tradition of sharing it with your brother?” She gently pulled away and rested her fingers atop Henry’s arm. “Unless, of course, I am presuming too much.”
“Well …” He paused, then offered a smile to them all. “Far be it from me to dishonour a custom.” He glanced at Juliet. “Would you mind accompanying my sister?”
“Not at all.”
The lie stuck in her throat like a fish bone. Her eyes lingered on Henry’s fine form as he led Clara to the dance floor. Not thatshe would mind going with Charity to the silent auction, but to see Henry arm in arm with Clara sent a sharp pang of jealousy through her.
More than anything, she wished to be the one at Henry’s side.
Henry took his place in the line opposite Clara, just as he had at every other ball he’d ever attended … only this time, he wondered what it would be like to take Juliet as his partner. He could, of course, but ought he? Should he indulge in such a pull, or would it only end in ruin?
