“Agreed,” she whispered. Would to heaven she could travel back in time and remedy that mistake.
“Oh!” Clara clapped her hands, beaming. “A reunion of friends. How lovely. And extraordinary, being that neither of you are from Bedford.”
“That is a coincidence,” Charity joined in.
“Quite.” Colin narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to, Juliet?”
“Miss Finch”—Henry stepped closer to her, her name on his lips a shield, a defense, as was the sharp lift of his brow—“is here at my request.”
“Your request, eh?”
Juliet’s pulse thudded in her ears. That look in Colin’s eyes—sharp and almost eager—wasn’t new. It was the same look he’d worn when delivering the final blow to their engagement. He’d called it duty to his family’s good name, but she saw it now for what it was—a retreat. A carefully measured escape from a match that might have tarnished the shiny facade he took great pains to polish. And yet here he stood, acting as if she were the one who’d wronged him. Her stomach soured. It wasn’t enough that he’d abandoned her. Now he meant to destroy her standing with these new acquaintances too. Perhaps especially with Henry. All for spite. Or wounded pride.
Probably both.
Colin faced her with a tug to his cuffs. “How very accommodating you’ve become.” He clicked his tongue with a sad shake of his head. “Just like your father … and look where that landed him.”
The music restarted, light and merry, nothing like the stormy ire sparking in Henry’s eyes. “What are you insinuating about the lady?”
“Lady?” Colin chuckled lightly.
A low growl rumbled in Henry’s throat. If she didn’t stop this now, fisticuffs would fly right here beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Smoothing her skirts, she forced a light tone to her voice. Quite the feat, that, when she’d rather scream and run away. “Mr. Chamberlain is wont to make cryptic responses. Please pay him no mind. It is a particular pastime of his.”
“Much like Mr. Parker.” Charity snapped open her fan, cheeks suddenly flushed.
“Intriguing!” Clara turned to Henry. “Will you join in the game as well? Do indulge us. I am all attention to hear what you might have to say.”
He didn’t spare her the slightest glance. “What I have to say is that I find your comments to Miss Finch to be quite boorish, sir.”
Before Colin could respond, Charity’s voice cut in, sharp and clear. “I agree. Your remarks, Mr. Chamberlain, are not only inappropriate but entirely uncalled for.”
Colin wrapped his fingers around his lapels. “I apologize if I have offended you, Miss Russell, Mr. Russell.” He gave a small, stiff nod to each in turn. “But I speak only what is true. Perhaps Juliet has not informed you of her history.”
Juliet’s heart stuttered, the polished floor feeling unsteady beneath her borrowed slippers. Henry knew her for who she was—mostly—but Charity and Clara had no idea of her disreputable past, nor did she wish them to. “This is neither the time nor place to speak of such things, Mr. Chamberlain.”
“And yet,” Colin fairly purred, “here we are.”
“Indeed, what fate!” Clara bounced on her toes, apparently oblivious to the charge in the air. “I adore it when circumstances converge so curiously.”
Henry didn’t, not if the rock-hard line of his jaw was any indication. “I am well aware of Miss Finch’s history, sir.”
“Are you? I wonder.” Colin’s gaze slid back to Juliet, the dark curls at his temples falling into his eyes. He brushed them back with a swipe, his lips flattening to a malicious line. “The Finches are well known for presenting to the world a sparkling front, when all the while they carry on with their nefarious deeds behind the backs of the unsuspecting.”
Fury churned in her belly, at odds with the sweet melody wafting from the dance floor. The accusation, the shame of it all, this was her father’s doing, not hers. She jerked her face up to his. “That is quite enough.”
Charity stepped closer to her, brows drawn. “What does he mean, Juliet?”
“Nothing of importance,” she murmured.
“And so we will leave it at that.” Henry’s voice cut through the revelry around them.
“Very well.” Colin swiped a champagne flute from a passing tray and drained it in one go. “But a word to the wise from a man with experience. This woman is not to be trusted. I should know, for I barely escaped becoming her husband.”
Clara and Charity gasped in unison.
Henry turned to her, a tempest of confusion and horror in his eyes. “Is this true?”
