Trust had been offered. Received. And now it lived in his hands—too warm, too weighty.
Too easily dropped.
Chapter 16
Though it was only half past six, dusk had already crept into Juliet’s room, pooling in the corners like spilled ink. Setting down her pen, she turned up the wick in her desk lamp. Twilight was always such a melancholy hour. An in-between, just like her. Too poor to belong to society yet too well bred to fit amongst the servant class … a truth she’d been chewing on ever since Colin’s appearance at the ball five days ago, reminding her of where she’d come from.
And how far she had fallen.
She picked up her pen with a sigh, leaning over her half-finished letter to Aunt Margaret. She really ought to visit the dear woman instead of sending a stilted note, but there simply hadn’t been time. Early Monday morning Henry had received an urgent letter from his father about an upcoming wine exhibition, and he’d tasked Henry with organizing the event, inviting key figures, and ensuring the new Italian blend he’d crafted would be presented to its best advantage. That left Juliet to be Charity’s constant companion. Thankfully, no new threats had arisen for Charity—though Juliet herself had not been so fortunate. A cryptic note had arrived, urging her to leave the manor as soon as Henry’s sister departed for Italy. But, naturally, none of that could be mentioned in her letter to Aunt Margaret.
Juliet rolled the quill between her fingers, thoughts once again straying to the ball, to Henry—and unfortunately to Colin as well. His wicked smirk had haunted her ever since yet wastempered by the way Henry had smiled at her that evening. A charge still ran through her every time she relived how he’d danced with her and when he’d held her close on the veranda.
A sharp knock rapped on her door. She jumped, bumping the desk and nearly tipping over the ink bottle. “Coming,” she called as she set down her pen and covered the ink.
At the door, Charity’s lovely smile greeted her. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all. I was just writing to my aunt.” She fluttered her fingers towards her desk.
“Then never mind. You must have forgotten our customary turn about the garden before dinner, but not to worry. I shall be fine on my own.”
“None of it. You know your brother wishes me to accompany you while he is tied up with your father’s business.” Reaching aside, she grabbed her warmest shawl from the peg on the wall. “Off we go.”
As she adjusted the wool around her shoulders, she glanced at Charity. “I thought you would be tending to last-minute details for your trip tomorrow. What a grand adventure traveling to Italy shall be.”
“Yes, I suppose. I don’t know.” One slim shoulder shrugged before Charity grabbed the balustrade and marched down the main staircase. At the bottom, she paused for Juliet to catch up. “It’s no great secret I don’t really want to go, but I know it’s for the best. I’m just so … tired. And I can’t seem to shake off this headache. Why, I don’t think I’ll eat a bite at dinner tonight.”
Juliet frowned as she joined the woman’s side. “You didn’t eat any of the apple tart or elderberry cheesecake at luncheon, either.”
“I have little appetite today.” Charity looped an arm through Juliet’s and then strolled down the corridor. Though she acted perky, now that Juliet looked closely, she did seem a little pale.
“That gift basket Clara brought me,” Charity continued, “was far too charming to waste my time eating, anyway. The travel journal, the writing set, and such a lovely little prayer book. Clara is so thoughtful.”
“She is a good friend,” Juliet murmured as she held open the back door, though her mind wandered. After the ball she’d found out from Charity that the Whitmore family had extended the invitation to Mr. Chamberlain, though Juliet supposed there was little unusual in that. In their sphere, society was a small world—connections interwoven in ways one rarely saw until it was far too late.
Outside, she and Charity traveled the brick walkway to the garden—or rather what was left of it at this time of year. The boxwood still stood out in its finest greenery, but only a few hardy leaves clung to the rose stems. The bite of a coming frost nipped the air.
Charity picked up a fallen leaf and twirled it between her fingers. “It is my secret hope that once I am gone, Henry will finally listen to his heart and pursue the woman he loves.”
A tug pulled at her chest. “I’m sure Clara would be pleased to hear that.”
“I love Clara dearly, but that wasn’t whom I was referring to. I suspect Henry’s affections are directed … towards a different quarter.”
Juliet blinked.
But before she could press for more information, Charity winced, then dropped the leaf and raised trembling fingers to her temple.
Juliet stepped close to her, pea gravel grinding beneath her slippers, and tugged the woman’s shawl tighter at her neck. “Are you all right? Perhaps we should go back in.”
“Don’t be silly.” Charity batted her hand away. “The fresh air is already clearing my head and taking away some of the butterflies in my stomach.”
“Are you so very nervous about sailing to the Continent?”
“I guess I am. I have never been so far from home before.”
Juliet nodded, inhaling the scent of damp earth and decaying plants. She knew exactly how Charity felt. Bedford had seemed a foreign country at first, especially living in her aunt’s draughty cottage so far from town. “It is hard to trade what you know for something uncertain. I surely do not fault you for such feelings. But your brother—”
Charity held up her palm. “I know. He wants what is best for me. He cares deeply for those he loves, and so it is for his sake I am leaving.”
