Juliet sighed, brining Olivia’s attention back to her. “Tell me one thing?” she asked.
“I will tell you anything you wish to know. You need only ask,” Olivia said, her amber eyes filled with warmth.
Juliet swallowed before saying, “Is he a good man?”
“Indeed, he is. There is much to recommend the duke, and I believe he will make you a good husband.” Olivia said. “Pay little heed to the rumors. I will not deny the fact that he is a rogue, but I firmly believe he has his reasons and that he will forgo such behaviors now that he is to wed you.”
Juliet would not forgive him easily, but if Olivia recommended him, she would at least allow the duke a chance to win her. She gave her first genuine smile since the incident. “Then I know all I need to.” She stood and said, “Let us return to the ball.”
Chapter 7
December 12, 1811
The Duke and Duchess of Thorne’s London home
Giles sat on a velvet settee in the Duke of Thorne’s red and gold drawing-room as he waited for Juliet to join him. He could not help but think that the room’s colors would complement her fair hair, bold blue eyes, and creamy complexion.
As it turned out—he was correct.
Juliet strolled into the room a few minutes later, her beauty stealing his breath. The red and gold made the perfect backdrop for her coloring and brought her into stark relief. Her hair appeared shinier, and her eyes a more profound, brighter blue. He determined on the spot to have one of his rooms redone with the same color palate.
Perhaps the receiving room or family parlor. Maybe he would wait until he discovered which room she preferred to spend the bulk of her time in. As she entered, he stood and gave her a bow.
He secretly wished she was not so beautiful. His mother had been a beauty, according to most, but her inner self was anything but. He’d had the same experience with other beautiful women, too. He was confident of one thing—outer beauty did not equal inner beauty.
God willing, that would not be the case where his intended was concerned. Giles could not bear it if Juliet turned out to be a nasty bit of fluff. He had no wish to spend the rest of his life as his parents had.
In fact, he had always planned to wed a plain woman. One with a beautiful disposition, but not the sort that would capture every gentleman’s attention by merely being present in the space they occupied.
He had even less of a wish to subject his—their future children to a childhood such as his had been. No child should grow up in the middle of a war waged between parents.
It was not to be born.
Giles would do all in his power to win Juliet’s affection and make their marriage one based on mutual respect and friendship, if not love. Anything else would be unacceptable to him, and he hoped for her as well.
To that end, he had spent the morning preparing for this afternoon’s visit.
He went to her and offered a smile before capturing her hand in his and dropping a kiss to her knuckles. “How do you fare this afternoon?” He asked with genuine interest.
The ball had gone far into the night, ending only a few hours before dawn. He knew her feet had ached, and she’d been bone weary, for she’d told him as much. Furthermore, she’d had an emotional evening that he speculated had not ended with the ball.
It certainly had not for him. He had been awake, struggling with their fate for hours after he returned home. Then he’d spent several more hours in fitful sleep. Dreams of the past haunted him as well as nightmares of what the future might hold. Giles awoke, feeling no more rested than he had when he’d fallen asleep.
“I am well,” she said. “Do join me by the fire. Tea will arrive henceforth.”
Giles nodded, then followed her over to the sofa and chairs situated around the hearth. She sat on the end of the sofa, and he sat beside her. He did not miss the slight stiffening of her shoulders. But neither did he regret encroaching on her space.
He wanted her to grow used to his company—to welcome it, even.
She turned her gaze toward a nearby window and frowned. “The snow is coming down rather fierce, is it not?”
“Indeed, but this close to Christmastide, you’ll not hear me complain.”
Her lips quirked the tiniest bit before she said, “Then you enjoy a white Christmas?”
“Indeed, I do. It is my favorite holiday.” Giles smiled. “And what of you?”
She met his gaze. “I find it pretty to look at, but it makes an awful mess of my hems.” She glanced down, then smiled. “Still, if given a choice, I would request at least a dusting during the holidays, for hems are easily dried.”
