The butler directed me to the drawing room. It was decorated in cheerful yellows and spring greens. The furnishings and carpets were well cared for but had seen some age. The rug was matted down in places, a map of the most frequently traversed paths. The settee beneath the wall-length windows was fine but well-loved. It had faded to a cream color, corners indicating that it, too, was once a pale yellow. One side was more threadbare than the other, marking what must be a favored spot.
On the floor beside it was a basket of sewing notions, bits and bobs I didn’t know the use for and a rainbow of threads. A side table was next to it, topped with a small stack of novels, each bookmarked with strands of multicolored thread.
At first, I had hoped to avoid the appearance of snooping, but after a quarter of an hour with little else to do, I flipped through the titles with interest.Virtue Rewarded,The History of Sir Charles Grandison,Udopho,The Sylph. The reader, presumably Lady Juliet, had diverse tastes. The last two, placed on the bottom of the stack, appeared to be from Grayson House library. She had said she was searching for a book last evening.
I itched to crack open one of the titles, boredom and unease chafing in equal measure. Instead, I peered out the window at the street below. The view was nothing spectacular, an alley between two great houses. Servants coming and going through the corridor. Arms laden with purchases.
My disinterested observations were interrupted by a feminine gasp behind me. There she was, eyes even more shockingly blue and brighter in the sunlight. I couldn’t name the color: sky too light, cornflower too dull, gunmetal too icy. Perhaps sapphire was the closest, but it, too, was lacking. They were wide with shock, likely at my audacity and my presumptive presence here. It was certainly unwelcome after the events of last night.
Dark, shadowy, purple circles made a home under her eyes. She had not slept either. Her fair skin was flushed. It was an intriguing peachy shade. Embarrassment? Irritation? Something in between? I’d hoped my visceral reaction to her last night had been a singular event. Clearly, it was not.
Her face was remarkably expressive. Shock, irritation, and determination crossed the lines of her mouth and brow. Decision made, her posture shifted, her shoulders back, her spine long, and her eyes steely.
She gestured toward the worn settee, manners impeccable. “Please, do be seated. Shall I call for some tea? Mr.?”
She was to stand on ceremony then. She glided into the room, steps delicate and poised, and perched at the edge of the nearby chair. I took my indicated place, settling lazily on the settee. Her mouth twitched slightly, indignation perhaps, at the sight of my sprawled posture. I crossed an ankle on my knee, hoping I could manage an eye twitch out of her with the effort.
“Michael Wayland. There’s no need for tea. It’s a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Lady Juliet.”
“Of course. May I inquire as to the occasion for your visit? I was not expecting callers this afternoon.” Her reply was prim, directed just to the left of my ear.
“Lady Juliet.” I paused until her eyes met mine, questioning. “I wish to apologize for the events of last evening. Surely, you know I would not have said such things had I known of your presence.”
Her eyes narrowed in fierce irritation. An unexpected reaction to an apology, to be sure.
“If I’m to understand you correctly, sir, you’re apologizing, not for the content of your words or actions. But instead, because I happened to overhear those words,” she said, fire barely constrained beneath impeccable civility.
Oh, she was furious with me. Though not entirely unwarranted, it was adorable. I suppressed the smirk lurking within me. While I managed to keep it from my lips, I suspect my eyes gave it away if the flash of irritation was any indication. My effort hadn’t appeased the angry kitten before me.
“You comprehend me perfectly.”
It may have been my imagination, but I think I detected a nearly silent growl from her.
She rose more quickly and with less delicacy than she’d previously displayed, gesturing toward the door. “Right, well, if that’s all, I bid you adieu.”
I was a truly horrible man, taking no small pleasure in her barely suppressed rage.
“I think I will take that tea, actually. It sounds lovely just now.”
“But… I thought… You said you had come to make an apology. You have done so, and now you’re free to go on with your day. I am sure you have other gentlemen to accuse and assault.”
“Nothing of the sort planned until after supper.”
I saw it again, the barely restrained rage. It was taking absolutely every one of her gently bred manners to refrain from throttling me. It was, perhaps, the funniest thing I had ever seen. She was breathing heavily, and her chest rose and fell, enticing me with every breath.
She closed her eyes before gritting her teeth and biting out, “I will return shortly. I need to ring for it.”
She stalked from the room, none of the delicate grace from earlier. She was a well-trained one. Kate would have thrown the nearest object at my head long before now, and Anna would have verbally castrated me. She would make an excellent duchess. Too bad Rosehill would make her a poor husband.
Before that thought could sour my mirth, she returned. Instead of burning embers, I was met with a placid smile and an empty gaze. Her eyes were dull now, elsewhere. The smile was shallow and insipid, far from her eyes. The look was all wrong for her, and I couldn’t help but want the rage back. That was the only explanation I could offer for the words that followed. “Earlier, you seemed upset. Is something the matter, Lady Juliet?”
“No, nothing at all, Mr. Wayland.” There was no fire in the reply, no irritation, not even mild annoyance. It was as if her body was present, but her mind had escaped elsewhere.
“Perhaps you feel I should apologize for more than the misfortune of you overhearing my words?”
I was needling her; I knew I should stop. She’d heard things about her father last night that no one should have to learn. And from my lips. She didn’t deserve to be mocked in her own home on top of the other insults.
“If you feel you have more apologies to give, by all means.”
