DALTON PLACE, LONDON - MARCH 21, 1814
JULIET
The daysafter Mr. Wayland’s visit were quieter than I anticipated. I saw little of my father, which suited me just fine. We successfully removed the stain from the rug, which was a relief.
I had taken to trying Father’s study door whenever he left the house. He was fastidious about locking the room. That was the extent of my search for proof of Mr. Wayland’s accusations. I had no idea how to go about learning anything further. Regardless, did I really need evidence? He never denied the accusations.
His Grace called only once in the days since. We went for a stroll through Hyde Park on a particularly fine day. He brought his late brother’s wife as chaperone. Lady Celine was unspeakably beautiful. Petite, blonde, and displaying an elegant blue-green walking dress to great advantage, she greeted me warmly with genuine enthusiasm through an easy French accent. It was evident she had been in this country for quite some time. Though intense, she was an enthusiastic conversationalist, unlike His Grace.
Outside of that one day, I had little to occupy my time beyond preparing my trousseau. I now had every reason to suspect there would be no pin money forthcoming. There were days I did nothing but refresh gowns. Through it all, I steadfastly refused to consider their purpose.
My only other outlet was visits to Kate. Given her status as a newlywed, I tried to limit my visits to weekly and to keep them somewhat brief. We continued to meet in the library, a room which certainly did not remind me of Mr. Wayland in the slightest. Even with the humiliation I suffered there, I could not bring myself to abandon it as a meeting place.
Someone had been shuffling books about in the library lately. Perhaps one of the servants or the viscount. They had taken to abandoning small stacks on my table, the one I had hid under, presumably to be returned later. Often, one or two would travel to Dalton Place with me instead, only to be replaced on my next visit. Whoever my curator was, they had exceptional taste.
Kate’s lady’s maid, a pretty redhead, often dropped off the tea treats. Though it was not strictly in her duties as a lady’s maid, she seemed to take no issue in performing other tasks.
“Thank you, Anna.”
Though her copper hair and freckles were not strictly fashionable, she was a singularly striking woman. I could not help but wonder at her choice of profession; surely, a woman of her looks and countenance would have no difficulty marrying well above her station.
“Of course. Is there anything else I can bring you?”
“No, thank you, we’re quite alright for now.”
She offered a curtsy and made her escape, the very picture of grace.
Kate turned her attention back to me. “How is your engagement progressing? You were saying you went for a promenade in Hyde Park?”
“Yes, though his brother’s widow was more interested in interrogating me than he was in furthering our acquaintance.”
“Oh, Lady Celine?”
“You know of her?”
“Yes, she is very kind. She assisted me after the lemonade incident in my first season. I should have made an effort to introduce you at the ball the other night.”
“I had nearly forgotten about the lemonade.”
“I wish I could do the same. I’m certain she had nothing but the best intentions. She really is a treasure.” That was something of a comfort. Her questioning had been rather one-sided, which was unnerving in retrospect.
“I have seen little of His Grace since. It is likely for the better, I will learn his foibles at some point, and he will do the same. Better to postpone it as long as possible.”
“You’re such a romantic. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“You, but always with a touch of sarcasm.”
“If your fiancé has no plans to woo you, how would you feel about joining me in the country? Hugh and I were planning to visit the estate. Tom will bring their mother a few weeks after we arrive to take in the country air.”
“So, you wish for an ally while you face the dragon.”
“Something to that effect. Please, Jules? You could bring your mending and tailoring works, and perhaps have some time left for reading.”
That was a tempting thought. Weeks without my father. Weeks with nothing pressing on me. A few weeks to be just Juliet, before I became the Duchess of Rosehill with everything that entailed.
“I will ask my father.”
“Thank you.” She returned to her tea, and I took the opportunity to eye the current stack of novels eagerly.
