“Why on earth would you suppose you might have done so?”
“I um... I don’t know, except...”
“Except what?” Hurt by his growing suspicion that every interest she’d shown him had somehow been linked to her goals, he goaded her now with unforgiving insistence.
“You seem upset,” she blurted. “Which isn’t at all what I hoped to accomplish.”
“No. I don’t suppose it was.” He managed to keep the bitterness from his voice as the music faded and relief swamped his body. Noting her stunned expression, however, he hastened to say, “I am not angry with you in the least, my lady. The only person at fault here is me.”
For foolishly getting caught up in a fantasy.
Desperate to leave her company, he bid her a continued good evening and walked away while dreading the thought of having to see her again. Which would be sooner rather than later, considering the next committee meeting was scheduled to take place this coming week and she would now be there.
Chapter 8
Accompanying Gabriella’s mother, Countess of Warwick, to Florian’s town house three days later, Juliette braced herself when the carriage pulled to a jolting halt.
“You look worried,” Lady Warwick said, “but you needn’t be. Remember, you have donated more funds to St. Agatha’s than the rest of the donors combined. Only the Dowager Duchess of Tremaine has offered a larger sum.”
She reached for the door handle and paused. Her eyes met Juliette’s. “Chin up. The last thing you want them to see are your nerves.”
The only problem with this advice was that Juliette’s worries had nothing to do with what the other committee members might think of her and everything to do with the way Florian’s attitude toward her had changed as they’d waltzed with each other at the Brighton Ball. In an instant, the warmth in his eyes had died and the companionable mood they’d been sharing had lost its spark. Juliette had puzzled over it since, unsure of why he’d had such an adverse reaction to what she’d said.
Tamping down her reservations, Juliette followed the countess out of the carriage and up the steps to Florian’s front door. It was opened by a servant the moment they knocked, granting them entry to a modest foyer. Handing over their shawls and bonnets, they continued through a hallway until they reached a door that was standing wide open. Beyond was a decent-sized room—the dining room—with a table fitted for twelve. Three chairs remained vacant while those already seated stood in response to Lady Warwick’s and Juliette’s arrival. It took but a second to notice that no other women were present.
“Welcome, ladies.” The salutation was spoken by Florian who was now coming to greet them. He bowed stiffly, his countenance stark as he held his arm out toward the left side of the table. “Lady Warwick, your customary chair awaits.” Lady Warwick strolled away in the direction he indicated, leaving Juliette alone with the physician. He studied her for a second, then turned toward the rest of the group. “Let us welcome Lady Juliette to our midst. Her generous donation to St. Agatha’s promises to be of great significance.”
The gentlemen dipped their heads in her direction and Florian introduced them each in turn. All were high-ranking peers, with the exception of Mr. Winehurst, whom Florian introduced as an affluent entrepreneur. The rest of the group included the Marquess of Stokes, Viscount Clearwater, the Earl of Elmwood, Baron Hawthorne and the Earl of Wilmington. To Juliette’s dismay, Yates was there as well, which was slightly awkward since she’d been deliberately avoiding him for the past week and a half.
“Come,” Florian said, offering her his arm and pulling her attention away from Yates. “I have secured a seat for you next to me.” When Juliette hesitated, he added, “It will make it easier for me to offer any necessary explanations if you are not at the other end of the table.”
Nodding, she placed her hand carefully upon his arm. Warmth infused her veins as the length of her arm pressed into his.
Disturbed, Juliette tried to ignore the unsettling flutter in the pit of her stomach. It would be difficult enough having to address this group of high-ranking individuals without worrying over her progressively unsettling responses to Florian.
“Allow me,” he murmured, his words breezing along the curve of her neck as he turned to pull out her chair.
Unable to breathe, let alone speak on account of the sudden leap of her pulse, Juliette gave a curt nod and quickly sat before the man could affect her further. Which of course was impossible to hope for since he would soon be sitting immediately to her left.
But rather than claim his own seat, he strode away to welcome another individual—a woman Juliette had never seen before. Once again, the gentlemen stood, as did Lady Warwick, so Juliette followed her lead and rose as well.
No older than Juliette, the woman, whoever she was, was plainly dressed in a practical-looking day gown cut from beige cotton. She wasn’t particularly pretty, her hair a dim shade that fell between blonde and brown without being either. But her gaze was sharp as it swept the room, the fullness of her mouth curving into a welcoming smile the moment she locked eyes with Juliette. Addressing Florian with obvious familiarity, she exchanged a few words with him before making her way toward Juliette while he followed close behind.
“It is lovely to make your acquaintance at last,” the woman told Juliette as soon as she stood before her. “I am Viola Cartwright, the Dowager Duchess of Tremaine and St. Agatha’s patroness.”
It took great effort on Juliette’s part not to gape at the lady. A hundred questions formed in her mind all at once, the most prominent one being how a woman who appeared to be no older than herself had managed to become a dowager duchess and the founder of a hospital. And how was it that Juliette hadn’t seen her or heard of her before? She was clearly going to have to ask Raphe to purchase an updated version of Debrett’s.
Collecting herself, she quickly attempted a curtsey, which felt really strange on account of the duchess’s age. But that was what one did, was it not? The only other duchesses she knew were Amelia and Gabriella, with whom she was always informal. It was as if all the training she’d undergone since arriving in Mayfair flew out the window, leaving her flustered and awkward.
“There is no need for that,” Her Grace said. She spoke so low only Juliette and possibly Florian could hear her. “And since I do believe you and I are going to be friends, I must insist you call me Viola.”
As relieved as Juliette was about not having to stand on ceremony, she could not help but wonder at Viola’s complete departure from formality. It raised her curiosity. But with Viola already moving away to claim her own chair and Florian sitting down right between them, there was no opportunity for her to learn more about the dowager duchess at the moment.
Instead, she acknowledged Florian’s closeness, the masculine fragrance of bergamot and sandalwood that hovered about his person. It tempted her to lean closer, the rich scent teasing her senses and producing the most peculiar yearning for additional nearness.
With him.
Juliette sucked in a sharp breath and held it. Heavens! What was happening to her? She must not have slept well or eaten enough breakfast to be having such puzzling observations. Except it wasn’t so puzzling at all. She hazarded a glance at him as he addressed the committee. A nerve ticked above his right eye. Fascinating... She shook her head and gave herself a mental kick. This had to stop before she descended into madness.
