How to Romance a Rake (11 page)

“Mine,” Juliet said.

“Yes, Miss Shelby,” the Italian said with a sad smile. “I had hoped that Anna would prosper with your family. But it seems that she is always to be taken advantage of.”

“What happened to her family?” Alec asked. Juliet looked at him. Of course! Perhaps Anna had finally relented and gone to her family for help, just as Juliet had suggested.

But Signor Boccardo’s next words killed that notion. “They died in a fire not long after we left the village,” he said. “Everyone—the vicar, his wife, her sister—they all died.”

Five

Juliet was quiet as Alec led her back out to his curricle. It wasn’t until they were once more driving through the streets of Bloomsbury that she spoke.

“Could Anna have been pursued by the squire’s son?” she asked.

Alec pondered the notion. It was possible, he supposed. Being accused of attempted ravishment would certainly rankle with a young man. Even if the accusation were true.

“It is possible that he feared she would carry the tale with her to London,” he said. “And it doesn’t sound as if Signor Boccardo took any great pains to hide his direction.”

“I wonder if Anna left of her own accord because of some threat from Ramsey or if he came for her and made her write those notes to me to throw me off her trail.”

Alec glanced over and was startled by the determination in Juliet’s face. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he cautioned. “We don’t know that this Ramsey fellow has anything to do with Anna’s disappearance. Why don’t you let me send an investigator to Little Wittington to visit the squire’s house? He can determine if Ramsey is even in a position to threaten Anna. For all we know the fellow has moved to the colonies and become a blacksmith.”

“I suppose I can hardly go traipsing about the countryside searching for clues,” she said, “can I?”

“No,” he said with a half grin, awed once more by her pluck. “You really can’t. It isn’t the thing for young ladies to traipse. At least not unmarried ones.”

That seemed to sober her. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to remind her of Turlington. She had enough to worry about.

“I promise that as soon as I hear something from my man I will let you know,” he told her, glancing over to let her see that he was sincere.

That seemed to placate her. “Thank you, my lord, for bringing me to see Signor Boccardo today. And thank you for helping me look for Anna. I know you are doing it because you feel some sort of obligation on your uncle’s behalf, but whatever the reason I’m grateful.”

That his uncle had ceased to be a factor in his continued assistance, he didn’t bother telling her. Letting her think of him as a self-interested party was better for both their sakes.

*   *   *

“Perhaps you could show us something a bit more daring, Madame Celeste?” Cecily asked the modiste in what her cousins were coming to know as her “duchess tone.” “I realize that Miss Shelby is yet a debutante, but surely she can wear something with a bit of dash that won’t be too terribly scandalous.”

Juliet watched in amazement as the older woman, who purported to have come to England from France during the terror, but who most people speculated had been born somewhere much closer to her new home—like Bermondsey—hurried to do the new Duchess of Winterson’s bidding. It was difficult still to see Cecily as anything other than the scholarly bluestocking she had been before her marriage to Winterson earlier in the year. And yet, it would seem that those who depended on the custom of one of the most highly placed ladies of the
ton,
like Madame Celeste, had no trouble at all remembering her cousin’s leap in status.

“Thank you again, Cecily,” she said in a low voice as they waited for the modiste to fetch another bolt of fabric. “If you hadn’t insisted upon accompanying me here, I have little doubt that Mama would have brought Turlington along. It’s difficult enough to make decisions about what sort of gowns to purchase, but between Mama and her criticisms and Turlington’s oily compliments I feel sure I’d have succumbed to the headache before three minutes of our session had passed.”

After her clandestine visit to Signor Boccardo’s with Deveril the day before, Juliet had returned home in a somber mood. She spent the evening ruminating over the day’s events, and pondering how what Signor Boccardo had told them affected her understanding of Anna’s situation. A good night’s sleep hadn’t given her any more insight into the problem.

When she received a note from Cecily the next morning summoning her to the modiste’s, Juliet had thought about sending her regrets, but she knew that Cecily would have no compunction about hunting her down and dragging her to the dressmakers’. And she did need some new gowns if she were to escape Lord Turlington’s clutches. So when her cousins called shortly after breakfast to collect her, Juliet had done the sensible thing and gone with them.

“We are going to Madame Celeste’s to buy you some shockingly expensive new gowns and there is nothing you can say that will change my mind,” her cousin had told her. And soon Juliet was doing the thing she loathed most in the world. Being fitted for new gowns. It had once been on Cecily’s most-hated list as well, but somewhere between meeting Winterson and becoming his duchess, her cousin had learned to enjoy shopping. Juliet blamed Winterson.

“I still cannot believe that your father has allowed Aunt Rose to coerce you into an engagement with Turlington.” Cecily’s mouth pursed as if she tasted something sour. “Has she that little confidence in your ability to find a husband on your own?”

“Well, I can hardly blame her on that account. I have been out for three years now with no offers.” Juliet sighed. “Not to mention the fact that I am one of the notorious Ugly Ducklings thanks to Amelia Snowe.”

The duchess waved her hand. “Amelia Snowe is a spiteful cat, and well you know it. Indeed, I believe most of the
ton
knows it as well, though they are so frightened of becoming her next target for scorn that they allow her to continue on unfettered.”

“Speaking of Amelia,” Madeline, who was seated on the other side of the settee from Juliet, interjected, “when do you plan on using the dance card, Juliet? You can no longer use your leg as an excuse. Especially since your successful lessons the other evening.”

If only her cousins knew the truth about her leg injury, Juliet mused, perhaps then they would understand just how frightened she was to practice her newfound dance skills in public. Yet, she did know that if she were going to find a husband for herself—someone besides Lord Turlington or anyone else her mother might decide would suit—then she would need to make more of an effort to gain the
ton
’s notice. A flash to that moment earlier yesterday when Lord Deveril had lifted her into his curricle gave her pause, but she dismissed the memory. A man like Deveril would not need to settle for a limping pianist with a gorgon for a mother. If she wished to find a husband she would need to cast her net as wide as possible. Hence the trip to Madame Celeste’s establishment to choose a new wardrobe.

Her mother might once have objected to such attempts at improving her appearance, but she had recently decided that Juliet owed it to Turlington to be at her very best, even if it meant drawing heretofore undesired attention to herself. And if Juliet could use her mother’s own machinations against her, so much the better.

Before she could respond aloud to her cousins, the modiste returned with two assistants in tow, each holding one end of a large bolt of green silk.

“Zis shade, I zink,” Madame hissed in her faux-French accent, “eet is zee perfect color for zee young lady’s eyes, yes?”

Juliet removed her glove, so that she might feel the softness of the silk against her fingers. It was indeed a lovely color. And rather close to the color of her eyes.

“Yes.” Cecily nodded. “It is perfect. And I also would like to see something in a deep rose hue.”

“Are you sure it won’t clash with my hair?” Juliet asked. “Mama has always warned me against pinks.”

“It must be the right sort of pink, darling,” her cousin soothed. “Trust me. I won’t send you out before the lions in anything that doesn’t suit you.”

“Lions,” a male voice sounded from behind them. “I did tell you she’s grown bloodthirsty, didn’t I, Deveril?”

The three cousins turned to see the Duke of Winterson, carelessly elegant in buff breeches and a blue coat of superfine, followed by Lord Deveril, enter the room. Juliet felt her cheeks heat, and dared not let herself catch Deveril’s eye. Her cousins knew, of course, about their errand yesterday, but she did not wish them to guess for a moment just how drawn she was to the man.

“Dearest.” Cecily sounded cross. “I thought I told you that I would see you this evening.” Since discovering that she was expecting a happy event, the young duchess had found her spouse to be a trifle overbearing in his efforts to ensure her health and safety.

“Sheathe your sword, my dear,” he said mildly, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I have come to collect you at your stepmama’s request. She says that your father needs your assistance with some sort of documents and refuses to be calmed until he sees you.” Turning to Juliet and Madeline, he bowed. “Ladies, a pleasure as always.”

Since Cecily’s father had only recently begun to recover from a life-threatening apoplexy, he had to rely on her for assistance with his scholarly work. Juliet could see that Cecily was torn.

Before her cousin could respond, Juliet squeezed Cecily’s hand.

“Go,” she said, smiling. “Maddie and I will be fine here on our own. Madame Celeste will not steer me wrong lest she risk your wrath, as you well know. And you know as well as I do that your father would not have asked for you if he did not consider the matter to be urgent.”

“Are you sure?” Cecily still looked torn, but it was clear to anyone who knew her as well as her cousins did that she felt compelled to go to her father..

“Perhaps I might be of assistance?” Lord Deveril bowed to the three women. “I have often helped my sisters choose their gowns for the season,” he said. “And I am quite conversant with the fashions making the rounds just now.”

Which, to Juliet’s mind, was akin to saying that Mr. Wordsworth knew a bit about poetry.

“Oh, would you mind terribly?” Cecily asked, her gaze lighting on the man who had set the fashion among London gentlemen since he’d come up from Oxford. “Not to suggest that Juliet and Madeline don’t have exquisite taste, you understand.” Her quick glance her cousins’ way rather suggested the opposite. “But I would feel so much more comfortable knowing they had someone to act as a guide to them.”

Juliet and Madeline exchanged a look, but forbore from pointing out that until recently their cousin had been just as clueless as they were about fashion. One didn’t wish to upset an
enceinte
lady after all.

“It would be my pleasure,” Deveril said with a grin, suggesting that he knew just what the Duchess of Winterson’s cousins were thinking. “Never fear, Your Grace,” he assured her, “I will make quite sure that Miss Shelby does not choose anything that will endanger her reputation.”

“Oh la.” Cecily laughed, rising from her seat and tucking her hand into the crook of Winterson’s arm. “I have no worries on that score. If it were up to Juliet she’d have Madame Celeste construct a cloak of invisibility that would shield her from all notice altogether. You must make sure that she chooses something that will make her stand out, Lord Deveril. Something that will show the
ton
just what an exquisitely beautiful lady she is.”

*   *   *

No pressure, Alec thought to himself, watching Winterson and his lady leave the shop. Turning, he saw both Miss Shelby and Lady Madeline watching him expectantly.

When Winterson had mentioned he was on his way to Madame Celeste’s establishment, he’d agreed to go along to keep his friend company, though if he were completely honest, he had jumped at the chance to ensure Juliet was all right after their meeting with Signor Boccardo yesterday.

Before he could say anything, however, Madame Celeste caught sight of him and hurried over.

“My lord,” she gushed. “How wonderful eet is to see you. How can I be of service?”

“My thanks, madame,” he told the modiste. “I am here to assist Miss Shelby. I understand you have been helping her with color choices?”

“Ah yes, my lord,” she said. “But we need to take measurements and to choose patterns.”

“Excellent,” he said with a smile. “Please bring the ladies some tea, and the pattern books. Lady Madeline and I will go over the patterns while you take Miss Shelby’s measurements.”

Though Juliet frowned, she didn’t object as she was led into the back where Deveril knew she would be poked and prodded to within an inch of her life. It was the way of fitting rooms the world over. Or so he surmised, never having been the world over.

When she was gone, he found himself startled to realize that he was alone with Lady Madeline. She was a nice enough girl, he supposed, but he had never really had occasion to speak with her much before.

“You are growing fond of her,” Lady Madeline said once Juliet had left the room. It was a statement, not a question.

What the devil was it with the women in this family? Deveril wondered. Only yesterday he’d been accused of basically the same thing by Juliet’s mother. Unlike Lady Shelby, however, he sensed that Lady Madeline’s interest was out of concern for Juliet.

Alec turned to look at her. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. He liked Juliet, Miss Shelby, a great deal. But that was a far cry from fondness. They were friends, that was all.

“I’ve seen you watch her,” she said, taking a sip of the tea one of the seamstresses had brought them. “Have no fear. Your secret is safe with me.”

He made a noncommittal noise. It could hardly be called a secret given the number of people who had informed him of the so-called fact in the past few days. And, he reminded himself, his connection to Juliet was strictly one of obligation. Obligation and friendship. He had agreed to help her find her missing friend, and until they learned something definitive about Mrs. Turner’s whereabouts that was how their connection would remain. Though he was horrified at the notion of Juliet being married off to a snake like Turlington, there was little he could do to stop such a thing from happening. Especially given his own family history.