Miss Foster’s Folly (17 page)

***

One tiny woman had the household in an uproar as far as Juliet could judge from all the frantic activity in the foyer. Maids bustled here and there, and footmen kept entering, loaded down with luggage: trunks, hatboxes, grips, portmanteaux. One poor man came in dragged by two of the biggest dogs she’d ever seen. Wolfhounds of some sort, slender but almost as tall as a person if they stood on their hind legs. Luckily, they didn’t.

Mr. Russell kept control of the chaos, just barely, issuing orders in a voice louder than strictly proper for a butler. Eventually, the hubbub settled down enough for Derrington to rush to the woman who’d caused all the to-do and throw his arms around her. He straightened again and gave her a stern look. “What in God’s name are you doing here, Harry?”

“Harry?” Juliet repeated.

The woman put her jeweled hands on her hips. “I used to be the lady of the house. I hope I may visit.”

“Of course. Any time,” he said. “But you’re too ill to travel.”

The woman—Harry—looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Who told you that?”

“You did, in your letter. ‘Staring in the piazza, not deviling the fishmonger.’”

“Pfft.” Harry waved a hand. “A passing thing. Probably something I ate.”

“Then you’re not ill?” he said.

“As healthy as a horse,” she said. “There’s only one thing I need to make me perfect—a great-grandchild.”

Derrington’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at her. “Why, you old bird. You tricked me.”

The woman patted his face. She had to strain upward to do it. “Learning something about tricks finally, Bump?”

“Bump?” Juliet said.

Harry turned toward her. “So, is this the young lady?”

“Excuse me,” he said. “Harry, this is Miss Juliet Foster of New York.”

Damn her if she didn’t almost drop a curtsey. Despite Harry’s odd dress—a combination of harem scarves and de Medici robes and no suggestion of a corset—the woman had a regal air to her. As if she could command an army if she wanted.

“Miss Foster, this is my grandmother, Lady Harriet Winslow, the Dowager Marchioness of Derrington,” he said. “Harry.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Juliet said.

“Well, then, let’s have a look at you.” Lady Derrington approached, craning her neck to stare up into Juliet’s face. Then, the woman walked around her slowly. Juliet glowered at Derrington the whole time, and he answered with a shrug.

When the inspection ended, Harry stepped back. “She’s not overly pretty, is she?”

“Harry—” Derrington said.

“Good. I can’t abide pretty women,” Harry said.

“I’ll do my best to be as unattractive as possible,” Juliet said.

“Juliet—” Derrington said.

Harry crossed her arms over her chest. “Quick wit. Lack of respect for her elders. Well done, Bump.”

“Bump?” Juliet repeated.

“I’ll explain later,” he said.

“After some tea. My throat’s dusty from the road,” Harry declared before she turned and marched her invisible army into the house.

Derrington followed his grandmother, but Juliet caught his arm. “You didn’t tell me you were calling in reinforcements.”

“I didn’t know. She just came.”

“Why?”

“Damned if I know,” he said. “Why does any woman do what she does?”

“Come along, you two,” came a deep contralto from inside.

Tea arrived within minutes, along with various cakes, pastries, and Juliet’s favorite, cucumber sandwiches. Once they’d all taken their seats, Lady Derrington assumed the role of lady of the house as though she’d never left, serving first Juliet and then Derrington.

“No gooseberry tarts?” she asked. “You know I favor them.”

“We didn’t expect you,” Derrington answered.

“One should always be prepared,” the older lady said. “Being an American, Miss Foster will need lessons in how things are done.”

“I won’t have you picking on her, Harry,” Derrington said. “She serves tea perfectly well.”

Juliet stared at him in amazement. She’d never done anything remotely like serving tea in the entire time she’d known him. Maids set things out, and they served themselves. He’d never asked her to do anything else.

Lady Derrington cleared her throat in a very pointed manner. “I’m sure your young lady has numerous talents of the kind men most value.”

“Harry—” Derrington warned.

“That’s an interesting hair style,” Lady Derrington said.

Juliet’s hands went directly to her curls. Of course, without pins, a comb, and a mirror, she couldn’t do anything to fix herself.

“And her mouth has an interesting look to it,” the lady went on, stirring her tea with a tiny pinky finger in the air. “As if she’d just been engaged in the sort of business men enjoy more than anything else in the world.”

Out of blind reaction, Juliet covered her mouth with her fingers.

“Behave yourself, Harry,” Derrington snapped.

Lady Derrington laughed. “Does he make those kinds of noises with you, Miss Foster? Telling you to behave and such rot?”

“Constantly,” she answered.

“Excellent.” The lady lifted a pastry tart to her lips and bit into it delicately.

The whole situation felt dizzying. An hour earlier, she and Derrington had had the whole estate to themselves, aside from a staff that managed to disappear at the most important times. Now, they had a visitor. No, a
relative
, and one who seemed to have uncanny instincts into what went on between her and Derrington. Could her mouth actually show what she’d been doing just before the woman arrived? If she could, Lady Derrington certainly looked as if she approved.

“You’re glad your grandson orders me about, Lady Derrington?” she asked.

“Heavens, no,” the woman answered. “I’m glad your behavior nettles him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He has the family curse, you see,” Lady Derrington said.

“Now, I really don’t understand,” she said.

“Winslow males come in two distinct types,” Lady Derrington said. “The staid and dependable, and the restless. We knew this one was restless the day we named him Bump.”

“Settle in, Miss Foster,” Derrington said. “We’ll be here for a while.”

“We suspected Bump would be one of the restless ones before he was born,” Lady Derrington said. “He kicked his mother mercilessly. When he finally graced us with his presence, he slept deeply for long periods at a time. His mother thought she’d been spared the worst, but that turned out to be horribly wrong.”

The man in question—Bump—raised an eyebrow in disapproval as the woman continued her story, but one corner of his mouth curved up as well. He clearly enjoyed his grandmother, no matter what she did. Judging from the way the woman’s gaze settled softly on him as she spoke, the affection went both ways.

“We soon discovered he was saving up his energy for maximum effect when he was awake,” Lady Derrington said.

“I was a mere infant,” he said.

“Un enfant terrible.”

Juliet couldn’t help but laugh. He dominated any space he occupied. It wasn’t hard to believe he’d done that from birth.

“As soon as he could stand up, he walked,” Lady Derrington said. “And as soon as he could walk, he ran. Nothing was safe—not the crockery, nor the furniture, nor even his mother’s cats.”

Juliet studied him where he sat sipping tea, seemingly the pinnacle of civilization—the well-bred English nobleman. With a little effort, she could imagine him as a child, running free, only loosely contained by the demands of good behavior. Defying humans and terrifying cats.

She’d noticed the sparkle in his eye the first moment she’d met him. It gleamed there now as he gazed at his grandmother. He’d never lost that naughty child inside him. He brought it to everything he did, including lovemaking.

He caught her staring and gave her a knowing look. “I thought you wanted to know how I got the name Bump.”

She looked right back. “You must have bumped into a lot of things.”

“Exactly,” his grandmother said. “And when anyone confronted him with what he’d destroyed, he’d claim
it
had bumped into
him
.”

“And so you named him Bump and decided he was cursed,” Juliet said.

“You understand,” Lady Derrington said.

“Not at all. What does his curse have to do with me?”

“That sort of Winslow male needs a woman who can stand up to his devilment and return it with a vengeance. I was that woman for Bump’s grandfather,” Lady Derrington said. “If you drive my darling boy to distraction, it proves you’re his equal. He’ll never ride roughshod over you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Miss Foster manages nicely,” Derrington said. “You’ll see for yourself while you’re here.”

While she was here? Did the man expect Juliet to remain and entertain his grandmother? “Excuse me, but how long did you—”

Derrington pointedly turned to his grandmother, cutting Juliet off. “How did you know I was here, Harry? More important, how did you know I’d brought a young lady with me?”

His grandmother didn’t answer but took a sip of her tea, wearing a self-satisfied smile.

Derrington groaned. “I should have known. My valet. I thought I could trust him.”

“You can with anyone but me,” his grandmother answered.

“You always could get anything you wanted from the servants,” he answered.

“Most of them worked for me before they did for you, or their parents did.”

“Well, I’m glad you came.” He turned his gaze on Juliet, and a definite softness entered his eyes. “I would have arranged for you to meet Miss Foster, in any case.”

“I don’t see a ring on her finger,” Lady Derrington said.

“I haven’t decided on what kind to give her,” he answered. “It would have to be something unique.”

Lady Derrington set her teacup on the table at her elbow and twisted a ring off one of her fingers. She handed it to her grandson, who held it up to the light.

“A ruby?” he asked. “Not a diamond?”

“Pfft,” she said. “Diamonds are plain. Besides, this stone has a history to it. A maharaja gave it to his lover. She outlived his wife, and they spent the rest of their days happily in sin with each other.”

“Harry, I can’t give that to my wife-to-be,” he said.

“Your what?” Juliet said.

He gave her that don’t-you-dare-say-a-word glare he’d used on other people. She opened her mouth to speak, and he increased the glare of his expression. She shut her mouth again. If she’d read him right, a confrontation would lead to shouting, and she might as well save that for when they were alone.

“I bought the ring in Rome,” Lady Derrington said. “The story was probably wrong or made up for drama, but it’s a nice stone.”

He reached across the small distance that separated their chairs and took Juliet’s hand. After a bit of pushing, the ring went onto her finger where it looked as if it had been made specifically for her. It was, indeed, a fine stone—bright and clear with a distinct star in the center.

“I can’t take this,” she said. “It’s much too precious.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Derrington declared. “If you make my Bump happy, you’re worth your weight in stones like that.”

She started to object, but
I don’t make him happy
or
I won’t make him happy
sounded silly. She’d sort all this out with the man himself and give him the ring back, no matter how stunning it was or how wonderfully it fit on her finger.

“I’ve brought yards and yards of fine, white silk,” Lady Derrington said. “And Venetian lace, enough to drape half the statues in the garden. We’ll get the best seamstress up from London to make it all into a gown for the bride.”

“Lady Derrington, I—” she tried, but Derrington gave her that look, so she shut her mouth again. That wouldn’t last forever.

The sounds of furious barking came from the foyer, accompanied by the scratch of dogs’ nails against the slick floor. Human shouts followed.

“Good Lord, what is your man doing with my dogs?” Lady Derrington demanded.

“Sounds like the opposite,” Derrington said.

“If my babies get out, we’ll never find them,” Lady Derrington said.

Derrington rose. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Never mind.” Lady Derrington got up, too. “They only obey me.”

She left quickly, and Derrington made to follow, but Juliet jumped up and managed to catch his elbow. “You’re not going anywhere until we talk.”

“But—”

“I mean it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “All right. You start.”

“What was that look you gave me?”

“You mean, this one?” He glared at her the same way he’d done to stop her from speaking before.

“Exactly.”

“That was my warning to keep your beautiful mouth shut.”

“How dare you shut me up?” she said.

“If I hadn’t, you would have told my grandmother you weren’t going to marry me.”

“I’m not.”

He did it again. That same imperious expression, now with a lifted brow.

“Enough of that,” she said. “I’ll go out there and tell her right now.”

He grabbed her arm. “I don’t want you to tell her.”

“Fine, then you tell her.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Why on Earth not?”

He leaned toward her. “Because it isn’t true.”

“What?”

“I’m not through persuading you,” he said. “You’ll marry me eventually.”

Words absolutely failed her. He should have been joking, but he wasn’t smiling. He just stared at her with a maddening certainty in his gaze. The odious man thought she didn’t know her own mind.

“I’m going to say this as simply as I can,” she said. “I’m not going to marry you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“We’ll see nothing.” She thumped his chest with her finger. “You can’t command me.”

“I think I can while you’re in my house.”

“I only came here so you could make love to me in privacy,” she said. “You’ve done that. Now, I want you to take me back to London first thing tomorrow morning.”

His jaw went rigid. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeated. “And don’t try to leave on your own. I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?” Her feet wouldn’t stay still. She paced away from him and back again, prowling like a caged cat. “No one forbids me anything.”