Miss Foster’s Folly (26 page)

In fact, everything seemed brighter now that she’d decided on a course of action. She wouldn’t end up mooning around hat shops, searching for Derrington’s newest fling. At least, she’d have that small victory over the stunning blonde they’d encountered in London. She might not have a title, but she could return to New York and buy the most expensive mansion on the park, if she wanted. She could have the best box at the opera, buy a stable full of racehorses, endow a chair at her father’s alma mater, Yale, and name it after herself.

Ha! A university she, as a woman, couldn’t even attend, and she’d put up a statue of herself on the campus. She could do all those things without a man in her life, and she would.

“What’s wrong with you?” Millie said.

“Nothing. There was until a few moments ago, but I’ve fixed it now.”

“No. You don’t look normal.”

She brushed past her friend, went to the door, and pulled it open. “Hello. Is anyone there?”

When no one answered, she tried again. “Hello!”

A maid appeared, finally. “Do you need something, miss?”

“My trunk. Have it sent up immediately.”

The girl curtseyed and hurried off. Juliet went back into her room and found Millie standing in the center, her eyes wide with worry.

“Juliet, please try to calm down,” she said.

“Why should I? I feel wonderful.”

“A minute ago, you admitted you loved Lord Derrington, and now, you’re packing to leave him,” Millie said. “How could you feel wonderful?”

“I don’t know. I just do. Everything’s sharp and clear. Focused. He’d cast a spell on me, and now I’m free of it.”

Millie took her by the shoulders, forced her to sit on the bed, and bent over until their noses almost touched. “Your eyes have a crazed look to them.”

“You read too many novels.”

Millie put a palm on Juliet’s forehead. “No fever.”

Juliet pushed her hand away. “I’m not sick. I just want to leave.”

A footman arrived with her trunk. “Where would you like it, miss?”

Juliet pointed. “By the wardrobe.”

He put it where she’d instructed and left again.

“He’ll tell Lord Derrington you’re packing,” Millie said.

Juliet got up and lifted some gowns from the bed. “I have Derrington’s permission to leave.”

“Don’t you think that’ll cause him pain?” Millie said. “Considerable pain.”

That penetrated. Juliet dropped the gown and pictured him. Alone somewhere. Maybe in the garden, staring at the gazebo. The image sliced through her, cutting off her air. For a moment, her vision went dim as the magnitude of what she was doing hit home.

If she left him now, he’d let her go for good. Twice, she’d run from him, and twice, he’d come after her, even if the second time was only to the inn. He had too much pride to keep following her. Besides, he’d already seen her change from the intelligent, adventurous woman he’d fallen in love with to a female who cried at a failed card game. He’d probably welcome her withdrawal from his life, despite his protests to the contrary. If she left now, she’d end their affair for good.

She sank back onto the bed. “It can’t be helped.”

Millie sat beside her. “You’ve swung back.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve done it twice since I came in. You were sad and then euphoric, and now, you’re sad again.”

“You’re right,” Juliet answered. “Geneva. They have all kinds of doctors there. One will figure out what’s wrong with me.”

Millie squeezed her hand. “I’ll come with you.”

“But, you can’t. Mr. Wently—”

“He’ll understand,” Millie said. “He’ll wait for me. I’ll write to him while we’re gone.”

“No, no. I can’t do anything to endanger your happiness.”

“If he won’t do this small thing for me, he won’t make much of a husband,” Millie said.

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“Stubborn.” Millie hooted, actually hooted. “You’re a fine one to talk about stubbornness.”

“Millie…”

“Either I go with you, or I’ll sit on you until Lord Derrington locks you in your room.”

Juliet stared at her friend. Millie glared back, letting Juliet know that she meant every word.

“Oh, all right,” Juliet said finally. “Help me pack.”

***

Derrington poured himself a stiff drink and then set it down again. He’d have plenty of time to drown his sorrows later. Right now, he needed a clear head.

She was leaving him again. The other two times hadn’t mattered much. On the first, they’d scarcely known each other—had shared only one kiss. She’d led him on a chase across the Atlantic, and frankly, he’d enjoyed it. No more than a game of cat-and-mouse. No feelings involved.

Then, the second time, she’d escaped confinement, as any rational person would try to do. Another game, another hunt with delicious consequences. He could hardly lament that defection.

This was different. He’d declared himself, laid himself open to her more than he had to any other person in the world, and she’d repay him by leaving.

He had to stop her before she cut his heart to pieces. But how?

“Lord Derrington?” a soft voice said.

He turned to find Miss Rhodes so close she could have reached out to touch him. He’d been so wrapped in thought, he hadn’t heard her enter.

“What is she doing now?” he asked.

“Getting ready to leave, I’m afraid.”

“So, I gather.” He dragged in a breath. “Will it be France or Italy?”

“Nothing like that.” She looked shocked he’d suggest such a thing. “She’s not looking for another lover. I promise you.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for small favors.”

Miss Rhodes put a hand on his sleeves. “She loves you, my lord.”

“Then, why in bloody hell is she always running away from me?”

“This time, I honestly don’t know.” Miss Rhodes knotted her fingers together in front of her skirts. “She wouldn’t want me talking to you about this.”

He picked up his drink and downed some of it, after all. “Please. Anything. I’m at my wits’ end.”

“I’ve never seen her like this, and I’ve seen plenty of her moods. She’s always been impetuous.” She twisted her fingers back and forth. If anyone could be said to wring her hands, Miss Millicent Rhodes was doing it now. “There’s something going on much bigger than a game of cards.”

“Blasted whist, anyway. I wish I’d never suggested it.”

Curse it all. She’d acted strangely for some time now. Melancholy when they’d spied on that innocent kiss between Miss Rhodes and the vicar. He could have used any number of adjectives to describe Juliet Foster, but never melancholy. Nor wistful, nor even thoughtful. She barged through obstacles like a battering ram. It was part of her charm.

“Maybe she really is that terrified of giving you her heart,” Miss Rhodes said.

He groaned loudly and drank more Scotch.

“That wouldn’t make sense to any normal person,” Miss Rhodes said. “But Juliet has always made up her own rules.”

“I don’t give a fig for her damned rules.”

“And you might be a bit on the obstinate side yourself, my lord.”

He groaned again, more softly this time, went to a chair and sat. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Let her go for a little while.”

“Where?”

“She says Geneva. I doubt she, herself, knows where she’ll go.”

He set his drink on the floor and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “How will I find her?
If
I find her.”

“I’ll go with her and make sure she’s safe. I’ll get word to you somehow when I know where we’ve landed.”

“You’re a good friend to both of us, Millie, if I may call you that.”

“Of course.” She sat on a chair near him and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “In the meantime, keep Mr. Carter with you. He can find anyone.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Things will turn out for the best. I’m sure of it,” she said.

“I wish I could share your confidence.”

“Give her time, and give me time to work on her,” Millie said.

Yes. He had no other choice. But he didn’t have to like it. “Please don’t make it long.”

“I’ll do the best I can.” She rose to leave.

“Oh, Millie,” he called after her.

She stopped and turned back.

“If it’s not too personal of me to ask,” he said. “What of Vicar Wently?”

She blushed. “I’ve explained things to him.”

“He’ll wait for you. I’ll see that he does. He’s a good man.”

“So are you, my lord.”

***

In the end, Wently helped the woman he loved into a carriage to leave. Derrington couldn’t trust himself to do it, although he watched from an upstairs window. She didn’t even wait for the next morning but hurried off to catch the last train. She also didn’t look up when she climbed inside. She had no reason to know he stood there, but she might have cared enough to search the windows for him, curse her hide.

Millie set her foot on the step to follow her friend and then hesitated. Instead, she rushed back to the vicar and into his arms for a quick kiss. Suddenly, Juliet’s seeming unhappiness at watching those two embrace made perfect sense as pain stabbed into him, sharper than any knife. After a moment, they broke off the caress, hugged briefly, and parted. Millie got into the carriage, and after the footman closed the door and took his position on the rear, the gig rumbled off.

Wently waved. Derrington didn’t. But they both watched as the carriage rolled down the lane behind some trees and disappeared.

Very well. He would remain calm. He had dinner to get through with Harry and Carter. An excuse to make up for Juliet’s and Millie’s absence. And then, a very, very long night.

He reached to the bell pull and gave it a good tug. After a moment, a maid appeared.

“Your lordship?” she said.

“Have another bedroom made up.”

“Yes, sir.” She curtseyed and left him.

He couldn’t sleep in her bed, obviously, but his own didn’t hold much more appeal. Too damned empty. With any luck, no one would discover him there until the next day when he’d have to reveal the truth to the others.

He went numb and icy cold on the inside. This room he’d inhabited off and on for his entire life seemed foreign. So many happy hours as a child and an adult, so many games played, so much mischief—none of that belonged here now. Juliet Foster had been here, filled the space with her grand lunacy, and gone away again as if nothing here mattered to her. If he couldn’t make things right somehow, he’d have to leave here, too, for a long time to let the memories fade. He’d pack Harry off to Italy without the great-grandchild she wanted, and he’d—what? What in hell would he do?

Damn her. He closed his hand into a fist. Damn her. How could she do this to him? He wouldn’t allow himself to moon over her. He was the bleeding Marquis of bleeding Derrington, and no female could make him wallow in self-pity. He’d give her her time alone. A fortnight, no more. Then, he’d track her down. She could either come to her senses and marry him, or she could forget he’d ever proposed. He’d find someone else somewhere out of the millions of women in the world. He’d do his duty, get an heir, and then do whatever the hell he pleased. Juliet Foster had one more chance, and then he was done with her.

***

“Where is she, Derrington?”

Carter’s voice. Time for the confrontation had come. Derrington stared down at the untouched plate of food in front of him and then pushed it away.

The American burst into the dining room, his tie undone and his face an unflattering shade of red. “Juliet’s not in her room. What have you done with her?”

“Good morning. I hope you had a good night’s sleep.”

“Don’t play with me.” Carter approached, rested both fists on the table next to Derrington, and leaned toward him. “I’m not interested in pleasantries this morning.”

“I can see that.”

“Just tell me where she is,” Carter said.

Derrington pushed his chair back to get some room. “I don’t know.”

“It seems there are a lot of things you don’t know.” Carter straightened. “I’ll ask Miss Rhodes.”

“She’s gone, too.”

“All right, the story,” Carter demanded. “I want it all.”

“Miss Foster was upset and wanted to leave. Miss Rhodes wanted to go with her. I couldn’t hold them against their will, so I ordered a carriage to take them to the train station.”

“So early in the morning?”

He lifted his chin and regarded Carter evenly. “They left yesterday.”

“I should have known that tale you told at dinner was a lie. Juliet doesn’t get headaches, at least, not so bad that Miss Rhodes would have had to nurse her.”

“I don’t think you know her very well at all.”

“I’ve been her friend her entire life.” Carter thumped his own chest. “She was just fine until she met you.”

“Oh, really? With the vermin she calls family and no husband of her own? What could you do for her? Marry her and give her children?”

The man turned purple with rage. “I will not discuss
that
with you.”

“Fine. And I will not allow you to lecture me about my relationship with Juliet Foster.”

“Relationship,” Carter hollered. “What in hell kind of relationship do you have with her if you’re either holding her prisoner or upsetting her so badly she has to escape?”

“You’re trying my patience, Carter.”

“I don’t give a damn about your patience. I want to know where Juliet is.”

Derrington rose. “I don’t know.”

“And you don’t care, no doubt.”

“All right.” Derrington shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it onto his chair. “You’ve gone too far.”

“Quite the opposite.” Carter shed his own jacket. “I haven’t gone nearly far enough.”

The two men circled each other, fists raised. He had to give Carter credit for a good stance and for not simply charging like a fool. In the end, his own greater reach gave him an advantage, and he struck out and connected with the American’s jaw.

Just then, two huge shapes came hurtling at them. Harry’s dogs, howling like banshees. They ran between the two men, snarling and nipping and effectively pushing them apart.

Harry followed. “What in God’s name is going on here?”

“Call off your hounds so I can pound this bastard to a pulp,” Derrington shouted.