When a Marquess Loves a Woman (13 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

T
he Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence

Lady F—th's concerto this evening is sure to impress. Rumor has it that our resident
goddess
ordered a length of crimson silk from the drapers. One must wonder what stunning creation Lady G— will display this evening.

In other news, our favorite Viscount E— was spotted in the park this morning . . .

E
ach time Juliet read the current issue of the
Standard,
she breathed a sigh of relief. There was only that brief remark but nothing more. Not even the barest whisper about her scandalous visit to Max's townhouse yesterday morning.

Of course, Max had been quite clever in his plan to make certain no one saw her. So clever, in fact, that Juliet had wondered aloud how often he hailed hacks and then asked them to drive around to the garden gate.

Finding her question amusing, Max had grinned, spouting some nonsense about believing her to be jealous, just before he'd kissed her. Soundly.

Even a full day and a half later, Juliet could still feel the warm, tingly aftershocks of it.

“Do you think Lord Thayne will attend Lady Falksworth's concert this evening, madame?” Marguerite asked with a saucy waggle of her brows as she put the finishing touches on Juliet's coiffure.

Even though Juliet had confessed nothing about the events of yesterday morning, her maid had known instantly. Of course, it was impossible to hide the remnants he'd left on Juliet's flesh, tender and pink from his ardent attentions. Even the way she'd walked had been slightly altered, hinting at a new awareness of muscles she never knew she had. Most of all, Marguerite had claimed that Juliet was glowing, her skin and her eyes emitting an ethereal shimmer.

Glancing in the vanity mirror, she wondered if it was still showing. Then again, perhaps her current iridescent state was the gleam of candlelight glancing off the deep blue silk. “As I told you before, I do not know Max's plans from one day to the next.”

However, that did not stop her from hoping she would see him tonight.

“But you are his lover now, no?”

Juliet didn't know that either. The way things had been left between them, she was unsure of where they stood. She'd half expected him to propose to her. When he hadn't, she told herself to be grateful. Gone was the impulsive man from five years ago who'd turned her world upside down. Since she was just settling into her life, she didn't need any sudden alterations, which included changing the peculiarly tense sort of friendship that she shared with Max.

When he did not call upon her at all today, however, she began to worry that he regretted what happened. No matter what their history was, she counted on his being in her life. And she prayed that her act of impulsiveness had not ruined everything she cared about the most.

Rivalry or not, she didn't want to lose him.

“What I know is that I shall be late to the concert if I do not make haste,” Juliet said, choosing an ivory comb from the collection on a tray. Although, given her destination this evening, she would almost rather miss the concert entirely. She truly loathed Lady Falksworth.

Marguerite made a sound of disgust. “That woman does not deserve your attendance with the way she spoke incessantly about your scandal when you returned, not letting anyone forget the reason you married Lord Granworth.”

“Ah, but in doing so, she made me quite the celebrity, didn't she? I daresay, my name has not been absent from the
Standard
for a single day since,” Juliet said in jest, pretending to enjoy being beneath the
ton
's quizzing glass. Yet not even this was the true reason Juliet despised Lady Falksworth. The hatred Juliet felt had begun years ago, when Lady Falksworth was a guest of Lord Granworth's in Bath.

They were distant cousins but very much alike in nature. Even down to their exacting tastes in—what they considered—beauty. In the beginning, Lady Falksworth had suggested that Juliet not be allowed to drink more than one cup of tea each day in order to prevent her teeth from staining. Dark berries had been added to that list as well, and in a matter of days, Lord Granworth and his cousin had decided upon Juliet's entire daily rations.

From there, Juliet's life had been managed into quarter-hour increments, subject to change only on Lord Granworth's whim and Lady Falksworth's suggestions.

During all of it, Lord Granworth made sure to remind Juliet that she was nothing without her beauty, nothing without his money or his connections, and that without all of it, not even her parents would love her. And Juliet hated that she'd believed him for so long.

It wasn't until Zinnia and Lilah had written to her over a year ago, expressing condolences and asking after her well-being, that Juliet began to find her strength again. Out of all the people who had fervently followed Lord Granworth and professed to being her dearest friends, none had ever proven it. Only Zinnia and Lilah had inquired after her.

She still remembered the utter shock she felt. That initial gesture of kindness had filled her with such joy that it had snapped her out of her doldrums. She had spent far too many years living as an empty shell. But that was over and done.

The woman that Max had seen inside her, the same one he'd kissed in the library all those years ago, deserved better.

Since her return, and even in the months before, she had found her inner strength and also a sense of self-empowerment that had helped her learn all she could about art trading. By doing so, she had amassed a small fortune, far more wealth than Lord Granworth likely ever expected her to possess from his life's collection of beautiful objects. But above all, Juliet loved being a strong, independent woman.

Wasn't that the reason she'd entered into her wager with Max in the first place? Yet things had just become more complicated. She wasn't certain how to proceed with Max but knew that she needed to keep her plan firmly in motion.

Marguerite scoffed as she anchored the comb in place. “I still do not believe Lady Falksworth deserves your attendance.”

“That may be true,” Juliet agreed, pulling on a pair of long white kid gloves adorned with pearl buttons at the cuff. “However, I have a wager to win, and now is not the time to rest on my laurels.”

“Lord Thayne would surely give you the house if you asked for it.”

Undoubtedly. Juliet knew enough of Max's nature to believe him capable of sudden tender gestures. “Which is precisely the reason I must win on my own. I cannot have him thinking that I was intimate with him in order to win the house.”

“And you told him that,
non
?”

“Of course.”

Marguerite dusted her hands together. “Then the matter is settled.”

Juliet shook her head, adamant. “A person proves her or his character through action and deed. If our situations were reversed, I would be offended if Max stopped trying to win, and a measure of regret or doubt might creep in as well. He has every right to be assured that what happened between us had nothing to do with the wager.”

“Only passion,” Marguerite said with another eyebrow waggle before reaching into the narrow, velvet-lined armoire for Juliet's sapphire necklace.

Juliet chose to ignore her maid. “With any luck, I'll encounter Ellery this evening and continue with my plan to showcase him in the best possible light.” Since the rescue of her fan had been such a triumph, she concluded that the rescue of her person would be even more so. Therefore, she intended to feign a turned ankle, which would serve two purposes—the first being the obvious favor he would gain, and the second being an early departure for both of them from tonight's concert.

Marguerite clucked her tongue as she fastened the clasp, the blue stone winking in the silver taper light. “I do not like this plan of yours any longer.”

“Whyever not?” Not that it would stop Juliet, but she was curious.

“What would Lord Thayne think to see you leave the concert on the arm of another man? Surely he would be jealous.”

After yesterday morning, Juliet believed that Max knew better than that. Clearly, she was not one to take a lover on a mere whim. And at the reminder of what it was like to be in Max's embrace, her reflection smiled back at her. “I thought you once said that a jealous man made a wonderful lover.”

“C'est vrai.”
Marguerite offered a thoughtful nod, pursing her lips. “But passion born from jealousy is a poison, madame. A little can cause hot tingles all over the skin, but too much will murder your love affair.”

The warning sent an ominous shiver through Juliet, and her smile faded, her expression uncertain. Turning away from the mirror, she stood. “You are assuming far too much. I do not even know if I am having a love affair.”

Marguerite smiled and kissed Juliet on both cheeks. “Then for your sake, I hope Lord Thayne will make it perfectly clear tonight.
Vive la romance!
”

T
he receiving line at Lady Falksworth's concert followed the curved wall around the overly gilded, art-choked first floor hall and continued down the carpeted stairs. Like the surroundings, most of the guests fairly dripped with adornments—a profusion of jewels, tiaras, and turbans meant to impress their hostess.

Unlike the prediction in the
Standard
, Juliet had not gone to any particular effort. She dressed with the simplicity that she always preferred. A single jewel and a well-designed gown was all she required. When it was her turn to greet Lady Falksworth, however, Juliet felt a modicum of pleasure at receiving squinty-eyed disapproval.

“Lady Granworth, how good of you to attend,” she said with a pinched smile. “I seem to recall admiring the cut of that gown Wednesday last.”

It was no accident that Juliet was wearing the same gown she had worn on a prior occasion, which they'd both attended.

“Oh dear,” Juliet said without an ounce of chagrin. “How very frugal of me.”

Lady Falksworth's cold blue eyes turned icy, clearly perturbed by the slight. “Hmm . . . quite. One would have thought, however, that my cousin's fortune might have afforded you a new gown for such an event. Unless, of course, your father's affliction has turned into your own.” She tsked, not bothering to lower her voice but adding a dusty chortle to remove the weight from the slanderous comment. The small titters from those nearest proved she'd effectively made it seem as if they were close acquaintances.

Juliet had expected such a retaliation and did not bat an eye. Saying nothing only made her hostess appear peevish.

Lady Falksworth continued. “Oh, but aren't we all gamblers from time to time? I myself enjoy a rousing game of whist. Though I must offer a word of caution because, as it is, I have no more cousins to spare you from ruin.”

This time there were a series of sharp inhales of shock.

Not wanting to give Lady Falksworth the satisfaction of thinking that she'd struck a nerve, Juliet gripped her composure as if her life depended upon it. “It is fortunate that I have no need of assistance.”

“Ah, then we must play sometime.”

Juliet inclined her head and withheld further comment. It was far better to retain the high road than to lower oneself into the muck. For those who dwell within it are far too pleased when company joins them. And yet, Juliet wished she would have said or done something. Years of injustice were still raging inside her.

She knew very well that nearly all the guests in attendance had fallen victim to their hostess's waspish tongue at one time or another. Society, however, was a fickle beast that cared more for pleasing itself whenever possible than for slaying old dragons. Proof of that was in the crush gathered inside the ballroom.

The moment Juliet entered the room, she searched for Ellery, still hoping that she might accomplish the goal for which she'd come, sooner rather than later. If she could feign an injury before the performance even began, then all the better for her.

Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen. Worse yet were the whispers gathering like a gale wind through a rocky cove. Apparently, Lady Falksworth's invitation to the Duke of Vale, Ivy, and the dowager duchess purposely excluded Gemma Desmond.

Juliet was incensed.
That condescending shrew!

If Juliet would have known about this, she would have declined to attend out of solidarity. Regret and disappointment filled her.

She looked to the exit, prepared to show her support, even if after the fact. Yet as the troupe of Italian opera singers began their performance, the French doors leading to the ballroom closed. A footman in scarlet and gold livery stood sentinel in front of them.

It was common knowledge that Lady Falksworth despised tardiness and disruptions of any sort. Priding herself on following the rules of society to the letter, she also demanded clockwork precision of her servants, as well as punctuality and perfection in her companions. She had been known to say, “A life is not worthwhile without order.”

But now, Juliet was set on disturbing Lady Falksworth's order.

When the moment was right, Juliet stood. Pressing a hand to her temple, she knew that any onlookers would assume she merely had a headache. It worked for the footman, after all. He was even kind enough to show her to the retiring room, where she could wait until the end of the performance.

“Thank you, but I would prefer to leave,” she said, with a smile to him once they were alone in the hallway.

The young footman blushed all the way to the tips of his ears and began to stammer. “Her ladyship wouldn't . . . that is to say . . . Lady Falksworth prefers for her guests to stay until the evening's . . . festivities have ended.”

Feeling penned in, Juliet glanced to the stairs. “And if a guest desires to leave, regardless?”

“I'm afraid, my lady, that Mr. Bowson, at the main door, would only show you to the parlor.”