“At least try, Randa. When you have exhausted all you can, you can reassess and make your final decisions from there.”
Miranda leaned over and hugged her best friend. “I will go write him now, so we can speak of it soon, since the marriage mart is now in full swing and the deadline looms. If I cannot persuade him to listen, will you finish out your assignment, the next prank?” Sticking out her right hand, pinky extended, she looked at Juliet with a gleam in her eye. “In for a penny, my sweet . . .”
Juliet heaved a deep, dramatic sigh. “In for a pound.” The ladies shook pinkies in their unconventional way. Miranda rose to leave the garden to write her letter. “But please, Randa, make every effort to settle this with your brother. I shudder to think how our next prank will backfire.”
Miranda laughed as she walked away, back toward the manor. “I will be my most persuasive and attempt to flatter Jonas into thinking my ideas are his. You worry too much, Jules. Everything will work out in the end,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“It may work out in the end,” muttered Juliet to herself, “but what will we go through to get there? Zut.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife!
William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, Act 5, Scene 2
Juliet turned to the side to sit lengthwise on the bench, leaning back on her arms and bracing them behind her. She tilted her head up to the sun, mentally hearing her mother's chastising for neglecting a bonnet. Hopefully, her mother would not look for her while she took advantage of the beautiful sunshine warming her skin. She sat like this, face upturned, in contemplation, lost in her tumultuous thoughts.
"Lady Juliet, may I join you?" asked the Duke as he found her in the garden, his shadow falling over her upturned face, startling her out of her daydreams.
She jumped at the sound of his deep voice, eyes squinting toward his figure. With his height and breadth blocking the sun, the light from the rays seemed to radiate from him. "Saints and sinners, Your Grace! I think you scared at least one year off my life!” she laughed.
“I sincerely apologize, my lady.” He took a seat on the empty bench space she freed for his occupation next to her. Despite the heat of the day, Juliet felt a chill race up her spine and gave herself a mental shake over the strange reactions she was continuing to have in the presence of the Duke. He spoke again and she forced her mind to focus on his words.
“Might I ask a personal question?” At her tentative nod, he continued. “What soured you so on matrimony?”
“I would not call myself soured, Your Grace. I prefer to think myself a realist, or possibly even a pragmatist. My views of matrimony are probably scandalous, even revolutionary, and so thoroughly unlikely to come to fruition that I simply resigned myself to a life of happy spinsterhood rather than unhappy leg-shackling."
His eyebrows raised in mock alarm, a grin twitching his mouth and causing two dimples to appear. "Scandalous views, eh? Please enlighten me, my lady."
She pinkened slightly but did not demure. Having spent more time with the Duke this week than she had in her entire life, she was still a little unsettled but was slowly becoming more accustomed to his presence, finding him surprisingly personable and less intimidating and cold than she previously thought. "Brace yourself, Your Grace, for some shocking ideas." She flashed him a saucy smile and sat up straighter on the bench, titling her chin up in a haughty angle. "I would marry for genuine feeling of attachment only and not for a title or profitable match between peers. I would also require my spouse to be faithful, never tolerating a mistress, as I would likewise never forsake my vows. These are the two most alarming ideas I can recollect."
The Duke did, indeed, find himself surprised at the sentimental views held by the independent and intelligent Lady Juliet Quinn. The practical nature she had shown so often seemed at odds with such romantic, and some might even say, naïve views. Strangely, he found himself drawn to her preferences, almost feeling wistful to share her sublime dreams.
"Your desires are quite idealistic for our set, my lady, so I find myself understanding why you have foresworn matrimony. A love match is hard to find in this world, even less so amongst our Society."
"I am aware, Your Grace, yet I am not so foolish as to pine for love; just a partnership of contentment and commonality of purpose and wishes for family and future. And more's the pity for our unhappily shackled peers, I believe, for I have observed that those marriages where at least kindness is nurtured are infinitely happier and more fulfilling, even profitable, for those involved. The husband and wife are most satisfied, the resulting children content and cared for, the general mood of the house most enjoyable. The opposite, the business-arrangement marriage, is cold, officious, and ordered, at its best. At its worst, I have seen husbands who rarely see the inside of their own homes, preferring to while away their time at their clubs and hells and worse, while the wives exist in a torment of gossip and petty grievances against their staff and family. It's all so distasteful and sad; I could not abide it."
Her happy countenance had turned dour and the usual vivacity in her eyes had dimmed to dullness. He was lost to turn away from the bleakness he saw in her expression. Jonas picked up her hand in his. “But what of the things you would miss, even in a marriage that was more contract than companionship. You will forgo children, a life-mate, a household to run, even a lover?”
She blushed at his forthright question as she felt his light touch on her hand searing a path up her entire arm. She did not avert her gaze. “I believe I can enjoy my brothers' children as my own, truly spoiling them rotten in the process and influencing them abominably with my eccentric ways, no doubt. And I will eventually run my own house, though on a much smaller scale than if I were to marry. As for a life mate and, er, the rest,” she stammered and blushed over the words but continued bravely and soberly on, “I suppose I will never know what I have missed.”
"So, rather than risk a life of possible discontent you would deny yourself a chance at – how did you term it – 'genuine attachment?'" he asked softly. His fingers now lightly traced circle patterns on the palm of her hand without his notice as he stared into her eyes.
He watched a myriad of emotions flit across her face as she contemplated his questions for several breaths. She stared at her hand held in his, mesmerized by his action. She smiled a little half-smile but he noticed the gesture did not reach her beautiful metallic-colored eyes. Instead, they revealed sadness and a touch of wistfulness. "When the risk is a life of mediocrity and unfulfilled dreams, possibly even bitterness and resentment, I believe I would, Your Grace." She tugged to get her hand back, but Jonas held tight to his prize. A look of startled bewilderment flitted across her face.
He paused, turning her hand over to place a kiss in her already sensitive palm, his lips warm and lingering just a bit too long. He wondered if she were as affected by his touch as he was by hers. He slid a finger up to rest lightly on her wrist and felt the throbbing of her pulse, questioning silently if she was simply nervous. He decided to press the issue at hand. "But, as Robert Burns so eloquently put it, 'Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met – or never parted – we had ne'er been broken hearted.' All is not guaranteed in love, but it could be considered worth the risks."
Her eyes widened in surprise of his recitation of the Scotsman's lovely poetry as her pulse still galloped madly from his kiss. Why on earth was Miranda's brother kissing her? And who knew a kiss on the wrist could feel so wanton, she thought. She then smiled pensively, nodding her head as she contemplated the poetic verse he quoted. "But at least to have love, at some point, for however long Providence sees fit to allow it, seems better to me than to have lived my whole life pledged to another and doomed to exist in its absence. Even dear Mr. Burns wrote, 'How fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Til all the seas gang dry.'" She sighed deeply and looked fully at his face. She u
nconsciously brought her other hand up to lie on the back of his hand that held hers. She lightly traced a path over the backs of his fingers. "That is the only way I would marry. For love. And love til all the seas ran dry." She gave a sudden shake to clear her head, breaking the spell the Duke had woven as she dropped her hand with a shocked expression. “I suppose I should call myself a 'romantic pragmatist.' I have fanciful notions of love and dreams, but pragmatically know they will likely never be realized.” She jerked her hand free of his and slid to the very edge of the bench to put some distance between them.
Jonas felt the overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms and tell her not to forsake her dreams or feel doomed to a singular existence. He wanted to make fanciful declarations and promises. He suddenly realized he longed to give her all her dreams, be the fulfillment of her desires. These realizations gave him a clarity of thought that had long been absent in his life, since before assuming his title. His feelings brought both peace to his heart and turbidity to his mind. He considered himself a man afraid of little, but these new thoughts and emotions scared him to the soles of his boots. Was this love, this all-consuming feeling to wrap another up and promise to cherish and protect them no matter the cost? Was it love to want to erase the sadness so she would only show him smiles? He felt a strange and unfamiliar weight on his chest to say something – anything – that would make her smile, turn to him, and see in him the answer to her heart's desires. His mind and heart warred as he struggled for words in his confusion.
Juliet grew uncomfortable at his silence and felt the urge to fill the void or flee his presence. "You see, Your Grace, I have thoroughly flummoxed you. It is no wonder I have survived two seasons without a betrothal, in spite of several proposals and my mother's aching disappointment. But I cannot trade her happiness for mine, and thankfully I am certain she will never ask it of me. Truthfully, I am a terrible coward. I am afraid to love for fear that once I have tasted of it I will never be content to live without it. That is what I could not suffer; to know what love is and lose it." Juliet abruptly stood and stretched her mouth into a pale semblance of a grin, desperate to return to some sense of normality between them. "Let us not be so maudlin, Your Grace, and pray do not fear that Miranda feels as I, nor would I ever attempt to sway her feelings. She is infinitely more realistic and does honestly desire a good match. Her only impediment to matrimony is her 'list of attributes' that her prospective groom must possess and the fact that she wants to wait another year." She gave him another searching look then dropped a brief curtsy. “Everyone will be gathering for the strawberry picnic, Your Grace. Please excuse me,” she added and left him in the garden as she made for the house.
Jonas was left to his own swirling thoughts. He watched her exit the garden, her gown skimming her shapely form, her skirts lightly swishing in rhythm to the gentle sway of her hips. He shook his head and glanced at the rosebush with its vibrant red blooms near the bench, and laughed out loud, a deep, rich sound.
“'O my luve is like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly played in tune.'” he quoted aloud to himself. If fair Juliet would be won by love, the Duke began to marvel that he felt himself the man for that task.
Chapter Twenty-Five
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?
William Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors, Act 2, Scene 1
The Duchess of Dorset determined the day of picnicking and picking strawberries would be the perfect opportunity to pair her daughter with not one but two potential husbands, the Earl of Dartmouth and Viscount Torrington. Both men were young and handsome, the former a charming and presumed rake, the latter a friendly and respectable titled pauper. Both men met the main criteria for Miranda's mother in that they were in want of a wife. Since Juliet made her plans to avoid matrimony abundantly clear, the Duchess allowed that she was a safe and ideal companion for the day.
Miranda met Juliet outside her room as she finished tying the ribbons of her bonnet. Where Juliet was tall with dark hair, Miranda was as petite as her mother, with curly blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. Her heart-shaped face featured a slightly snubbed nose dusted with a sprinkling of pale freckles. The dimples she shared with her brother were a near constant fixture on her cheeks, although their absence was noted now as Miranda frowned at the sight of her friend.
“Honestly, Jules, how can we be wearing the same pink color and muslin fabric and you look beautiful while I feel like a faded washout? I loath pastels! I may change my mind to marry sooner just so I may wear more variety of colors.” While Miranda's dress showed scalloped sleeves and embroidered rosettes in aubergine across the bodice and hem, Juliet's featured a dark pink sash tied under the bodice of her gown and smaller but identically-colored ribbons tied into tiny bows around the hems of her sleeves and skirt.
“Trust me, dearest, you never look like a washout when standing near me. I am the Amazon while you are the perfectly proportioned lady, with your face ringed in curls and your pretty pouty lips. You are the quintessential English Rose, your every aspect the height of fashion.” Juliet puckered her lips in an affectation of a pout that likened her countenance more to a fish and made both ladies dissolve in gales of laughter. Miranda grabbed her friend's arm and they began to descend the staircase as she explained away Juliet's comparison with ease.
“Your height allows you to look all the average men nearly in the eye while the really interesting men – the scoundrels, rakes, and ne'er do wells – are all the perfect height for you to fit your head to their shoulders should you see the need to swoon.” Miranda gave a longing sigh. “My height puts me looking squarely into the buttons on their waistcoats, or I may gaze longingly at the intricate knots of their cravats. They could rest their elbows on my head as a support. And my family would say my lips look pouty because I am often to be found practicing,” she added with a bemused chuckle.
“You are petite, dearest, as women long to be and your mother shows to perfection. And as long as we are admiring each other, let me add that your curls are natural and adorable whereas poor Lily despairs and begs me to allow the hot iron to lend my hair some affect of style. My waves are no match for your ringlets,” she teased. “I should like to borrow some of your curl, if you please.”
Miranda smiled while Hastings stood watch over the opened double doors that led to the rear terrace as they exited the manor for their berry expedition. “I shall lend you my curls if you will part with three inches of your height. That sounds like a fair enough trade.” Both ladies laughed in earnest as their escorts moved closer to join them with bows and a nice show of leg. The friends returned their greetings with two graceful and genteel curtsies.
“Gentlemen, I apologize,” began Miranda, “as you both have drawn the short straws and must pay me court today. I shall endeavor to be circumspect in all things and cause you neither alarm nor ennui.”
“Do not distress yourself that we are suffering, Lady Miranda,” offered Dartmouth. “We happily accompany two beautiful jewels of the crown today. I assure you we are quite content with our situation.”
Juliet's brother, the Earl of Bristol, snorted upon overhearing the last statement as he walked up to join the outing. “Jewels, indeed,” he laughed. “I shall ask for your opinion at the end of this sojourn, Dartmouth, once you have had the company of these two harridans for a bit.”
Juliet hit her brother on the back of his neck with her closed fan and fixed him with a scowl. “Charles, your presence is needed in the back pasture with the rest of the goats. Leave us to our infinitely more handsome and gratifying company, if you please.”
Bristol's brows shot up as he rubbed his sore neck, and the other two gentlemen laughed outright at the barbs traded by the siblings. He took two steps toward his sister to engage her in battle. “Ho, now, little sister! I believe you should school your viper tongue or you will paint your character in an unflattering light. That is no way to trap a beau.”
Juliet sighed melodramatically and stepped in front of her brother to block him out of their foursome. “Now who sounds like a peevish harridan, Charles? You know full well I am not on the hunt so pray take your games and faradiddles somewhere hence.” She paused briefly then hissed to her brother under her breath, for his ears only. “And I will inform the Duchess you are spoiling her daughter's marriage interviews and scaring away her prospects. Good luck to you, my lord, if you fall into Her Grace's ill will.” She turned away and placed her hand on the forearm of the Earl of Dartmouth. “You are exceedingly dull today, dear brother,” she threw over her shoulder in a voice loud enough for all to hear. The Earl and Juliet strolled elegantly away from her brother toward the other end of the terrace with Miranda and Viscount Torrington following.
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