“We do not know the entire story,” he reminded her. “Perhaps, after this, we may begin to learn it.”
“I do not care to learn anything!” Juliet sniffed. “Did you see how stricken Louisa looked to see him on our arrival? And the way he looked right through her, as if she were not even there? It was abominable-”
“I happen to know that you have deployed the self-same method of expressing your annoyance with a gentleman not a million miles from you at this moment,” Edmund said, patiently, smiling to recall the numerous falling outs that had taken place between them during their long and winding road to courtship.
“That was different” Juliet insisted. “You deserved it!!”
He shot her a contrite look and she softened, smiling as the dance forced them to part momentarily. Reunited a moment later, she let out a sigh and conceded him the point.
“Very well, I suppose you are right and it is good that they might speak.” Her lips quirked. “At least I can trust Louisa to guard her heart. Of all of my sisters, she is the surest of her own mind. I do not like Nash’s chances of winning her to his cause a second time. He has hurt her and she does not forgive easily.”
“I wonder who in her family she shares that trait with,” Edmund mused, shooting his bride-to-be a look that was both affectionate and teasing.
Juliet returned her attention to a couple a little way in front of them. It was one thing for Edmund to tease and be charming, but at that moment she was more concerned with his friend. Nash had won Louisa’s heart - had won all of their hears - so easily, she feared his ability to talk himself out of the trouble he rightly deserved to be in.
At least now I understand poor Louisa’s peculiarity of late, she thought. She had done her sister a disservice, thinking that proud, pretty Louisa scarcely even possessed a heart, much less had lost it to their neighbour’s handsome guest. She had taken their friendship for an amusing distraction, one that was equal parts performance and self-interest, for it pleased Louisa to have secured the attentions of so charming a gentleman and she flourished. It had never occurred to her that there was any real feeling there.
Poor Louisa must have been heartbroken when he disappeared with nary a goodbye, and now, to discover the worst! It was beyond callous to think that Nash Weston had come to stay at Northridge and flirted with her sister when all along he had an engagement already agreed, a fiancée he had all but abandoned.
Juliet ought rightfully to have pitied his fiancée, too, but she could not help but find herself firmly on the side of her sister. Louisa was young and impetuous and did not deserve to have been so cruelly used.
“You are quiet,” Edmund observed, as the steps of the dance brought them closer to one another again. “That is rarely a good sign. Tell me, how are you scheming to exact your revenge?”
“So that you can put a stop to it, you mean?”
Edmund let out a low sigh, his hand pressing against Juliet’s with rather more strength than the dance dictated. It was a signal, bidding her look at him and when she did she was surprised to see his usually cheerful face grave.
“Louisa is my sister too, as good as, and if you truly think her honour is at stake then I will do all I can to avenge it.”
“Against your friend?” Juliet scoffed, but she was a little surprised to hear the vehemence in her happy-go-lucky beau’s voice.
“Nash is my friend but you are my family, and friend or not he has behaved poorly.” He scowled. “I repent of knowing half of my friends for their behaviour of late.”
Juliet frowned, curious as to which other friends had disappointed him, but Edmund would not be drawn on other people’s sins.
“If you wish me to speak to him -”
“Speak?” Juliet’s eyebrows raised and Edmund met her gaze, unflinching. He means to challenge him to a duel if I ask him to. It was sweeping and romantic, lifted straight from the pages of the novels she adored, but she could not entertain it. Laying a calming hand on Edmund’s arm, she shook her head, noticing that the dance had moved on and they were almost left behind. Hastening into position, a few moments passed before they were permitted the opportunity to speak again.
“You must not,” she cautioned him. “I am furious with Nash and would happily shoot him myself -” She smiled, indicating humour. “But I would not dream of your calling him out. You might suffer -”
“Thank you for having such faith in my abilities.”
“It is not your abilities I doubt,” Juliet told him, shooting a wary glance in Nash’s direction. “If you fight a scoundrel, what guarantee do you have of him abiding by the rules?” She shook her head, dismissing the notion. “But this is not a novel, and I would never have you do something so rash.” She lifted her chin, taking one last glance in Louisa’s direction and seeing her sister’s head held high, her dancing graceful and unhurried. The expression on her face was unreadable, and Juliet could not discern her response to Nash, but her confidence in her sister grew. Louisa is no fool, she reminded herself. She is too proud to show how she truly feels, but she will not fall for any foolish justification of his behaviour. I need not fear that.
She turned back to Edmund, forcing a smile onto her face.
“Let us merely enjoy what remains of the dance, and leave Mr Weston to his fate. Having crossed my sister numerous times in our lives, I know precisely what punishments she is capable of meting out.” Her smile grew. “I do not envy him the consequences of crossing Louisa Turner.”
Chapter Eleven
My heart was lost to you from our first meeting.
Louisa repeated Nash’s words over and over in her mind as she stood by her aunt, ostensibly watching the other dancers, but in reality, playing and replaying the one dance she and Nash had shared, revisiting every word he had said and mining it for value.
“There is that handsome Mr Weston,” her aunt remarked, and Louisa flinched, fearing for a moment that she had betrayed herself. She followed the line of her aunt’s gaze, though, and saw, indeed, that there was Nash, escorting his fiancée - how her heart ached to think of it! - towards his aunt’s table. He bowed to both ladies and turned, meeting Louisa’s gaze for the briefest of moments.
“Here, auntie, you must be tired of standing in one spot. Shall we sit?”
“I suppose that is wise,” Mrs Brierley said, with a sigh. “Although I refuse to have you join me.” She tucked a stray curl behind Louisa’s ear and patted her warmly on the shoulder.
“You have had enough rest from dancing and humoured me like the delightful niece you are. Now, go and enjoy yourself! The evening will not last forever!”
Louisa smiled, watching as her aunt melted into the crowd. She turned back to the dancers, wondering if she would be asked again but a figure barged past her so suddenly they struck her shoulder. She turned to admonish them, when she noticed the figure had dropped something into her hand as she passed. She glanced up, recognising Nash’s back, and bent over the note, unrolling it and reading it as quickly as she could without being noticed.
Meet me on the terrace.
The terrace? Louisa was torn. There was something risky in following a gentleman - one she knew to be engaged! - on some sort of secret assignation. But the terrace was quite well lit and public. It could surely be no worse than dancing with the man, and nobody had objected to that. Biting her lip, she took one last look around the room to assure herself that she was not being observed, before stepping quickly towards the door, tearing Nash’s hurried note into scraps she disposed of as she walked.
“Louisa! Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Colonel Brierley was red-faced and merry, and at first, Louisa feared he would delay her or prevent her from going altogether. His gaze was unfocused, and he beamed at her.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
“It is, Uncle,” Louisa said, slipping towards the door. “I am a little over-heated after all the dancing. I am just going to take a little air.”
“Ah, yes.
Indeed.” He frowned. “Do you wish for me to escort you?”
“No!” Louisa’s rejection was so sudden, she hurried to temper it with a smile. “You are very kind, but I shall just take a short walk along the terrace. Look, I see a group of young ladies I am acquainted with. I will stop and pass a word or two with them and then return.”
This excuse might not have passed muster with either her parents or her aunt, but Colonel Brierley was unused to the reasonings of young ladies and far too inebriated to make a sensible judgment. He nodded and even went so far as to open the door for her.
“I hope to see you dancing again before long, my dear!” he called, his voice loud in the quiet of the night.
The group of young ladies that Louisa had mentioned giggled at his intrusion, before glancing significantly at Louisa and moving away. She might have taken offence at such a snub from strangers but at this moment her whole attention was fixed on her reason for being here.
“Nash?” she murmured, peering into the shadows to see if she might spy him. She did spy others, pairs and groups of young ladies and gentlemen seeking a little more calm and privacy than the great assembly hall allowed, but no Nash. She was poised to abandon her search, carving up another folly at the feet of her old friend, when Nash appeared to her right, offering her his arm and, when she took it, leading them both to a deserted part of the terrace. Louisa glanced over her shoulder towards the door but satisfied herself that she could still both see and hear other revellers.
“I am glad you came.” Nash grinned. “And that you received my note.”
“Yes.” Louisa frowned, rubbing the shoulder he had barged into. “You needn’t have been quite so violent in the passing of it!”
“Poor lamb.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I am sorry, but I was eager to have the matter done. It is quite a risk we are taking, meeting like this.”
“Yes, so say what must be said and have done with it,” Louisa said, her heart beating hard in her chest. This was the Nash she recalled from home, charming, adventurous and fun, yet with all that had happened in the last few days, Louisa was not quite sure she could trust him.
“I have already said some,” he began, his voice low and gentle. “I told you I loved you, and I do. I cannot bear to be apart from you.”
“And yet you are to marry another.” Louisa’s voice rang with bitterness and she glanced over her shoulder, fearful at having been overheard.
“It was not my choice,” Nash replied, seeking to soften her mood. “And the engagement was as much news to me as it was to you.”
“What do you mean?” Louisa was confused, massaging her head which had begun to ache. The tiny lie she had told her uncle of growing overheated in the assembly room seemed to be coming true.
“It was aunt’s plan that I marry Miss Carter, but no offer had been made - not on my part, at least. This evening they are acting as if all has been agreed, yet I do not recall ever making such an offer. How could I? My heart belongs to another.”
Louisa shivered, partly from the cold and partly at hearing the words she had begun to fear she never would hear, on Nash Weston’s lips. My heart was lost to you from our first meeting.
“But there is no way out.” She had indulged the dream for only a moment, before her rational self had hold of her once more. “You must marry her.”
“I must, if I seek to have my inheritance,” Nash muttered, casting his gaze down. He lifted his eyes to hers a moment later. “And yet, at this moment, I find I care less for my inheritance than I thought. Less for my aunt’s interference. That she would go so far as to announce a theoretical someday engagement as a present fact has proved she cares little for me or my happiness: truly she wishes only to manipulate me into doing as she wishes, and if I am miserable, then I shall be miserable.” His eyes glowed with a fierce intensity. “I do not care to be miserable, Louisa. I care to be happy. With you. If you will have me.”
“WOULD YOU NOT PREFER to dance than sit and entertain an old married man?”
Mr Turner’s voice was weary, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that suggested humour.
“I am an old married man myself, these days, or soon will be!” Edmund retorted, rearranging his cards to best survey what they held. “And I have danced plenty.” He winced, trying to ignore the ache in his feet and wondering whether it was synonymous with engagement to feel all of a sudden as if one had aged a decade.
“I shall not complain about your company, in that case.” Mr Turner smirked and played his hand. “Particularly not when it affords me such an easy win. Perhaps, Mr Gale, you have left your brains at Northridge?”
“I am merely encouraging you to let down your guard,” Edmund remarked, rueing the easy error that had cost him the game. “Let us play another hand and you shall see where I have left my brains!”
A riot of musical laughter behind him caught Edmund’s ear as he dealt and he turned, surveying the crowd to locate his mother, and thinking it had been quite some time since last he had seen her. For a moment, his heart caught in his chest as he located her with her friends all surrounding his fiancée. He was poised to leap from his chair and intercede, rescuing Juliet from whatever fate his mother had subjected her to and already meditating on the lecture he would deliver, when Mr Turner cleared his throat, drawing Edmund’s attention momentarily back to their game. Juliet’s father was nonchalantly arranging his cards, his eyes ostensibly fixed on them, but when he spoke it was clear he had witnessed just what Edmund had, and drawn his own conclusions.
“It appears my daughter has secured quite an audience of admirers, of whom your mother is chief. Perhaps she left something of her own at Northridge.”
Edmund peered back over his shoulder, his concern melting as he read the situation correctly this time, marvelling at how Juliet held court, discussing the lecture she had attended and - no, he was not dreaming - Mama was clutching hold of Juliet’s hand and declaring to her friends that her soon-to-be daughter was writing a novel of her own. She beamed with pride that could not have been more genuine if she was talking about her own daughter.
Smiling to himself, his eyebrows lifted in surprise at this strange turn of events, he returned to the matter at hand, and he and Mr Turner fell to their game. Whatever he had said to his mother that evening had worked, for she appeared to have left all her resentment behind and began to treat Juliet as he had once hoped she would. How much easier life will become, once the two are friends!
He identified Juliet’s laughter, then, in unison with Mama’s, and when he glanced back he was surprised to find himself the recipient of several pairs of eyes.
“Ah, and this is perhaps the less exciting result of one’s female family members uniting.” Mr Turner’s eyebrows wiggled in amusement. “They tend to find they have a common enemy.”
Edmund frowned, not quite sure he approved of this. He played on in silence for a moment, until their game was disturbed by the arrival of another lady known to them both.
“My dear! I wondered where you had got to. Come, sit with us and watch me defeat Edmund twice in as many games.”
“Thank you, no,” Mrs Turner said, shooting Edmund a polite but distracted smile. “I was looking for Louisa. I do not suppose you have seen her?”
“Louisa?” Edmund straightened, casting about for some sign of her. The last he had seen her was dancing with Nash, although he could see his friend, once more trapped in a stark circle with his aunt and fiancée. Fiancée. The word still rankled. Not that Nash had one, for he could scarcely begrudge any fellow that, but that he had kept her existence a secret. It seemed to be an unhappy pattern with his friends, of concealing obligations in one place to allow them the freedom to act as they pleased in another. His hand itched and he scratched it, absent-mindedly laying his next card. He had only been half-serious when he suggested to Juliet that he might call Nash out for his caddish actions, but he could not help but feel the desire for some recompense. The man needed dressing down
, and if not in public then in private. Edmund vowed to speak to him and not let him escape without reprimand.
“I am sure she is here somewhere, my dear,” Mr Turner replied, surprisingly unconcerned with the whereabouts of his youngest daughter. “You know how she is at assemblies. She can hardly bear to be with her family.” He smiled, drolly, and played his move. “Do you recall, at Castleford -”
“This is not Castleford!” Mrs Turner responded, so sharply that both gentlemen looked at her in concern. “Forgive me,” she murmured, dabbing at her neck with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “My nerves are a little on edge on account of the heat.”
She had scarcely finished speaking when Edmund leapt from his seat, pleading with her to take it. The movement had attracted the attention of the ladies, once more, and Juliet succeeded in freeing herself from Mrs Gale’s clutches to come and see what was the matter.
“Juliet!” Mrs Turner grasped her hand as her daughter came close. “Where is your sister?”
“Louisa?” Juliet looked at Edmund, who shrugged his shoulders, dropping his cards down on the table. He straightened, offering his arm to his fiancée.
“Shall we go and find her? Stay here, both of you, and we shall not return alone!”
“Don’t worry, Mama,” Juliet counselled her, as Edmund escorted her towards the door, scanning the crowds as he went for Louisa’s familiar blonde curls.
“Where is Mr Weston?” Juliet cried, as soon as they were far enough away from her parents that they could be confident of not being overheard. “If he has -”
“He has done nothing,” Edmund soothed her. “I see him now, over with his aunt and...” He paused. “With his aunt. And anyway, you and I both watched him and Louisa dance together and part without disaster.” He smiled. “I daresay your sister has forgotten the slight and set her heart on a more worthy fellow.” He guided her towards the dining room, a sudden inspiration striking him that a great many young men doted on ladies by procuring them refreshments. In this instance, his idea was fruitless, for, whilst they saw and greeted a great many friends and acquaintances, they did not see Louisa, and could not abandon their search in favour of polite conversation.
A Summer Scandal (Seasons of Romance Book 3) Page 8