by Olivia Drake
“Indeed.” He arched a fair eyebrow at Juliet. “The news of Radclifife’s marriage took this pastoral district by storm. It’s like the tale of Romeo and Juliet, the two feuding families brought together by love.”
“But I hope,” Juliet said, “to forgo the tragic conclusion.”
Rose clapped her hands. “Oh, Henry, that reminds me. I haven’t yet told you. I’m writing a play about the Deverells.”
“A stage play?”
“Yes, in my research I’ve uncovered so many fascinating stories about my family. Perhaps one day I’ll tell you a few of them.”
“Perhaps.” A frown flitted over Henry’s brow so swiftly that Juliet thought she’d imagined the instant of worry. With a flourish of his bowler hat, he bent to kiss Rose’s hand, then Juliet’s. “Imagine, Radclife has two beautiful bluestockings ensconced in his castle.”
“Why, thank you,” Rose said, smiling demurely.
He straightened, his gaze lifting past her shoulder. Under his breath, he muttered, “Speak of the devil, there’s the lucky fellow right now.”
Juliet turned to see Kent striding out of the crowd. Her spine tensed at his unsmiling face. His lordly demeanor threatened an explosive scene.
But as he came to her side and slid an arm around her waist, he merely gave a civil nod to Henry. “Hammond-Gore.”
“Ah, Radcliffe, old chap. Seen any of my Guernseys lately?”
“Thankfully, they’ve kept to their own side of the hedge.” Kent paused, then cocked an eyebrow. “Unlike their owner.”
Augusta marched into the circle and handed a glass of red wine to Henry. “Sorry to take so long,” she said gruffly. “The vicar asked me to prepare a plate for him.”
“You’re a dear.”
His appealing grin made Augusta blush. Then she pursed her lips and bent to feed Punjab a slice of cherry cake.
Eyeing the dog, he added, “Do fetch the old fellow his saucer of tea.” Turning to Kent, Henry savored a sip of wine. “Surely you won’t begrudge me a drink, too. All in the spirit of neighborliness, of course.”
“Of course,” Kent said dryly. “Next you’ll be trying to convince me you’re starved for feminine companionship.”
Henry slapped his gloves against his buckskinned thigh. “By George, you’re astute, Radcliffe. For nigh on a month now, I’ve been rattling around that old house of mine, talking to no one but myself.”
“Poor soul,” Kent said. “Imagine having only you for company. Next time, don’t get yourself banished from London.”
“Banished?” Rose asked, brown eyes rounding. “How positively inspiring. Do tell us what happened.”
“A minor inconvenience, nothing to include in your stage play.” Henry raised his glass, torchlight glinting through the burgundy contents. “I propose a toast to you lovely ladies.”
Rose patted her halo of sable hair. Augusta smoothed her drab brown skirts. Juliet coughed to conceal a laugh.
“Henry,” she said, “you’re welcome to take tea with us any afternoon. We’ll give you your fill of scintillating conversation.”
“With such a truly gracious lady present, London has lost its allure.” Henry paused, peering into the raucous crowd. “Speaking of truly gracious ladies, who the devil is she?”
Juliet craned her neck to see past Kent’s broad shoulder. The music stopped. A buzz of murmurs rose into the starry night. For one frustrating moment, she glimpsed only a lavish pink ostrich feather bobbing above the throng of guests.
The crowd parted. The feather led downward to a fashionable, begonia-hued hat atop a head full of upswept fair hair. Below the wide straw brim, girlish blue eyes peered through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
Juliet gasped. “Maud!”
Kent gave a start of surprise. “What the devil—?”
Catching sight of them, Maud surreptitiously whipped the eyeglasses into a blue case, which she thrust in her pocket. She picked up her skirts and sailed closer, a vision in elegant shell pink voile. “There you are,” she declared. “I wondered why no one answered the coachman’s knocking.”
Juliet couldn’t stop an astonished grin. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“You said in your letter that I should visit sometime. So I took the afternoon train from Paddington.”
“I meant... well, it doesn’t matter now.” Thrilled at the sight of her friend’s dear face, Juliet swept Maud into a tight hug. “I’m delighted to see you.”
“Welcome to Radcliffe,” Kent murmured.
“Hear, hear,” said Henry, his eyes gleaming as he lifted his glass. “My lady, I’ll be happy to offer my services should you require an escort around the district.”
Maud squinted avidly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“Allow me,” Kent said. As he presented her around, Rose looked quietly curious, Augusta dourly attentive, Henry openly admiring.
Grasping Maud’s gloved hands, Juliet bubbled over with questions. “Why didn’t you write that you were on your way? Did you come alone? Does your mother know you’re here?”
“I didn’t know till this morning, so I couldn’t very well post a letter in time. Miss Fane accompanied me; she’s waiting in the station hackney.” With an impish grin, Maud drew her hands free. “And yes. Mother knows that I’ve gone... by now.”
“You mean you left without telling her?”
“She was waiting on the queen at Windsor, so I sent a note.” Shrugging prettily, Maud tilted a myopic glance at Kent. “Your Grace, didn’t you receive the telegram?”
“Telegram?” he said, frowning.
“From Sir Ponsonby. I’m sure Mother said it would arrive this afternoon. But I didn’t have my glasses—” Glancing at Henry, she blushed as pink as her gown. “Well, somehow I must have misread her message.”
“Ponsonby,” Henry mused. “Now, why would the queen’s private secretary be wiring you, Radcliffe?”
Dizziness swept through Juliet. Her mouth tasted dry as dust. She hadn’t expected her letter to precipitate this turn of events.
Augusta said, “Perhaps Her Majesty heard gossip of the elopement.”
“Of course, the scandal,” Rose exclaimed. “Victoria would be livid to hear the Duke of Radcliffe had run off with the Carleton heiress.”
Kent said nothing. He turned to gaze at Juliet.
His black brows were quirked at an inquisitive angle. She stood paralyzed under his scrutiny. Only her heart gave evidence of life, thumping wildly in her ears. She wanted to turn and flee, but her legs remained firmly rooted to the grassy ground.
Abruptly she caught herself short. She had done nothing wrong. Nothing but keep the existence of that letter from him.
“I’m sorry,” Maud whispered to Juliet, “it took nearly a fortnight for Mother to find the right moment to pass your note to the queen. You see, Her Majesty has been in mourning over poor Frederick’s death—”
“Note?” Kent murmured, his eyes gone steely.
Maud squinted from him to Juliet. “Egad. I believe I’ve made a muddle of things.”
“A muddle,” said Kent, “of precisely what?”
She hesitated. He glared.
“Oh, fiddle,” Maud said. “The queen commands your presence at Windsor Castle day after tomorrow.”
He stood still. Music and laughter swirled from the party. “Does she, now?”
He spoke to Maud, but his stony gaze penetrated Juliet. Again she felt that peculiar swimming sensation.
“What an honor,” said Rose, clapping her hands. “Kent meeting with Victoria herself!”
“At the cost of a rail ticket,” Augusta muttered. To Maud, she said, “Your ladyship, I’ll see about preparing rooms for you and your maid.” She tramped toward the castle gate, Punjab trotting in her elongated shadow.
“I trust you won’t be retiring just yet, my lady,” Henry said, twirling his wineglass. “Your absence would sap the very life from this rustic gathering.”
Maud fluttere
d her lashes. “Goodness, no. I haven’t journeyed so far merely to act unsociable.”
“Yet Her Grace and I must be just that,” said Kent, taking ungentle hold of Juliet’s arm. “If you will excuse us.”
He marched her along the outskirts of the garden. A few people turned to look, but most remained engrossed in merriment. She braved a glance at Kent’s face; his features might have been set in granite. As they followed a gloomy path along the castle wall, the heavy scent of honeysuckle wafted from the shadows.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Where no one will overhear us.”
His curt reply arrowed into Juliet. He was angry already and he didn’t even know the full extent of what she’d done...
The sounds of conviviality faded as they went through the narrow postern gate and into the darkened courtyard. Fingers firm on her arm, he drew her to a room off the entrance hall.
He struck a match; an oil lamp flared yellow light over the simple furnishings of the estate office. Neat rows of account books lined a shelf beside a pair of plain oak chairs. A stag trophy stared balefully from over the stone fireplace.
Settling on the edge of a scarred desk, he folded his arms. “You’re white as a sheet,” he said coldly. “Sit down.”
She sat. “Kent, I can explain—”
“I expect as much. You may begin with your note to Victoria.”
Though her stomach roiled, Juliet held her chin high. “I’d heard from Maud’s mother, the Lady Higgleston, that our queen champions the rights of women. So I asked her to intercede in obtaining my dowry.”
His eyes narrowed; the skin over his cheekbones went rigid. “Against my express wishes.”
“I meant for Her Majesty to contact my father, to command him to give me the money. I never expected her to request your presence.”
“Undoubtedly she believes I pressured you into writing to her.” His voice lowered to an ominous murmur. “That I duped a gullible heiress into marrying me and now seek to steal her father’s fortune.”
“That isn’t true!” Yet, too late, Juliet could see how the queen might draw such a conclusion. Striving to vanquish her guilt, she said, “I’m sorry to put you in the position of having to explain yourself. But I asked only for what’s rightfully mine. My father would have settled that money on me had I married anyone but you.”
He slammed his palm onto the desk. “Precisely. He wants no part of giving me the money and I want no part of receiving it.”
Anger blazed to life inside her. “You’d refuse the wealth that can only help the people who depend on you? What about Hannah? She might not be crippled if only we had the means to pay for a London physician.”
“I’ll grant you, I’ve been remiss in seeing to the girl’s well-being. But we’ll seek a cure for her by using our own resources.”
The slight thawing of his icy self control encouraged Juliet to lean forward. “Hannah represents only a fraction of what money can provide for us, Kent. We could repair the castle, safeguard the heritage of our children. You could even fund the development of your inventions.”
“I’ll survive as I’ve always done, on my own wit and toil.”
“Why? Why simply survive when we can do some good?” Frustrated, she leapt up to pace the room. “Why pass up this chance to help your tenants?”
“I’ve told you before, I want no part of Emmett Carleton’s ill-gotten gains.”
“If you truly believe my father cheated the Deverells out of your wealth, then you should welcome the opportunity to get some of that money back.”
He straightened. “No. The subject is closed, Juliet.”
The shadows cast by the lamplight cut stark hollows in his cheeks. Studying his taut features, she felt the happiness of the past weeks slipping from her grasp. “You keep saying you want to end this feud,” she said slowly. “I’m beginning to doubt your sincerity.”
His gaze faltered; when he looked at her again, all emotion had fled his dark eyes. “Doubt me if you must. But I will never accept a farthing of Carleton money.”
His harsh statement shattered her last fragile hope. “Then it’s a blessing the dowry isn’t yours to refuse,” she said, matching his frigid tone. “The law gives a married woman the right to manage her own wealth.”
Fury thinned his lips. “So. You’re determined to shove this money down my throat, no matter what my feelings to the contrary.”
“Your feelings are distorted by ancient hatreds,” she snapped. “I’m finally beginning to see that you’re as obstinate and narrow-minded as my father.”
He reared back as if she’d struck him. “Don’t you dare compare me to Emmett Carleton.”
“Don’t blind yourself to the truth. Hatred has bred hatred in him, just as in you. So long as you tie yourself to the past, Kent Deverell, our marriage hasn’t much hope for the future.”
His face went white; the faint strident sound of his breathing broke the stillness. He took a step toward her. “Juliet, you’ll not leave me—”
“I’ll make you no promises,” she said, resisting the tears closing her throat. “I’ll tell you my plans when you return from Windsor.”
Whirling, she stalked from the office and took bleak delight in slamming the door.
Chapter 14
Their steps echoing on the marble floor, Kent followed a liveried footman down the Grand Corridor of Windsor Castle. Royal busts, gray with age, stared from pedestals set against either wall. The mullioned windows along one side overlooked the rain-soaked upper ward. Drafts of damp air gusted from doorways along the passage.
The chill cooled his sweating skin. He detested having to face Victoria’s forbidding presence and explain that he hadn’t orchestrated the meeting. Yet his fury already had burned down to the cinders of guilt. Juliet only meant to help his tenants. How could he charge her with deceit when a far greater secret weighted his own shoulders, a secret that could shatter her heart?
Unless her heart was already shattered by his angry outburst.
He hungered to be back at Radcliffe. At this very instant, Juliet might be packing in preparation to depart.
Unless she’d already gone.
His pace slowed. I’ll make you no promises. God. Would she truly abandon their marriage? Recalling the disillusionment shadowing her face and his own denouncement of her father, Kent feared the worst.
After that bitter argument, she had kept to her room, only emerging the next day to bid him a dispassionate farewell. No fervid kiss, no whispered words of love, no warmth gentling her face. He’d longed to apologize, but how could he? How could he beg a forgiveness that hinged on accepting tainted money from Emmett Carleton?
Squeezing his eyes shut, Kent tried to envision a future without her lively conversation, without her passionate loving, without her radiant smile. He saw only darkness.
When he opened his eyes, the footman had vanished. In his place, a man strode back and forth along the end of the corridor. Kent’s stomach twisted with involuntary aversion.
Emmett Carleton.
A silk hat topped his silver-streaked hair; a formal black frock coat rode his broad shoulders. Yet beneath the finery, he looked older somehow, grayer. A nervous quality pervaded his gait; he reminded Kent of a prowling lion.
An aging lion who had lost his pride to a younger challenger.
Yet Kent felt no sense of triumph, only a niggling sympathy that tasted both bitter and foreign in his mouth. Deliberately he made his footfalls louder.
Emmett pivoted. He jerked in surprise. His eyes widened, then narrowed. Green eyes rimmed with gold.
God, Kent thought. Juliet’s eyes.
Hatred has bred hatred in him, just as in you.
Was she right? Had malice spun an eternal web of darkness? A darkness so dense, he’d lost sight of all that was clean and light?
Entombing his disturbing doubts, he inclined his head in a cool nod. “Emmett.”
“You bloody bounder!” he sputtered. “Wh
at are you doing here?”
“Exactly what you are. Answering Victoria’s summons.”
The lips went taut beneath the handlebar mustache. “Why would the queen invite you to my—”
“To your what?” Then Kent knew, and said with mocking softness, “Ah, did you think she meant to award you that knighthood?”
The leonine face contorted. “I hope the queen strips you of your title. I’d buy a ticket to that.”
“On the contrary, Juliet will stay the Duchess of Radcliffe.”
Emmett knotted his fingers into fists. “If you’ve harmed my daughter,” he spat, “I swear before God I’ll kill you.”
“You’re the one who harmed her. You slapped her... The bruise on her cheek lasted a week.”
Emmett stood still. His glare faltered, and for an instant Kent had the powerful impression of guilt in him, a guilt so human, Kent felt a startling stab of compassion.
Unable to resist, he added a lie. “Besides, Juliet has never been happier in her life. But then, you haven’t bothered to find that out.”
Emmett bristled. “Why, you—”
The door opened. A distinguished, bearded man in scarlet-trimmed uniform regarded them.
“Ponsonby,” Kent said.
“Your Grace.” The secretary bowed to Kent, then nodded to Emmett. “And Mr. Carleton, I presume. Her Majesty awaits.”
Ponsonby took their hats, then led them into a small reception room. “His Grace, the Duke of Radcliffe, and Mr. Emmett Carleton.”
Queen Victoria stood with her back to a rain-streaked window. Small and plain, her bell-like figure was swathed in black, her gray hair covered by a white widow’s cap. She might have been a dowdy hausfrau except for the aura of command she emanated.
“Your Majesty.” Kent kissed her age-mottled hand.
Emmett followed suit, his movements jerky with awe.
She gazed at Kent. “You’re looking fit, Radcliffe. Marriage must agree with you.”
“Indeed so, ma’am.”
“Yet the ancient title of Radcliffe is being bandied about by every newspaper in London. The gossips have been saying that vengeance induced you to elope with Mr. Carleton’s daughter.”
Kent chose his reply carefully. “Not vengeance, ma’am, but love. Juliet and I knew that he would grant us neither his permission nor his blessing.”