Miss Winters Proposes

by Frances Fowlkes

  “Juliet, please. You are overwrought. You’ve done well; now rest and calm your nerves.” Her father’s pleading voice echoed in the small changing room

  She stared at her father, hunched over Artemis. She sought Mr. Meadowcroft and then Benjamin. Neither looked her way.

  Juliet stood, backing her way out of the corner, reaching for another towel. “Benjamin, I—”

  “I think it would be best if you heeded your father’s request.” His body was rigid, his face tense. She reached for him, hoping to calm his addled nerves, but he stepped away from her, avoiding her touch.

  Fear gripped her heart, its icy tendrils shocking her into a chilly state of denial. This couldn’t be happening. Artemis would recover through her father’s skilled administrations and Benjamin would join her in bed, comforting her with his embrace and soothing away the day’s complications with his kisses.

  “Mr. Meadowcroft, another cloth, please.” Her father’s snowy-white head dipped, his hands busy with the task of saving Artemis.

  “Father, I am sor—”

  “I know, child. Now, go. And rest.”

  Juliet once again sought her husband’s comfort, his assurance this horrible event would turn out well in her father’s competent hands, but Benjamin averted his gaze, and crossed his arms tight against his chest.

  Fighting back a sob, she clenched her skirts and ran from the room.

  …

  Benjamin sat with his head between his knees, fighting back the sorrow and heartache threatening to once again overwhelm him.

  Oh, hell. Who was he fooling? It already burned, the fire of pain wrought by yet another potential loss ripping through his heart with a ferocity that left him numb.

  Artemis was near death. And were it not for Lord Roughton’s care and administrations, her lone pup would be in a similar state.

  His most loyal of all companions was on the verge of death, and his heart ached with the threat of her loss.

  But Artemis’s fate in no way compared to that of his wife’s.

  A wife who had been unable to fill her promises. He had trusted in her abilities. In her assurances that all would be well.

  But she had been wrong. All was not well. It was hellish. And he had behaved foolishly for believing in her. In himself. Believing everything would go as it should. When had things ever run their due course? He was a third son turned viscount, for Christ’s sake. A man whose first wife had died in the early stages of childbirth.

  And now he was a hound breeder with one pup and a dam who would likely never whelp again. If she even survived the night.

  He yearned for the comfort of his hound. Of Artemis’s tongue lapping at his face. Of her long tail whipping back and forth in excitement at his arrival.

  But most of all, he wished for things to be as they had been before this present nightmare. When Artemis’s health was not in question. And Juliet was beside him, her smile warming his insides and making him near forget the pain and sorrows of the past.

  Which was utter foolishness. He should have known better. He should have known not to open his heart. He’d become weak. Susceptible to the pain wrenched by a loss so great he felt the urge to vomit.

  Watching Artemis lay on the floor in her blood, while fear-inducing in its own right, further served to remind him of what he stood to lose: Juliet.

  The image was seared into the cervices of his mind, for he had only to retrieve first Amelia’s deathly pallor, then Henry’s blood-filled mouth and Philip’s bone-rattling cough to recall with absolute clarity what fate would likely befall his wife should illness ravage her body, or worse, his seed were to render her lifeless in the throes of childbirth.

  Somehow he had grown too attached. He had lost his heart to Juliet. He had allowed himself to forget the past and to think only of the future.

  But Artemis and her wretched state reminded him.

  He could not stand to lose Juliet. It would be far less difficult to live apart than to live with her death. Juliet had to leave. Before he lost her. Before his own selfish desires left her with child.

  He would never forgive himself should she die while bearing his offspring. To hell with his responsibility to his father’s line. Juliet came first. Which meant Juliet had to leave.

  Lord Roughton touched his shoulder, his weary face and sad eyes staring down at him. “I had your cook bring up another round of goat’s milk. The pup needs to be fed every two hours. I will see to him this evening. You should go to Juliet.”

  Benjamin’s jaw clenched. He had seen his wife leave, her face frantic, her cheeks wet with tears. He could not even look at her, so distraught, so upset by the present circumstances he did not dare look in her direction for fear he might actually succumb to the comfort she promised. Their separation was for her benefit. For her livelihood.

  He had to distance himself from her.

  He shrugged off Lord Roughton’s hand. “No. I wish to stay here. With Artemis.”

  “But Juliet requires—”

  “What she does and does not require is none of your concern. The pup. Artemis. They require our attention.” He hated himself for his harsh words and cold tone. But it had to be done. Juliet’s future depended upon it.

  Lord Roughton pursed his lips but nodded, his white-colored hair slipping into his eyes. He lifted a tiny, white, liver spotted pup out of a bundle of woolen blankets and placed it into Benjamin’s hands.

  With a trembling sigh, Benjamin dipped his finger into the milk and allowed the protective barrier Juliet had torn down with her impish smiles, to be rebuilt. Brick by solid and impenetrable brick.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Juliet’s fingers found their way to her mouth, her teeth gnawing the tips raw in the darkness of her husband’s chambers.

  She was exhausted, drained, worn to a frazzled mess of nerves and raw emotions, existing in a horrified state of shock and disbelief. She had nothing left to give, and yet, sleep eluded her, the need to comfort her husband, to apologize for her inexperience, compelling her to sit upright on Benjamin’s bed waiting for his inevitable arrival.

  He couldn’t stay away forever. While she knew he possessed an almost ethereal appearance, he was mortal, same as her, and required sleep. Surely he had to succumb to his body’s need for slumber.

  And when he did, she would be here. Waiting. Desperate to right her wrong. To return things as they had been before her mistake, before Artemis had whelped and the majority of the pups had…passed.

  The creak of a hinge had her gaze searching, peering through the darkness toward the source of the sound. The trim outline of her husband took shape, his body hunching while he removed his clothing.

  She shifted on the bed, the small motion enough to draw his attention, his head lifting at the sound. “Juliet.”

  His voice was hoarse and raw, as though he had been sobbing. She reached for him in the darkness, her heart yearning to comfort him, to soothe his suffering…a suffering she had wrought with her own hands.

  “Benjamin, I am so sorry for—”

  “I do not want to hear your practiced words of contrition.”

  Tears stung at the edges of her eyes and what was left of her nails dug into the palms of her hands. His anger was to be expected. But it still hurt, still sliced through her worse than any needle or knife.

  “I assure you my apology is nothing less than sincere.”

  “And I assure you I am in no mood to hear whatever words you have spent the past hours piecing together to appease your guilt.”

  Her breath caught at his harsh tone, the tears no longer stinging but sliding down her cheeks and dampening her nightshift. “Please, allow me to expl—”

  “I am tired. Upset. And beyond the threshold of conversation. I wish to retire.”

  “And…and Artemis? Is she…”

  “She is alive, if only just.”

  Juliet glanced down at the rumpled linens and patted them with her hand. “I have kept—”

  “I wish to re
tire alone. Without you.” Heartache colored his words, his obvious pain filling the void of the room. To know she was the cause of his anguish—that she was the one who made him grieve, tore through her, ripping her heart to pieces.

  Juliet’s lips rolled between her teeth, the metallic tang of blood sharp on her tongue. “Perhaps we can speak of this tomorrow then. After we’ve both had some time—”

  “I don’t need time, Juliet. I need my bloody damn dog and her pup to live through the night.”

  The obscenity rang in her ears, but not loud enough to cover the frigid tone in which it was spoken.

  She blinked, her vision blurred by tears. “I cannot begin to—”

  “I no longer desire to be in your presence. I need you to leave, Juliet. Now.”

  Juliet inhaled through quivering lips, the air having little relief on the burn engulfing her chest.

  He wanted her to leave.

  He no longer wanted her here. With him.

  Perhaps his interest had never been in her at all. He had despaired over the loss of the pups, yes, but so, too, the financial gain attributed to their delivery. Was it possible he only ever needed her for her hounds and the promised money they could produce for him after he established himself as a breeder in his own right?

  A means to an end.

  Her stomach twisting, she stood and made her way to the door. If her departure was what he wished, she would leave. For Evenrood. First thing in the morning.

  …

  Juliet sat in the dim light of dawn, her shoulders hunched forward, her hair loose about her shoulders. She wiped her mouth, her hands still trembling from her morning bout of retching. She glanced down at the refuse in her chamber pot, her stomach once again turning from the events of the evening past.

  She had heard the anger in his voice. The blame cast in her direction when he had deigned to even speak to her at all.

  Benjamin held her responsible for Artemis’s injured state.

  And that he held every right to that claim made her sick to her stomach.

  A soft knock had her head lifting. Juliet snatched up the glass beside her and swished out her mouth. Was it possible Benjamin had come to see her? To forgive her for her inexperience? To seek comfort in his grief? To retract his command for her departure?

  Or had he come to spew his displeasure she had waited this long before leaving?

  After all, she was no longer needed. Her assistance was no longer required. He was more than capable of assuming the necessary tasks required for the pup’s survival.

  She was nothing but a reminder of his loss.

  Juliet draped a towel over her mess. “Yes?”

  A dark head popped into the room, but it was not the short-cropped one belonging to her husband that entered, rather the plaited curls of his sister.

  “How are you, my dear?” She reached for Juliet. “I came as soon as I was informed.”

  Indeed, the woman looked as if she had just risen from bed. Her mussed hair and rumpled nightdress, barely covered with a robe, attested to her expeditious arrival. But why had the woman felt compelled to come at all?

  “Benjamin is not here.”

  Eleanor gave a small smile. “If I had wanted to see my brother, I would have gone to his chambers. I did not come to see him, but you.”

  “But why?”

  “Because even though Artemis and her pup still live, I had a sense you might be afflicted with guilt.” Eleanor clasped Juliet’s hand, squeezing it between her smooth fingers.

  Indeed she was. Juliet had every right to feel awful, burdened with the knowledge she had failed her husband. She had been unable to keep her promises. She had broken his trust. And while a measure of relief surged through her at the news of Artemis’s health, her guilt was not assuaged.

  “I am. It is a sentiment well earned.” She pulled her hands from Eleanor’s. She did not want this woman’s pity. She had ample stores of her own.

  “But not deserved. You are not God. You can no more take credit for her injury than you can for her offspring’s birth.”

  “It is because of my incompetence Benjamin has only one pup and an ailing dam, madam. The fault is mine and mine alone.”

  “Mr. Meadowcroft and I do not hold you to such a claim. You can hardly be held responsible for Artemis’s complication. You were simply there when she fell ill.”

  Juliet pushed off the bed and stood. “Her blood is on my hands, quite literally, I assure you. Even now, after washing, her life source still lingers on my skin.” She held out her hands for the woman’s inspection.

  Only to have her grasp them in her own. “Her whelping was tragic, to be sure, but let us give thanks it was not you who took injury. Should harm come to you or the child you might possibly carry…”

  Juliet’s breath caught. She once again pulled her hands out from Eleanor’s. “It is too soon.”

  Eleanor’s gaze fell to the covered chamber pot at Juliet’s feet. “Be that as it may, I take it my brother has not considered the possibility you may carry his child.”

  “No.” Her hand reflexively rested on her stomach. “And any opportunity to express such concerns has passed.”

  Eleanor shook her head, her dark brows furrowing together. “You must not allow last evening’s tragedy to come between you and Benjamin. My brother can be determined, but he is—”

  “Upset with me. And most justified in his anger. If he chooses to hear my apologies, to hear me ask for his forgiveness, then perhaps, with time, and when I myself know with absolute certainty, I might divulge my condition. But until then, I think it best I allow him his sorrow.” Juliet stalked toward her trousseau and threw the first gown she touched on the bed. The need to depart from this place—a place that only served to remind her of what she once had and had now lost…of her failures and incompetence—was suddenly overwhelming.

  “But should he not be made aware of even the possibility you might carry his child, he may be led to make decisions he will come to regret. Most ardently. You cannot leave. Not now.”

  “He asked me to leave, madam. I am simply complying with his request.”

  “Please, give him some more time. I am certain he will come to regret his words.”

  “You know his past,” Juliet whispered. “The pain he has endured at the loss of not only his brothers, but his wife and child.”

  Eleanor gave a reluctant nod. “Yes.”

  “Should I be with child, you know as well as I, the idea I might come to the same fate as Artemis, or worse, Amelia, would ruin him. At least until it is proven true, and both the child and I are healthy and well.”

  Juliet straightened her shoulders. She had seen the anguish on her husband’s face, had heard the sting of loss in his voice, the vehemence with which his words were spoken. He could not bear to be in the same room with her, let alone the same house.

  She had, after all, tricked him into marriage, an arrangement he had agreed to out of pity, to protect her from her cousin. Now that it was all done, she needn’t burden him any longer.

  No. She would not stay here, where vivid memories of past gaiety lurked in every corner. “I have trunks to pack and a departure to organize, Mrs. Meadowcroft. I wish to be left alone.”

  Eleanor’s face saddened, her eyes reflecting the pain that engulfed Juliet’s heart. “Please know should you wish to seek companionship, or solace, I am at your service. You need only ask.”

  Juliet closed her eyes and nodded. Eleanor was not to whom she wished to flee for solace, but Benjamin. With his thick, muscular arms wrapping around her, shielding her from the pain, the disappointment, and the failure.

  The click of the door signaling Eleanor’s departure came as the first tear rolled down Juliet’s cheek. She was alone.

  And in more ways than one.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You are a complete and fine fool, Benjamin.”

  Eleanor stood in front of their father’s library desk, her palms planted firmly on the mahogany wood
, her accusing glare boring into his.

  Benjamin sat sprawled across a plush upholstered chair, his ankles crossed, his Hessian boots scuffing the top of the polished desk. “Surprisingly enough, that is not the first time you’ve said as much.”

  “Yet, surprisingly enough, you continue to act the same, licking your wounds and moping about Darlington like some sort of wounded animal. It has been almost three months since Juliet’s departure and yet you remain here, while she whiles away on some remote moor in Northumberland.”

  Benjamin offered his sister a thin smile. “How kind of you to remind me. I had almost forgotten.”

  Eleanor slapped the edge of the desk, threatening to overturn the stack of ledgers awaiting his inspection and approval. Ledgers he had ignored for the past week, despite his steward’s urging to review the numbers found within their pages.

  Benjamin, however, wanted nothing to do with anything. He was wounded, as his sister so aptly reminded him. Suffering from not only his failed attempt to assist his sister’s family but from the loss of the person he held dearest to his heart.

  She had disappeared. Vanished. With only a short note stating Evenrood as her destination and a request to send any missives to her there.

  Which was what he had wanted. He was protecting her, dammit. From him. From herself.

  “Why do you not go to her?”

  He turned his head toward the windows. “I have my reasons.”

  “They better be damn good ones, Benjamin, and not the loss of a few stillborn pups.”

  Benjamin returned his gaze to his sister. “My how your language has colored, Eleanor. I would not have thought your husband to be tolerant of such vulgarities.”

  “And I would not have thought you tolerant of keeping your distance from a woman whom you clearly held in great affection.”

  Benjamin ran a hand through his unwashed hair and snorted. “It is because of my love I keep her at arm’s length, Eleanor.”