Miss Winters Proposes

by Frances Fowlkes

  “Rubbish.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “No one intentionally ignores their spouse out of love.”

  Benjamin dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, over the desk. “They do when they fear her loss.”

  “Have you received word of her health? Is it in question?”

  Lord, he hoped not. He had not received any word stating otherwise, but then, he had not received anything from Evenrood. Not a letter asking after Artemis, or one demanding his apologies. Nothing.

  And he was all the better for the silence.

  Benjamin lifted a stack of papers and placed them to the side. “No.”

  “Then how is her absence beneficiary? To either of you?”

  “It simply is. You do not know the circumstances that led us to exchange vows.”

  Eleanor stepped forward. “Nor do I need to know the details. What I do know is Lady Colwyn loves you, and if you continue to push her away because of your refusal to come to terms with her role in all of this—”

  “She left me, Eleanor.” Benjamin’s jaw clenched.

  “Because you commanded her to do so,” his sister exclaimed. “It was your words, your harshness that drove her to seek solace elsewhere. She alone cannot be blamed for this divide between you.”

  It was true he had been upset when he had seen Juliet last. He had said…things he had come to regret. But her departure was one they both wanted. Had they not stated from the very beginning of their arrangement they desired solitude? That they both wished to be alone to pursue their interests?

  With the whelping of Artemis’s pups, their arrangement had ended, and with that ending Juliet had fled his presence. She did not desire to be with him. And he, despite the ache in his heart that said otherwise, did not wish to be with her.

  “Juliet and I are married by name alone. There is nothing more between us, and the sooner you come to accept this realization, the sooner you can leave and return to Meadowcroft. I am certain he does not want you upset so close to the end of your term.”

  “You would deny both her and you of your happiness because of an accident? An act of God? A simple misunderstanding?”

  He leaped off the chair. “I would deny her because of her ineptitude, her lack of experience when she promised otherwise. And her bloody defection. There was no one holding a knife to her throat commanding her departure.”

  “Nor was there anyone offering her solace in the face of a tragedy. The death of the puppies affected you both, Benjamin. Can you not see she was equally hurt, equally in need of comforting? She erred. She made a mistake. Tell me you have never done the same. That you are free of any transgression.”

  Benjamin closed his ears to his sister’s logic. He no longer wanted to hear the what-ifs or give in to the possibility there might be a shred of truth in her heated words. The bricks had been laid. The wall built. His heart was no longer willing or able to feel.

  “My actions do not require an explanation. I am the damn Viscount Colwyn,” Benjamin thundered. He pounded his fist on the desk.

  Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest, her dark brows lifted. “Indeed you are. I am so very glad you have finally found acceptance with your title. It is a shame it came at the expense of another.”

  Had he found acceptance? He frowned and stared past his sister to the row of shelved books behind her. Perhaps he had. But that didn’t mean he wished to acknowledge the fact. Not now. Not when his sister refused to let him wallow. Alone.

  “I think it time you left, Eleanor.”

  His sister stared back at him, her narrow shoulders near trembling. “You are a pigheaded, insolent—”

  “Fool? Yes. It is hard to forget as much when you make it a point to remind me so often. Now, I shall have the carriage brought round, so you might—”

  “Have you no heart? Your wife is in pain. She aches—”

  “Our separation is for the best. The more distance between us, the less suffering there is to endure.” Benjamin’s heart quickened, his muscles tensing. God. He could hear the doubt in his voice. He didn’t fully believe his own damn words.

  Eleanor’s face fell and a sadness tainted her features. “What she deserves is a forgiving husband. Someone who is willing to accept both her imperfections and her strengths. Someone willing to love her despite their fears of loss.” Eleanor slowly shook her head from side to side. “At this time, that person is obviously not you.”

  Of course it wasn’t him. Had he not tried to convey as much? He was happy. Alone. Without Juliet adding discord, pain, and confusion into his life. The small bursts of happiness he had experienced whilst in her arms were of little consideration, as he had no intentions of being held by her again.

  Nor was it any matter his heart ached to hear she was in pain—however much he wished to deny the fact.

  He would not set himself up to be hurt again. Nor would he allow his lust to lead to her possible death. Should he allow himself near Juliet, he would not be able to stray from her side and she would wind up like Artemis—or worse, Amelia.

  …

  Juliet rubbed behind Cleo’s ears, the hound’s contended head resting on the swell of her growing abdomen. The question was no longer if she was carrying Benjamin’s child, but when it would arrive.

  Eight months had passed since she had seen her husband last. Winter’s chill had given way to spring flowers and summer sun. When the unrelenting north winds paused and allowed her to walk outside Evenrood’s stone walls, she enjoyed taking in the breath of each new season…and new life.

  Much like the one that grew inside her, the small flutters of movement in her midsection, a daily reminder of the happiness and love she had briefly shared with her husband. A love she only now regretted not declaring.

  Juliet sighed and gave Cleo’s head a pat, the new dam healthy and recovering from her recent whelping. Two of the seven pups Cleo effortlessly birthed were added to Juliet’s kennel, the rest purchased by enthusiastic hunters, Mr. Meadowcroft included. Cleo’s litter was physical evidence of her competence.

  And a cleansing wash to her conscience.

  She could no more control death than she could life. The cycle would continue with or without her intrusion, her assistance, or her presence.

  It had taken her eight months to accept she was not responsible for Artemis’s injuries or the loss of her litter. And it had taken the successful breeding of Cleo to believe in herself. To acknowledge she alone was responsible for a highly sought-after line of pointers.

  Though her accomplishment was slightly dimmed without her husband’s praise and acknowledgement, she was still proud of her achievement. And for realizing, in the aftermath of a failure, she could recover.

  Pushing off the chaise, Juliet strode toward her desk and the stack of fresh missives inquiring after more potential pups for sale. Lifting one off the desk, she flicked open the wax seal.

  “My lady?”

  Juliet lifted her head, the soft voice of her maid stilling her hand. “Yes?”

  “You have a visitor.”

  A visitor? “Here?” At Evenrood? Outside of grouse season?

  Not even her father had visited, his health, while not severely at risk, enough of a detriment to keep him from making the long trek to this distant locale. There was no need for anyone to visit—not that she did not yearn for conversation.

  But even the delivery of Cleo’s pups was arranged, each to be sent out within the next week to their owners.

  Was it possible Benjamin had heard of her achievements? Had come to surprise her with a visit to see the pups for himself?

  Juliet’s hands flew to the swell evident through the light muslin of her gown. What would he say when he saw her condition? Would he embrace her? Or turn her away?

  “Yes, m’lady. ’Tis Mr. Meadowcroft.”

  Juliet rose, a swell of disappointment washing over her. She had been at Evenrood for eight months without word from her husband. What made her think one succes
sful breeding would compel him to visit? To inquire after her?

  “Mr. Meadowcroft? Did we not send him news we would see to the delivery of his dog?”

  Her maid nodded, her headpiece wobbling with the action. “Yes, m’lady. But he says he wishes to see you.”

  Juliet frowned. Why would he wish to see her? Did he no longer want the pup? Had he made the weeklong journey to tell her of his rejection in person?

  She stepped away from her desk. “Where is he?”

  “In the front drawing room. Shall I retrieve his hound?”

  “No.” Juliet held up her hand. “Let me first inquire to the nature of his visit. I will ring should I require the pup. Have some tea made ready. And a tray of Mrs. Willford’s cakes.”

  Her maid curtsied and left the room as Juliet departed for the drawing room. Eleanor had been suspicious of Juliet’s increasing—was it possible Mr. Meadowcroft had come on her behalf? To argue for her return to Darlington? She straightened her shoulders. She would not return. As much as she yearned for her husband’s touch, she would not return until after she labored… and he offered his forgiveness.

  Juliet pushed open the door to Evenrood’s nicest drawing room and stepped onto the Aubusson carpet. With the warmest smile she could conjure, Juliet welcomed her brother-in-law. “Mr. Meadowcroft, this is a surprise.”

  The balding man stood, his gaze immediately dipping to the slight swell of her stomach.

  His cheeks flushed. “Yes. Eleanor, that is Mrs. Meadowcroft, insisted I come to oversee the transportation of our pup. I’m afraid I’ve spoken of little else, and she was quite eager to be rid of my constant ramblings on the topic.”

  Juliet’s lips twitched. “I cannot fault you that. When it comes to hounds, I’m afraid my conversation is limitless.”

  “Does that also apply to the viscount?” he asked. He held out his hand, which Juliet took, and he led her to the damask settee.

  “No. I’m afraid it does not.”

  “I must confess, Lady Colwyn, the collection of our dog is not the only thing that drew me here.”

  The maid arrived with the tea, to which Juliet set upon, her hands gripping the porcelain handle of the teapot.

  “Mrs. Meadowcroft is quite concerned with your…well, your…”

  Handing him a cup of steaming tea, she said, “My condition, Mr. Meadowcroft? To which one does she infer? The one where I carry her brother’s child, or the one where I labor here, without him by my side?”

  He had the good graces to blush at his forwardness. “Both, I’m afraid. Eleanor is a force to be reckoned with, and one I find I cannot deny. Had she not just delivered our third child, she would be here, insisting you remedy the ill will between you and the viscount. Alas, she sent me in her stead, and I’m afraid I’m not as couth when discussing such matters.”

  Juliet sighed, equally irritated and flattered by their concern. “The viscount and I have come to an understanding.”

  Mr. Meadowcroft lifted a dark brow. “Have you written to him of your state?”

  “No.” She took a sip of the black tea and set down her cup with a clink. “You have not said anything concerning this to him, have you?”

  He shook his head. “No. And neither has Eleanor made any mention of her suspicions. She sent me here to verify…and convince you to return to Darlington.”

  “While I appreciate your concern and, indeed, the effort taken to deliver such a message, I’m afraid I cannot heed your request. I will stay here, at Evenrood, and inform the viscount of his impending child on my terms.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Lady Colwyn—”

  “And none is taken.” Juliet folded her hands. “The viscount and I shall remedy our…situation in time. Until that time comes to pass, please assure Mrs. Meadowcroft I am quite well and happy, and her concerns are not necessary.”

  Which was a lie. A bold-faced falsehood told with the most deceptive of smiles. If happiness was defined by a constant state of waiting, of enduring her solitary confinement, because she thought it was what made her spouse happy, then she was perfectly ecstatic. Elated. And positively dying of happiness.

  But she had tasted true joy, had reveled in the sublime merriment wrought by a deep love and affection. Anything less was…well, muted. And not nearly as fulfilling.

  Mr. Meadowcroft peered over his china cup before setting it down onto the polished table in front of him. “I shall relay your message. Though, whether or not Eleanor chooses to believe me, I cannot say.”

  Juliet gave him a small smile. “Fair enough. Now, what do you say we introduce you to your new pup? He’s a truly fine example of his breed, and one that will have your neighbors turning green with envy.”

  …

  Benjamin paced in front of his study window, his long strides enjoyed by Artemis who walked beside him, her wet nose seeking out his palm and provoking the slightest hint of amusement.

  “My lord?”

  He glanced toward the entry of the large room. His butler stood, his white-gloved hands at his side. “Mr. Meadowcroft is here to see you.”

  Meadowcroft?

  A month past, he had received word of Eleanor’s delivery. His besotted brother-in-law did not venture far from her side, especially after such a momentous occasion. Unless, of course, he was willed to do so by his stubborn, and exceptionally determined, wife.

  Damn and perdition.

  Benjamin’s eyes rolled heavenward, a little sigh escaping his mouth. He could not escape the man’s inquiries and he damn well knew it. Nodding to his butler, he motioned for Meadowcroft’s entrance.

  A sharp nip rent the air and a blur of white-and-brown fur skittered past his feet to where Artemis stood erect, her entire body rigid and alert.

  What the devil?

  “Meadowcroft?”

  “Ah, Colwyn. It seems you have met Cesar, my new hunting companion.”

  He glanced from Meadowcroft to the hound. The pointer’s exquisite lines, its polished coat, its lean build and broad head shape, all bespoke of a talented breeder—and a very recognizable line. “Cleo.”

  “Cesar is perfection, isn’t he? But then, what else can you expect from such an amazing dam?”

  Benjamin knelt down and ran his hand over the pup. His damp nose nuzzled into Benjamin’s waistcoat. “Juliet.”

  Meadowcroft mimicked Benjamin’s actions, kneeling down to better play with the two inquisitive and active hounds. “She is becoming quite the breeder in her own right, Colwyn. Her litter sold before the pups were even born.”

  Benjamin’s lips lifted. His spirited, passionate viscountess had done what he could not—had soared above disappointment and calamity, and rose victorious.

  He turned toward his brother-in-law. “You’ve seen her? Juliet?”

  “I have.”

  “And how is she faring?” Benjamin’s heart hammered in his ears.

  “Well, Colwyn. The viscountess does well.”

  Benjamin stood and stared outside the window at the green flowers emerging from their spring buds to summer prime, much like his soul months after the Christmas debacle.

  He had everything he had ever hoped to claim. Lightwood had, despite his earlier stipulations, accepted the one pup as payment. The gentleman had been aggrieved to hear of the high cost at which it came to Benjamin and was more than willing to keep to the original agreement, minus six ewes for the lack of a second pup, of course.

  Darlington was his, Artemis had recovered from her ordeal, though, as he had originally suspected, was incapable of further whelping. His life was as he set it out to be—one of solitary bliss, where pleasure was sought from the simplicity of a sanctuary away from Society and the expectations owed to his title.

  But the solitude only served to remind him of what he had lost: the happiness shared between two lovers. The cold sheets, the absence of laughter, the pervading silence—none of it brought the comfort he had so desperately sought. He had held true joy in his arms and they ached to hold her once a
gain.

  He missed her smell, the unique blend of cinnamon and nutmeg, of ginger and allspice mingling together to create an intoxicating perfume that was Juliet and Juliet alone.

  He missed the riotous mass of copper-colored curls that draped over her pale shoulders, beckoning him with their softness.

  But most of all, he missed her laughter, her passion, and how the two seemed to infuse him with a happiness he had never felt before—and would likely never feel again…unless…

  Unless he admitted to both himself and Juliet he had been a complete and total arse.

  What had seemed so rational, so logical, no longer made sense. He didn’t need separation from Juliet to be happy. He needed her, dammit. Needed her in his arms filling the void left in her absence.

  An absence that was felt everywhere, in every action of his day. Nothing was whole without her. The harder he fought to banish her from his mind, the more she filled it…and he no longer wished to continue the fight. It was more important to live now—with her—and enjoy the time they had together. Artemis may have nearly died, but Juliet had not. And Eleanor had survived the process…

  Guilt, however, struck at his conscience. He had treated Juliet harshly in his anger and allowed his tarnished pride to rule his better judgment.

  He needed to see her. To ask for her forgiveness—if she would even allow him entrance.

  She had done well without him, had proven her skills with the hounds, had dispelled his earlier doubts, and had even gained success for her achievements. He was proud of her. Of his wife.

  And he desperately yearned to tell her so.

  Benjamin ran a hand over his head. “I need to see her.”

  Relief washed over Meadowcroft’s face, his lips lifting upward into a grin. “Then go, man. What are you waiting for?”

  Benjamin erupted into laughter, his body shaking with mirth for the first time in…well, a long time.

  “There is something you should know before you depart,” Meadowcroft continued. “Eleanor is insistent you should be made aware of Lady Colwyn’s condition.”

  He blinked. “Condition?” His throat was suddenly dry. The implications of the word making his hands damp with sweat.