Authors: Kim Bowman,Kay Springsteen
****
The bottom step on the servants’ stairway creaked and Juliet clutched her hand to her chest, hoping to contain her madly thumping heart. She’d never been more frightened of the dark, not even out in the country. Mayhap the task she sought to complete had been what set the palpitations on her heart. If anyone saw her… she might be able to make an excuse. Should the duke come across her, however… Juliet shuddered.
She darted across the polished wood floor toward Grey’s study, staying to the middle of the hallway. She could hardly see in the light of the chamberstick, and it wouldn’t do to run into the umbrella stand or the side table.
Upon reaching the door, she stood with her ear pressed tightly against the cool wood, struggling to hear any stirring beyond. Juliet pushed on the door, easing it open a bit at a time.
The only light in the room came from cherry red embers in the fireplace. She shuffled forward, taking slow steps lest she trip. Her bare toes dug into the carpet and she almost moaned out loud at the sweet softness. Her heart kicked hard and her throat burned with the need for air, and only when she sucked in a great gulp did she realize she’d been holding her breath. Forcing herself to relax, she peered around the room. No note lay visible. Of course it wasn’t going to be easy. She stooped to her knees and ran her hands along the floor where she’d stood earlier.
Nothing.
Frustrated, she stood and leaned against the desk. A thrill soared upward from where she touched at the memory of Grey’s touch when she’d sat in that very spot earlier. Her hand brushed something and she took a closer look. The folded white paper lay in the center of Grey’s desk and Juliet’s heart began its rapid beating again.
He’d read it. Read it and not burst into her room. She reached for the letter, uncertain why but needing to remove it from his possession. When she picked it up, the paper was thicker than she remembered, darker and tattered. Writing in a hand not her own filled the page.
Juliet gasped. “This is Will’s letter,” she whispered. She held the note that had so distressed Grey earlier. Her hand trembled as she unfolded it.
It’s wrong to read it. Put it down.
She spread the letter open on the desk. In the weak light, the blocky handwriting was difficult to make out. Juliet bent closer and squinted through the darkness. The lines on the paper took on shape and became words.
She released a long slow breath. So, the rumors had been correct. Will had joined the army… he was in America! Her breath caught.
Will doesn’t plan to return home.
Her heart broke for Grey.
“No wonder the man was hurting so,” murmured Juliet. Her soft words filled the room and something rustled from behind her. She jumped, her mind already frantically seeking an excuse for being caught rooting through the duke’s desk.
But no one stood near the door.
The rustling sound came again, and this time she located it over near the window. Even in the soft light, she knew the bulky form lounging on the velvet chair was Grey. She stared, waiting for his censure but none came. He drew in a deep breath and shifted. Something landed on the floor with a thud.
Juliet sighed.
He sleeps.
He had slouched to the side, his head supported by his hands, all wrapped up in his cravat. One booted foot lay across the footstool in front of him, but the other rested on the floor.
Tears pricked her eyes and she wished suddenly that she’d insisted on staying with him. If she could bring him a measure of comfort… Her feet ached to cross the carpet, to go to him while he slept and… And what? Soothe his brow perhaps, or massage his shoulders. Why had he chosen to be alone with such pain?
With a soft groan, he rolled his head to the other side. She needed to get out of there before he woke up and found her. Leaving Will’s letter on the desk, she edged to the door, keeping a wary eye on Grey. She’d not find her letter this night. Maybe she’d chance upon it with the coming of daylight, when surely the duke would be gone.
Juliet shivered when she stepped onto the hardwood floor in her bare feet. She needed to hurry back to the warmth of her bed. She pulled the door gently closed and turned.
Higgins stood in the center of the hallway with a lighted chamberstick. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He didn’t have to. His rigid demeanor told her he was aware of the duke’s whereabouts. Juliet glanced down at her nightdress and her stomach churned. She looked like a harlot retiring from the duke’s study.
Juliet straightened her spine and smiled. “Mr. Higgins, I didn’t realize his grace was still in the study when I entered thinking to find a book worthy of a restless night.” She cast a glance back at the door.
“Did you find anything, m’lady?” asked Higgins, gazing pointedly at her empty hands.
Juliet gave a rueful shake of the head. “Sadly, no. When I took note that his grace was present, I… I decided not to chance disturbing him.”
His dour expression didn't change. “A wise course of action, m’lady.”
Juliet smiled, feigning courage she was far from feeling. “Good night, Mr. Higgins.” She forced herself into a sedate walk to the staircase and descended with as much dignity as she could muster.
“I’m afraid I haven’t any further news of your brother, your grace.” Delbert Stowe dropped into the chair near the desk and crossed one leg over the other. He wore another of his black suits, this one better fitting and pressed.
“It’s not my brother I am concerned with at the moment,” Grey murmured, closing the Wyndham Green ledger and tapping it twice with his forefinger. “I’ve heard a rather disturbing rumor that I need queried.”
Stowe uncrossed his leg and sat forward in his seat, his attention completely focused on Grey. “I take it this is a matter requiring my particular skills?”
“It is, and the more quickly the investigation is accomplished the better.” Grey steepled his fingers and watched Stowe take an unconcerned drink of port.
Stowe’s eyes darted around the top of the desk before he returned the regard with a passive stare. The man probably knew the dirt of half the nobility of Europe, but whatever secrets he knew, he kept them close. Grey shuddered at the thought of how some of those secrets might have been acquired.
“Apparently, my father’s widow has taken a fondness for my steward at Wyndham Green,” Grey said, dropping his hands. “The finances at my country home are a ruddy disaster. My financial manager here in Town has been examining the books and I suspect he will discover the discrepancies go far deeper than I had imagined.”
“What do you need of me?” asked Stowe, sitting back in his seat again.
“I wish you to conduct a very subtle, very…
discreet
investigation into Mr. Sheridan Dawes and his relationship with my stepmother.”
Never one for idle conversation, Stowe stood with a nod. “I’ll keep it as quiet as possible. Circumstances like this, though…” He shrugged. “Someone’s likely to notice questions are being asked.”
Grey squashed the coldness in his stomach and smiled. “I trust your tact, Mr. Stowe. And of course, your extra discretion will be rewarded.”
With Stowe’s departure, Grey stared into the fire. His head pounded and his body ached. He ran his thumb over the injury in his palm. At least that had stopped throbbing.
He rang for a footman. Rather than attending to a meal and chance seeing Magpie while he wasn’t fit company, he’d have a tray delivered. What time had it been when he’d awakened, sprawling half on one of the velvet chairs in his study? The chill of night had settled over him and he’d found his arms and legs stiff. But it was her scent that had nearly sent him to the devil and gone. Roses had clung on the air and he’d imagined her standing near. After he hauled his body to his room, he’d tumbled onto his bed, but what sleep he’d managed had been filled with dreams of
her
.
****
“His grace has left a message that we are to go to Madame Giselle’s today,” announced Lady Charity as Juliet arranged herself into her seat at the breakfast table.
She looked up with a start. “Oh… he still wants me to attend the masked ball, then.”
Lady Harmony tilted her head and smiled. “Well, gracious, dear, why wouldn’t he?”
Juliet had no answer so she took a sip of chocolate. “Umm, this is lovely, isn’t it? So rich and hardly bitter at all.”
The dining room door swung inward and Juliet held her breath, but it was only one of the kitchen maids with a plate of plum cake. Juliet’s mouth watered, but she peered through the doorway, seeking a lithe figure with broad shoulders. The duke had never taken the morning meal with Juliet and the aunts but it wasn’t the meal she was worried about. Had he found her letter? If he had, surely she would already have been sent away. Was he about to send for her even now so he could throw her out? Or would he simply tell one of the servants to remove her from his home?
Lady Harmony slid a piece of plum cake onto her plate then offered the tray to Juliet.
“Thank you,” she murmured, horrified that her hand trembled when she accepted the platter. Hastily, she selected a piece of the moist confection and then placed the tray in the middle of the table.
“Child, are you unwell again?” Charity locked her sharp eyes on Juliet, her brow drawn together in a slight frown. “You appear quite pale and you’re trembling.”
If only the aunts weren’t so attentive. “I’m excited to have been invited to a masked ball, Auntie.”
“Have you given consideration to what sort of mask you want to wear?” asked Harmony.
Had Annabella ever attended a masked ball? Juliet couldn’t recall. What sort of mask did one wear to such a function? She shook her head helplessly. “His grace only expressed his concern that it be a ‘proper’ mask.”
Harmony tittered but stopped and took a tiny bite of plum cake when Charity sent her a censuring glance.
“Of course it will be a proper mask,” murmured Charity. She leaned closer to Juliet and studied her face. “And I think a gown of blue. Satin and velvet.”
“Oh, yes!” Harmony nodded with great enthusiasm. “Why, with her coloring, blue is the perfect color.”
Juliet sagged into her chair.
Do I not have any say in the matter of even choosing what I shall wear?
She supposed not. Then again, had she a choice, she’d likely choose mourning clothes made of black wool. Scratchy wool that would chafe her skin as punishment for her deceit.
Charity gestured impatiently at Juliet’s breakfast plate. “Well, do eat your cake, dear, so we can begin our outing. And for the sake of goodness, will you not smile? That ill-tempered scowl is enough to frighten the wolves away.”
Juliet shoved a bite of plum cake in her mouth and chewed without tasting anything. The treat may as well have been made of ash from the hearth.
When will Grey send for me?
****
The footman closed the door to the coach and Juliet released a sigh. The carriage moved forward with a jerk then lumbered unevenly over the cobblestones.
“I can still recall my first masked ball.” Harmony settled back in her seat with a sigh. “It was most exciting… all the masks and the wonderful gowns. Mine was a lovely shade of jonquil.”
Charity chuckled. “And your mask… you looked a bit like a yellow canary. But the young lords did enjoy dancing with you, didn’t they?”
The aunts seemed to forget about her as they chattered of balls past, and Juliet stared out at the passing scenery. The overcast sky threw the streets and buildings into a rather distressing shade of gray…
“Grey.”
“I beg your pardon. Did you say something, dear?”
Juliet started. She’d said his name out loud! “Er… I was thinking it’s such a shame that the day has turned so gray and gloomy.”
The aunts glanced toward one another. Charity dipped her head and covered her mouth. A giggle freed itself from Harmony’s lips.
Juliet sighed. She had fooled neither of them. She conjured Grey’s face in her mind. He’d not sent for her.
But why not?
The carriage lurched. Someone on the street shouted but Juliet didn't understand the words. The buildings beyond the window gave way to an expanse of green peeking out from behind an ornate iron and gold fence. The breath rushed from her lungs. This was one of the royal parks. She pressed her nose into the glass. But of course on such a dreary day, no one was about.
The leaves fluttered in the gentle breeze, reminding Juliet of strolling beneath the elm trees lining the lane to Wyndham Green. A pang struck her high in the chest, a sharp longing for home and she bit her tongue to hold back a cry.
“Is something amiss, dear?” asked Charity, leaning forward, eyes narrowed and brow pinched.
“’Tis nothing,” Juliet said with a long sigh. “A sudden longing for home.”
Charity’s eyes sharpened. “You don’t like London, my dear? Do you wish to go home?”
“Oh, no, Auntie! I love it here… Only, it’s not so green as home, is it?”
From across the carriage Harmony’s sigh sounded oddly like relief. She glanced out the window. “Oh, look! We’ve arrived!”
Juliet stepped from the carriage and lifted her gaze along the towering stone pillars, more fit for a church than a dressmaker’s shop, in her opinion. Madame Giselle’s establishment was like none other, Juliet had been assured on her first visit with the aunts, though having nothing to compare the shop to, Juliet had only smiled and agreed.
The aunts fluttered about her like honeybees as they ushered her through the arched double doors. A spindly woman of middle years rushed forward in a swirl of daringly tight-fitting gown of black satin adorned with wispy feathers.
“Ladies, do come in. I’ve been expecting you.” Her soothing tones washed over Juliet like a calming elixir as she drew them past bolts of fine fabric from the linen-drapers toward the rear of the shop.
Their footsteps muffled by the bolts of colorful fabric stored along one wall: muslins and satins and at the rear of the shop velvets and silks, the trio followed the dressmaker.
“Would you care for some refreshment?” she asked as she settled them around a long table. “When his grace sent me a message to commission a gown for the young lady, I was very pleased to be of service.” She draped a length of pale blue silk across the table in front of Juliet.
“Oh my,” whispered Harmony. She reached toward the fabric but then appeared to think better of touching it. “This is exactly the color we were talking about earlier…”
“I remembered your coloring being so golden,” said Madame Giselle, adding a length of luscious deep blue velvet on top of the silk. “And these have just arrived from Vienna. What do you think? With some pearl beading along the neckline, the white against the deep blue?”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Harmony, exchanging a glance with Charity, who nodded with enthusiasm, the ostrich plume in her pear green turban nodding its own agreement.
Juliet’s gaze drifted about the room, landing on the bolts of fabric lining one wall. Spying some lengths of fine white silk, she turned to Madame Giselle. “I beg your pardon, Madame, but have you completed the chemisettes I ordered the last time we were here?”
Confusion clouded Madame Giselle’s eyes and she shook her head, sending a querying glance at Charity. “Oh, but I thought—”
Harmony paled.
“They must have been overlooked,” Charity said with an easy smile. “We shall simply add them to our order today.”
Madame Giselle stared at Charity, blinking several times and then nodding. “Why, yes. Yes, of course.” She pushed herself up straighter. “Now, about your masks. I shall place my finest craftsmen at your disposal.”