Page 70 of Unmasking a Wicked Marquess
“No, it is not.” The butler stiffened. “I am so sorry, My Lady, but it is …” He broke off, swallowing audibly as if afraid to say his next words. “It is Lord Ashton. The Duke of Lantham’s son.”
Juliet pressed the book to her chest, certain for a minute that she had to be dreaming. This surely could not be true. Lord Ashton would certainly not come to see her here at home. This was audacious! Even obnoxious to think he would be welcome after he intended to marry Lady Clarissa. Even that morning, the scandal sheets had been full of the supposition that the pair of them would soon be wed.
How can I bear it?
Juliet sat back in the armchair again.
“Please give him my apologies, but tell him I cannot see him,” she said in a whispered rush. “I … I just cannot do it.”
“Of course, My Lady. As you wish.” He bowed to her and left the room, hurrying away quickly.
She waited a few beats, then leapt to her feet, running across the room and towards the other window in the library. Peering around the curtain, from this vantage point, she could see out to the track where Edward’s horse stood. Beside the horse was Edward.
He did not quite seem himself. His jacket was even more in disarray than usual, and his hair was wild as if he had ridden here madly. When Travers went out to speak to him, Edward spoke over him. He seemed quite desperate, pleading to get inside, but Travers shook his head, refusing entry.
Then, another horse pulled up on the track. Juliet raised her hand to her lips, covering her mouth as she saw Arthur’s horse halt beside Edward’s own. He glanced Edward’s way, bowed his head in acknowledgement, then descended the horse and strode into the house as if it were his own. Travers made no effort to stop him. As family, Arthur was hardly an unusual guest.
Edward watched Arthur come into the house with a slackened jaw, but he no longer argued with Travers. Instead, he returned to the horse.
Something in the sadness that Edward now wore about his figure made Juliet wish to run to him. She could wrap her arms around him, kiss him, urge him not to be sad.
Why is he sad, though? Perhaps he wished to deliver the news to me in person that he would be marrying Lady Clarissa and not me.
“Ah, there you are.” Arthur’s voice made her jump. Stepping away from the window, she turned towards Arthur as he hastened towards her. He bowed and took her hand.
“Oh, my,” she murmured in surprise at the eagerness of his touch. “Arthur …” She tried to pull her hand back from his, but she was not successful. He stood straight again, his touch persistent on her hand and that smile stretching across his pallid face.
“I am afraid I must speak now. Knowing your parents are out, it may be my one chance to speak to you without them here. You can be in little doubt of what I have come to ask you, Juliet.”
“Arthur, please –” she murmured, desperate to stop him, to somehow quell this hurried stream of words.
“You cannot be in doubt of my affection, of the strength of it. I would happily declare it to the heavens, to the moon itself –”
“No such declaration is needed,” she begged.
“Then let me declare it to you alone.” He dropped to his knee so suddenly that he nearly pulled her over with the movement.
“Goodness, Arthur! Get up at once, please.”
“I cannot. Not until I have asked you my question.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back. His lips were coarse and scratchy, nothing like how Edward’s lips had been. “I beg of you to release me from my suffering, to release me from wondering every day if you will be mine and agree to give me your hand in marriage.”
Chapter 22
“Edward? Where the hell have you been?”
Edward did not have the energy to respond with any harshness to the sharpness of his father’s question. He stood in the doorway of the house, drenched head to toe in water as it had been raining for the last few hours. For three days in a row now, he had gone to Juliet’s house, taking advantage of the moment when he knew her parents were out to try and see her. Each day, he had been sent away.
“What’s wrong?” Edward asked coolly and calmly as he shrugged off his tailcoat.
“You don’t know?” Philip asked, his face crimson red. His hair was unusually wild, suggesting he had been running his hands through it in frustration. “You truly do not know?”
“Is this the face of a man who is in the know?” Edward pointed at his own face, though his father did not laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile; he just shook his head in plain anger. “What has happened, Father?”
Edward stepped forward after placing his sodden coat on a nearby coat stand. The movement brought him level with the door of the parlour nearby, and he saw within his sister. Jane was crying about something, a handkerchief pressed to her cheeks as Amelia sat beside her, with her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, trying to shush her tears.
“What is it?” Edward now asked tightly and impatiently. “What has happened to Jane? Was it Fred? Did he do something to her?”
“No, it wasn’t Fred.” Philip took Edward’s shoulder. It was such a vice-like grip it made it plain he was not going to give Edward the chance of an escape. He led Edward through the house to the study at the rear of the building and only then released him.
