Miss Foster’s Folly (25 page)

“What could frighten you about love?”

“It’s a big step. I think more so for a woman than a man.”

They lay in silence for a while until the candle beside the bed flickered and then burned out.

“We’d better get under the covers, don’t you think?” she said.

He didn’t answer.

“David?”

This time, she got a response. A soft snort that snuffled out to even breathing. He’d fallen asleep on top of the coverlet.

“David?” she said again.

He rolled onto his other side, presenting his back. She shook his shoulder, and all he did was grunt.

Oh, well, he’d have to sleep there. She’d tried to rouse him, and he was far too big for her to try to wrest the covers out from under him. Instead, she got up, pulled down the bedclothes on her side, and slipped between the sheets. He kept slumbering on as if she weren’t there.

***

“My, you certainly like that chutney, Miss Foster,” Lady Derrington said.

Juliet chewed and swallowed the tangy combination of fruit and spices. She set her fork aside and picked up the hand of cards Derrington had just dealt. “I can’t seem to stop eating it. What did you say was in it again?”

“Pears, vinegar, pickling spices of various kinds,” Lady Derrington replied. “Do you know, Mr. Carter?”

Jack, who’d been arranging his cards, looked across the table at his partner. “No idea, Lady D. What say we visit India on our honeymoon and find out?”

Lady Derrington humphed just as she always did at Jack’s protestations of love. And her eyes twinkled as they always did. “I thought you knew everything, you scoundrel.”

“Everything except how to scale the wall around your heart,” he said. “But, sadly, India is one place I’ve never visited.”

“Are we going to play whist or not?” Derrington said.

Jack stared at his cards. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“I’m not used to losing so badly,” Derrington answered.

“If your team’s behind, it must be your fault, old man,” Jack said. “Juliet and I trounced everyone we played in New York.”

“Perhaps she remembered to draw trumps in New York,” Derrington said.

“I forgot,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d think he had the entire estate bet on the game,” Lady Derrington said. “We’re only playing for fun, Bump.”

“Then, let’s play.”

Bids went around the table while, at the other end of the room, Millie sat at the piano playing something by Mozart. The vicar sat beside her on the bench, turning pages and stealing adoring glances at her as her fingers worked the keys. She pretended not to notice, keeping her gaze fixed on the sheet music, but occasionally, she’d peak at him out of the corner of her eye and smile.

“Your play, Miss Foster.”

At Derrington’s voice, she snapped back to the others around the table. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“I won the bid,” Derrington said. “Spades are trump.”

“Thank you.” She glanced down at the two cards on the table. “And that’s your ace?”

His brow went up. “It is.”

She followed suit, adding the deuce to the pile.

“They belong together, don’t they?” Lady Derrington said. “We should have dual marriage announcements soon.”

“Then, you will be my wife, Lady Derrington,” Jack declared. “Hallelujah!”

Lady Derrington threw back her head and laughed. “Carter, you’re a perfect fool.”

“Everyone has to be good at something,” he answered.

“I meant my grandson and Miss Foster, of course,” Lady Derrington said.

That lump formed in Juliet’s stomach again. He still told her every morning and night that he loved her, but he’d stopped asking her to marry him with that twinkle in his eye every day. She’d avoided agreeing to be his wife so long, she ought to be relieved. But it seemed as if she’d lost something. She could take him aside and tell him she’d changed her mind and she’d happily become Lady Derrington. But if she did that, and he’d changed his mind, too, she would join the ranks of all his former lovers.

“Juliet,” he prompted. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” She glanced around. Three pairs of eyes studied her, and three cards lay on the table. It must be her play, but suddenly, the symbols didn’t make sense. She’d played whist since she was a young girl, but now, the rules of the game had disappeared from her mind.

Diamonds. The trick was diamonds. She had the seven in her hand, so she added it.

“May we have your attention?” Derrington said.

“Now I remember why I stopped playing cards with you, Bump,” Lady Derrington said. “You’re too competitive.”

“Trust women to stick up for each other,” he answered.

“Don’t tolerate this when you’re married to him, Miss Foster,” Lady Derrington said.

Derrington looked as if he’d bit into something bitter. She’d never seen that expression on his face before. Somehow before, his anger had always seemed appealing—a sign that she’d bested him at something and could expect some mischief in response. The sinking feeling in her belly made her want to crawl into her lover’s arms, only he was sitting across the table, scowling.

He played a card, and Jack followed suit. She glanced into her hand, and that fuzzy feeling clouded her brain, again. She blindly grabbed a card and tossed it onto the pile.

Derrington glared at it. “You’ve trumped my ace.”

“I…” Sure enough, the ace of clubs lay there, and she’d thrown a spade on it. “I’m sorry, I…”

He set his cards down and rested back against his chair. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “I knew spades were trumps.”

Lady Derrington gave her a worried look and then glanced at her grandson.

“I don’t know what came over me. I know perfectly well how to play whist. I, I…” Now she was stuttering. She never stuttered. She put down her cards and clutched her hands together.

Jack put his hand on hers. “Love, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I wish you’d all stop asking me that.”

Millie stopped playing in the middle of the piece, and she and the vicar turned to see what was going on. Now, all five of them were staring at her.

She rose so quickly, her chair toppled to the floor.

“Excuse me, please,” she said before she left the room at a near run.

Derrington found Juliet in the dark garden. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to go hunting for her out of doors after she’d fled a social gathering. At Mitford’s he’d pursued her for a bit of fun behind a bush. In fact, that had been the first time he’d heard the noises she made when she came. Nothing like that would happen tonight; at least, not this very minute.

She hadn’t hidden this time, but sat on a bench with her back to the house. The slump to her shoulders spoke volumes about her state. Juliet Foster never used that posture. Never. What in hell had happened to the strong-willed woman he’d fallen in love with?

“I know you’re back there,” she said.

“I came to see how you are.”

“If you figure that out, would you please tell me?”

He sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She did absolutely nothing in response. Didn’t push him away, didn’t stiffen. Worse, she didn’t fold her body into his the way she always did now.

“I’m sorry I was cross about the card game,” he said.

“You weren’t really,” she answered. “And I played very poorly.”

He turned her face to his and kissed her. Her lips yielded the way they always did, and she answered with her usual sweetness. Finally, she rested against his chest the way he’d come to take for granted. He should know now not to take anything about this woman for granted, but she normally surprised him with devious machinations, not sadness.

When he broke off the kiss, she rested her head on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asked.

“It’s happened,” she said so softly he almost missed the words.

“Did I do something?

“You made me love you, and now, I’m dependent on you.”

“As I am on you.” God help him.

“It’s not the same for men as it is for women. You retain your freedom.”

“Freedom from what? What in hell are you talking about?”

“Freedom from me if you want it,” she answered.

“I don’t want to be free from you.”

“You don’t now, but later on, things could change. You could do anything you wanted—with anyone you wanted—and society would just wink at it.”

“Do you mean take a mistress?” he said.

“Men do that.”

“I don’t,” he said.

She glared at him.

“I did before, but I was single,” he shouted. He took a breath. He had to find patience to deal with this latest of her moods somehow. But he’d waited so long and worked so hard to win every little concession from her. Right from the very beginning, she’d thwarted him at every turn, as if he’d tried to steal her virtue and drag her reputation through the mud. He’d only asked her to marry him. Some women—no, all women—would have found that at least flattering. Any female in her right mind would have been overjoyed for a proposal of marriage from him. He’d dealt with this woman’s lunacy for well over a month now, and his tolerance for it had worn thin.

He loved her, and she loved him. What else did she need before she’d agree to marry him?

“You’ve always admired me for my independence,” she said.

“True enough. You’ll only have to be independent
and
my wife.” Curse it, that came out garbled even to his own ears.

“Listen to yourself. That’s ridiculous.”

“It didn’t come out right.”

“There is no way for that to come out right.” She kept moving, as if she wanted to scuff a path in the grass. “Women lose their identity in marriage. I’d be Lady Derrington, as if I were your appendage.”

“That’s not true.”

“I wouldn’t even have my own name after the wedding.” She stopped and stared at him. “I’ll bet you don’t even know your grandmother’s maiden name.”

“It’s D’Angelo.”

“All right, then, her mother’s.”

“What does it matter?”

“Because it’s who she was, or had been before she got married. I can’t do that. You should give up on me. Find someone else who will make your grandmother happy.”

For just a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to consider that possibility. His heart constricted painfully in his chest, and he had to catch his breath. God’s blood, his grandfather must have felt that way about Harry—that the possibility of living without her was too bleak to be contemplated. Harry had grieved so long and hard at his death, she’d finally run off to Italy out of desperation. Still, he’d catch her staring off into space from time to time, alone with her memories.

No, he wouldn’t give up on Miss Juliet Foster until he’d moved heaven and earth to make her his.

“Yes, that’s it. That’s the solution to the problem,” she said, although all the blood drained from her face at the pronouncement. “Find a woman who can make bon mots in several languages.”

“I don’t need a linguist,” he said. “Besides, you just used French.”

“I’m a dilettante.”

“French again.”

She rose from the bench, easily showing more spirit than she had all evening. “Or a woman who can paint or play the piano.”

He’d had lovers who could do all those things. Had she heard about that somehow?

“David, you have to understand that I’m not the woman for you,” she said. “I only seem so because we suit so well in bed. And in the gazebo. And bent over a table at an inn.”

“If what we did at the inn wasn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

“A man would think that, wouldn’t he?” she said as she began to pace. “Men value sex so highly.”

He watched her, marching this way and that. Up and down. Gesturing with her arms.

“You seem to value sex. As I recall, you set out to seduce me,” he said.

“Exactly.” She stopped moving and pointed at his chest. “That’s exactly where we should have left things. And we would have if you hadn’t brought me here.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “This is where we made love.”

“True, but your bedroom in London would have done as well. We could have made love in New York for that matter.”

“On the carpet in your sitting room, I suppose.”

“Of course, not. A servant might have come in,” she said.

“Thank heaven for that.”

“I had a perfectly good bedroom, too.”

“Juliet, we’ve come much too far to go back to that,” he said.

“That’s the problem. You insisted on loving me, and now, I’m losing my mind.”

“I can’t dispute that,” he answered.

“So, you see, we can’t go on. You have to let me go.”

He rose and caught her in his arms. “I can’t.”

“But you said I could leave if I wanted.”

“I won’t hold you against your will, but I would hope our love would keep you with me.”

She looked up at him. “I don’t want to. I do love you with all my heart.”

“Then, what in God’s name is the problem?” Damn, he’d shouted again. But, honestly, her arguments were insane. They should have kept their relationship sexual only, she said. He shouldn’t have brought her here. They needed to part because she’d fallen in love with him. How in hell did she expect him to deal with that without becoming angry?

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said. “It just is.”

“What the devil does
that
mean?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I don’t know.”

She pushed out of his embrace and started pacing again. “All I know is I don’t want to end up staring at strange women in hat shops.”

“Then, stay out of hat shops, for the love of God.”

“That won’t fix anything. I’d just wonder about women in other places.”

“Juliet, you’re driving me insane with all this,” he said. “I can’t fix something I don’t understand.”

“I know.” Her shoulders slumped, and she glanced around as if she’d lost her last friend in the world. After a moment, her chin trembled.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “Anything but that.”

She bit her lip, but that only made her chin wobble more. Moisture appeared at the corners of her eyes. He’d never been able to tolerate a woman’s tears, and Juliet’s were the worst. They were honest tears, not like some he’d seen that were meant to manipulate him. But he loved her. He ought to protect and calm his woman, but instead, he made her cry.

He reached for her. “Darling—”

She held him off. “No, you’d better not touch me.”

“Why in bloody hell not?”

“It’ll only make me cry harder.”

He put his hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his temples. Hard. He’d never, in his life, felt so helpless. The two of them should be sharing delirious happiness. She shouldn’t be crying about trumped aces and hat shops. Hat shops!

“I’m going to lie down for a bit,” she said.

He moved his hand from his face. “I’ll come with you. Give you another back rub.”

She sniffed a few times. “You’d better not.”

Hell, maybe she was right. Everything he did seemed to make matters worse. “Shall I send Miss Rhodes?”

“No, I want to be alone.”

“All right.” He sighed. “Whatever you say.”

She swiped at her eyes. “Thank you.”

She went back into the house, and he stood, staring after her. What was he going to do? What in God’s name was he going to do?

***

Juliet opened every drawer in her bedroom and began spilling things onto the bed. She’d have to call for her trunk, but she could start packing the bags sitting on the bottom of her wardrobe. She pushed aside gowns, and when they persisted in blocking her vision, she yanked them from their hangers and added them to the pile.

“Juliet, what are you doing?” Millie stood at the doorway, her eyes wide as she scanned the chaos around the room.

“I’m packing,” Juliet answered.

“For heaven’s sake, why?”

“Because I’m leaving. That’s why.”

“I thought you were happy here.”

“I am,” she answered. “That is, I was. Not anymore. I have to leave.”

“Where will you go?”

Juliet paused in the act of wresting a hatbox from the top shelf of the wardrobe. She hadn’t thought about where she’d run, only that she had to. In her current mood, she couldn’t go searching for lovers in any country. She’d need to think of somewhere to soothe her nerves.

“Geneva,” she said. “I’ll take your cure.”

Millie went to her, took the hatbox, and stared into her face. “We weren’t going to Switzerland. I wasn’t going to have a cure. You made that up.”

“You’re right. I did.” She rubbed her eyes and tried to make her brain work. The clouds settled in again, sapping her energy. “We could try Geneva, anyway. Do you think they have mineral baths there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Juliet groaned and weaved. Millie caught her and helped her to the chair at her dressing table. When she sank onto it, Millie pushed aside some clothing and sat on the bed.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Millie said.

“I wish I knew. I’ve never felt like this. The least little thing sets me off. Especially Derrington.”

Millie leaned over and put her hand over Juliet’s. “He hasn’t done anything cruel, has he?”

“No! He’s been wonderful.” The tears came then, the ones she’d fought out in the garden. She didn’t cry. She’d hardly done it at all since her mother died, no matter how much her brother had tormented her in their childhood. Now, any sign of kindness on Derrington’s part turned her into a puddle.

“Then, why would you want to leave him?” Millie asked.

She heaved a sigh. “I can’t stay and watch myself disappear.”

Millie looked at her as if she was crazy. “What?”

“I wanted sex. He wanted love. Now, he has love, and he’s demanding marriage.”

“Isn’t that the way things are normally done?”

“It certainly is, and that’s why the world’s such a mess.”

“Juliet, speak English, please.”

“Women get married, and they disappear. Miss Jane Smith becomes Mrs. John Brown, and you never hear from her again. Even if she does good works, he gets the credit for them.”

“In some families, not all.”

“Always. Women have to defer to their husbands in everything. It’s probably worse with a marquis.” Juliet paused as a perfectly horrible thought formed in her mind. “Good Lord, I might have to be presented to the queen.”

“Oh, dear.” Millie put her fingers over her mouth. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Can you imagine the impression I’d make on Queen Victoria?”

“Surely, you could behave yourself for a few minutes.”

“Aha, you see. There it starts. A few minutes now, a few hours later on, then I’d have to behave myself all the time.”

“Please, stay calm.”

“Even he wouldn’t like me anymore,” she said. “He’s always loved my defiant nature, even when I thwarted him.”

“I remember that day at the orchid shop,” Millie said. “He was so angry, but his eyes twinkled the whole time.”

“It’s a beautiful twinkle, isn’t it?” Tears threatened again, and she bit her lip to stop them. “I haven’t seen it lately.”

“He’s worried about you.”

“Well, he has to stop worrying. I can take care of myself, and it’s about time I started doing it.”

She rose, went to the wardrobe, and bent to scoop up an armful of shoes. She dumped them into a bag and went back for a gown. “See if you can rouse Mr. Russell and send for my trunk, will you?”

“I will not.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I thought you wanted to help me.”

“I do. I want to help you stay here and work things out with Lord Derrington.”

“Well, you can’t because I’m leaving, and you can’t change my mind.”

Millie took the gown from her hands and held it out of her reach. “You’re impossible.”

She let Millie have that gown and went to the dresser to remove some petticoats. They resisted neat folding, so she rolled them into balls and stuffed them into the bag on top of the shoes.

“You’re making a mess of everything,” Millie said.

“Quite the opposite. I’m cleaning up the mess I created by coming here.”

“But you seemed so happy,” Millie said.

“What I’ve been was thoroughly frigged. Morning, noon, and night. The man scrambled my brains with all that sex, and I’m glad I finally realized what was going on.”

“There’s more between you two than that,” Millie said. “I’ve watched you together, and I’ve seen it.”

Juliet went back to the dresser for her drawers, shoved them on top of the petticoats, and closed the bag. Or, tried to close the bag. She’d over-filled it, and she had to use some muscle to get the latch to shut. The effort felt good, as if she’d finally taken charge and mastered something.