Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(36)

“I can’t, Jonathan,” she whispered for his ears alone. “Please, don’t.”

He peered out the corners of his eyes at his waiting sisters. “It should not matter,” he whispered back.

“But it does.” They lived in a world that favored a rigid social order above all else; a world in which each person knew and adhered to their respective place in Society. She’d never hated that world more than she did this moment.

“Sinclair!”

They jumped apart guiltily as a tall gentleman with golden-blond hair and a delicate, slender young lady with blonde ringlets and kind blue eyes strolled toward the earl.

Juliet, having grown accustomed to becoming invisible through the years, slipped beyond the periphery of the approaching couple, and did her best to remove herself from the exchange. To no avail.

Jonathan grinned, and gone was the somber figure from moments ago, replaced the familiar, affable rogue. “Westfield,” he greeted. Then he turned to the young lady. And Juliet knew with an innate something carried by a woman who hungered for a man she had no right hungering for, the identity of the golden princess. “Lady Beatrice, it is a pleasure as usual.”

Lady Beatrice. Or as Jonathan’s sisters had referred to the lady—his intended.

A pretty pink blush stained the young lady’s cheeks, and she dropped her gaze demurely to the ground and murmured a greeting.

The sharpest twinge plucked at Juliet’s heart as she thought of her own freckled face and its tendency to turn brighter red than a summer berry, and not for the first time cursed her fair skin and flame-red hair. She stood off to the side as introductions were made, greetings were passed around between the gentlemen and ladies present.

The Marquess of Westfield’s interested stare flicked over her. A half-grin pulled at his lips, and she felt one of those blasted blushes staining her cheeks. Not the pretty pink sort, either.

Jonathan seemed to note Lord Westfield’s attention. A black frown turned his firm, sculpted lips. He cleared his throat, and his words emerged almost reluctant in nature. “Lady Beatrice, Lord Westfield, may I also present Miss Marsh, my sisters’ governess?” Was it shame on his part?

Juliet dropped a curtsy, head bowed, now filled with the same desire demonstrated by Prudence mere moments ago to dive into the nearby river and swim to freedom.

“Walk with us, Sin,” Lord Westfield suggested in a tone that brooked little room for argument.

For the fraction of a moment, Juliet thought Jonathan intended to politely decline, but then his elder sisters tugged at his sleeve and pleaded to join the dashing young lord. Juliet made a silent note to add proper behavior in the presence of young gentlemen to lessons for her charges. All but Poppy, who stood off to the side, a frown on her usually smiling cheeks, which she alternated between her brother, Lady Beatrice, and Lord Westfield.

“Of course, it would be our pleasure,” Jonathan said on an easy grin. He held his elbow out to Lady Beatrice, who unlike Juliet moments ago, who’d had no choice but to decline the gentlemanly gesture, placed her gloved fingertips upon his sleeve.

Juliet bit the inside of her cheek and embraced the slight pain as it distracted her from the hideous envy that knifed at her heart.

“I don’t like her,” Poppy said from the corner of her mouth.

Juliet started. “You mustn’t say that, Poppy,” she whispered.

“But I don’t. You said you valued honesty, Miss Marsh,” the girl said, brow wrinkled with girlish confusion.

“First, you do not know the lady enough to formulate such a severe judgment. Second,” she held up a staying finger when Poppy made to speak. “There is a time for honesty and a time for—”

“Dishonesty?” Poppy supplied before Juliet could finish.

“Politeness,” she returned with a smile, so very grateful for the distraction provided by the young girl who prevented her from focusing on Jonathan’s head tipped down while Lady Beatrice said something. It saved her from focusing on that special way Jonathan had of making a lady feel like she was the only woman in the world. Or the tendrils of guilt that snaked through her for the Lady Beatrice Dennington who, with her carriage and bearing, epitomized regal elegance. Juliet grimaced as she once again adjusted her pace to keep up.

Poppy touched a hand to her arm, staying her. “Prudence shouldn’t have said what she did to you, Miss Marsh. It was cruel, and I’m sorry.”

Warmth filled her heart. “Oh, Poppy, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Remember, you mustn’t make apologies for others. You cannot hold yourself responsible for the actions of others.”

The girl angled her head, suddenly looking far younger than the dramatic, oft-posturing young lady of the Ivory Parlor. “Very well, then I’m sorry you were hurt.”

They shared a smile. Juliet glanced back down the path and frowned. Their party had moved further ahead. She’d never manage to eat away the distance with her awkward stride.

Poppy seemed to follow her thoughts. Juliet started when the young girl took her hand and gave a slight squeeze. “Wait here a moment,” she whispered, and sprinted ahead. She came upon her brother, who paused, forcing Lady Beatrice and the rest of their party to a halt. Poppy spoke in an animated fashion, gesticulating wildly.

Jonathan glanced at Poppy, and then down the path to where Juliet remained standing. Even with the space between them Juliet detected the dark glower on his face. He gave a brusque nod, and remained in wait, while Poppy raced back over to Juliet.