Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(55)

Jonathan must know.

She folded her arms across her midsections and squeezed tight. I don’t believe we’ve spoken of marriage.

“Is she all right?”

She dimly registered Poppy’s whispered question to her elder sister, whose response was lost to the ringing in Juliet’s ears. Suddenly the folly in having ever sought out the devilish Earl of Sinclair outside his scandalous clubs, and agree to his terms of employment slammed into Juliet with all the force of a boulder being dropped upon her chest. What had she been thinking?

At the time, well, Rosecliff Cottage had seemed the most important thing of all. She’d seen the home she’d grown in as a small girl, had imagined the solitude and peace found in that modest, stone-front dwelling. Yet, in the time she’d come to know Jonathan, really know him, how often had she thought of that modest, stone-front dwelling? Not at all. And it was all because of him. Because he’d robbed her of her logic and reason…and worse, her heart.

He’d stolen her heart.

Penelope touched a hand to her shoulder, and she jumped. “Miss Marsh, are you all right?” she whispered.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Terrified. “You girls should be abed. You shouldn’t be sneaking about your brother’s dinner party. So, off with you now,” she said gently but firmly. She crossed over the front of the room and pulled the door open.

The girls exchanged one last look, and then filed out of the room one after the other.

Juliet nearly had the door closed when Penelope stuck her sketchpad inside to keep it from shutting. “You’re certain you are all right, Miss Marsh?” She leaned her head in through the crack in the door. “I would… Please do not leave. Not because of Sin. Or Prudence. Or that horrid Lady Beatrice. Stay for Poppy and I.”

She managed a tremulous smile. “I’m fine, Penelope,” she assured the girl. “Good night, sweet.”

Penelope frowned, and then pulled her sketchpad out of the door.

Juliet closed it behind the girl, and turned the lock. She leaned against the wood panel and shook her head. Penelope, wise beyond her years, had seen something Juliet herself hadn’t…until the girl had breathed the words to life. Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw in breath. She could not remain here. In a short time she’d grown to love Jonathan’s sisters, but with each passing day, a bigger and bigger sliver of her heart fell away. If she did not leave soon, then nothing would remain.

Soon, the day would come when Jonathan would make a formal offer of a lady. It might not be Lady Beatrice, but it would be another, and when that day came to pass, what remained of her heart would die in her breast.

Damn you, Jonathan Tidemore. Damn you.





Chapter 16


For Juliet, as the daughter of a baronet, during her life, Sundays had signified the day to march to church for sermons alongside her papa and brother. It had signified a day her family had spent visiting the village. Now, having begun work as a governess, Sundays signified something entirely different. It signified a day that belonged to no one but her.

She’d packed up her sketchpad and charcoals and made her way for Hyde Park, never having known the freedom of going about the world as she pleased. For the expectations and responsibilities she carried as a governess, there was something liberating in being mistress to no one but herself—even if it was but for a single day.

Juliet set her sketchpad down and glanced around the secluded copse, which overlooked Long Water. For the better part of an hour, an unpleasant sensation had churned in her belly. Some of which had to do with Poppy and Penelope’s visit in her rooms last evening. Nay, a large part of which had to do with their visit, and more—what Poppy had revealed about Jonathan and Lady Beatrice.

She looked down at her sketchbook, to the smiling couple captured on the page; he, sinfully dark, and possessed of a wicked smile, she, demure, with artfully arranged golden ringlets.

Juliet tore the page from the book. She crumpled it into a ball and tossed it to the edge of the water, knowing her actions childish and immature but still delighting in the small measure of comfort found in destroying the image of them if even just upon the page.

The oddest sense of being watched came over her—studied like she were a prize fawn that a practiced hunter intended to take down, and she gave her head a clearing shake at such foolish musings. Juliet raised her knees up to her chest, and leaned back against the thin trunk of the silver birch tree. She stared out at the glimmering Long Water which emptied into Hyde Park from the Serpentine.

Sheer madness had possessed her to come out, alone, unguarded so soon after her near encounter with Lord Williams. She plucked a too-long strand of grass from the earth, and studied the green blade.

Her brother surely owed Lord Williams a vast sum for Albert to consider making her the vile baron’s whore. These past days, she’d prided herself on having set out on her own and made a life, independent of her brother’s machinations. Last evening, the precariousness of her situation had resonated in the grand chambers that belonged to the Earl of Sinclair. Her hope for the security and safety Rosecliff Cottage represented hinged upon Jonathan’s benevolence. He’d demonstrated himself to be a loyal and loving brother, a dedicated son, and a fair employer. But with one word, or worse marriage to Lady Beatrice, he could turn her out and then where would she be? Humbled and shamed, forced to return to Albert until she could access her inheritance in another three years.