“Ewan,” she whispered. “You mustn’t—”
But her protest was silenced as he leaned down. His lips captured hers in a gentle kiss. The kiss spoke of support, shared burdens, and a growing affection that refused to be ignored.
Juliet’s hands found their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his coat as she returned his kiss, her mind a frenzy ofemotion. She felt a surge of hope, a daring belief that perhaps they could face the future together, no matter the obstacles.
Their kiss deepened, and little by little, the excuses Juliet used to protect her heart began to crumble. Ewan’s touch was tender, his kiss a comfort to the silent fears that had haunted her. In his embrace, she found strength and a sense of safety she hadn’t known she craved. The world outside, with its expectations and judgments, faded into insignificance. In this moment, there was only Ewan, his kiss, and the promise of a love that might conquer all.
As the intensity of their embrace waned, Ewan became acutely aware of the propriety they challenged. With great reluctance, he eased back, his hands sliding from her back to grasp her hands gently. “I should leave,” he whispered, his words heavy with unspoken longing.
He led her by the hand to the drawing room door. When they finally parted, breathless and wanting more, Juliet looked up into Ewan’s eyes, seeing not just the marquess but the man who was kind and brave.
His gaze held a silent vow that this was only the beginning. He released her hands as if letting go of a treasured possession and stepped back toward the threshold. “I must go. ’Till it be morrow,” he murmured, a tender echo of their farewell at Covent Garden.
And with that, he turned and stepped through the doorway, leaving her with a heart full of hope.
In the quiet that followed Ewan’s departure, Juliet grappled with a whirlwind of emotions. His offer to help and declaration of affection were a quiet reassurance against her persistent worries. A sharp rap at the door jolted Juliet back to reality. Her heart leaped with the hope that Ewan had returned. She quickly made her way to the foyer, her bearing poised, her expression serene. Mr. Wilcox opened the door and found Mr. Wickham,whose insistent rap on the door was more demanding than polite, on her doorstep.
“Miss Hayward,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of impatience, “this is the third time I’ve called regarding the debt owed. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation.”
“I am fully aware, Mr. Wickham,” Juliet replied, her voice steady despite the tension knotting her stomach. “My family is working diligently to address the matter. I ask for your patience.” Her gaze was unwavering, meeting his with a quiet defiance that contradicted her refined appearance.
Mr. Wickham’s eyes narrowed. His behavior was unyielding as he took a step closer. “Patience is a luxury I can no longer afford. If the debts are not settled, I will be forced to take what is due to me.” His gaze dropped to the pearl earrings Juliet wore, a gift from her late grandmother. “Those will do nicely.” He pointed to her earrings. “They’ll look fine on my wife.”
Juliet’s hand instinctively rose to her earlobes. The pearls were a family treasure worth ten times the cost of a suite for Bradley that Mr. Wickham swore he made, but Mr. Wilcox nor Mrs. Murthy were able to locate. “You will not have my earrings, sir,” she declared, her voice cold, her verdict final. “We will settle our accounts, but not through such means.”
“Now, see here,” he wagged his finger at her.
“No, sir. You see here.” The command in her voice had him step back.
“Our accountant has instructed me not to pay your bill until he completes his investigation of those charges. Do I make myself clear, sir?” She spit out each word to make certain Mr. Wickham thoroughly understood her meaning.
The hate she saw in his eyes was nothing compared to her anger. “I believe that will be all for today, Mr. Wickham.”
Juliet closed the door behind a retreating Mr. Wickham. Her heart raced, but her spirit was unbroken as she leaned againstthe door. The cool wood contrasted with the heat of her flushed cheeks. Her breaths were sharp and quick. “Compose yourself, Juliet,” she whispered, her voice a soft command in the silent foyer.
The echo of Mr. Wickham’s fading footsteps was a bleak reminder of the delicate balance she now had to maintain between her family’s honor and their impending ruin. Her hands, though trembling from anger and fear, were not weak. They were the hands of a woman preparing to fight for her and her family’s future.
The thought of Ewan and the support he had offered was a comfort to her frayed nerves. He could shield the family from the scandal, but the mention of love, a bond that might deepen into something profound, was enticing. Ewan had offered her a lifeline, not out of obligation, but from a place of genuine caring. With Ewan, there was the promise of more than just a marriage of convenience; there was the possibility of true companionship and love.
Chapter Fourteen
April 19, 1820
The morning lightspilled across the breakfast table, casting long shadows over the fine china and silver. Across from Juliet, her mother sat in silence, the morning paper a crisp rectangle beside her. She placed her cup onto the saucer, the sound sharp and solitary, magnified by the room’s hush.
“Juliet, my dear.” Her mother’s voice carried the flourish as if she just played the winning card in a high-stakes game. “I have done what you could not. I found a suitor for you.” Her mother’s eyes lit with the thrill of triumph.
Juliet’s spoon paused mid-air, a droplet of honey suspended like amber. “A suitor, Mother?” Her voice was controlled, but her mind raced with implications.
“Yes, and not just any suitor,” her mother continued, leaning forward as if to emphasize the grandness of her achievement. “He will soon inherit a marquessate, and he is fully aware of our… difficulties, and still, he is willing to help, to stand by us. He is suggesting several years in India, away from the scandal.”
Her mother studied her for a moment before nodding slowly. “Juliet, remaining in London, in England, is out of the question. The scandal would be unbearable. We’d be shunned by the very people we know.”
Juliet felt a pang of anxiety but remained resolute. “I appreciate your efforts, Mother, but…” Her voice faded.
“You’re upset, Juliet.” Her mother sighed, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Very well. I will say nothing about the suitor until you hear from your father.”
The rest of the breakfast passed with Juliet’s thoughts in turmoil. A suitor. A marquess. A journey to India. Each piece of news was a strategic move in a game that Juliet only realized she was playing.
