Juliet was overcome with a surge of relief when Glenraven approached. His presence was a welcome interruption to Sebastian’s overtures. Though she and Glenraven were little more than acquaintances in the eyes of society, his timely arrival felt like a silent pledge of protection.
“Morgrave, Miss Hayward,” Glenraven greeted them, his tone effortlessly polite. “I trust the evening finds you well?”
The subtle shift in his stance, placing himself slightly closer to Juliet, was all the reassurance she needed. Her pulse steadied, and the knot of worry in her stomach unwound. She offered him a small but sincere smile, her eyes conveying a silent message of gratitude for his timely intervention.
Sebastian’s gaze shifted to Glenraven, a preceptive glint in his eye. “Ah, Glenraven, celebrating another year, I hear? A man of your stature should be careful not to let time slip by,” he teased.
As Sebastian’s words drew attention, Glenraven’s concern was not for the barbs he threw but for Juliet’s comfort. With a discreet glance, he sought assurance in her eyes that she remained untroubled by the exchange. “Time will tell, Mr. Morgrave. Now, let’s return our attention to the festivities.”
“Mr. Morgrave.” They turned to see Lady Ashfield approach. “There is someone I must introduce you to.” She glanced at Glenraven and Juliet with a weak smile and guided Morgrave away.
In the quiet wake of Lady Ashfield’s intervention, Juliet and Glenraven found themselves alone amidst the throng of the ballroom. Their eyes met, a silent conversation filled with words they dared not speak aloud. Aunt Geraldine’s soft, deliberate cough pierced their silent reverie, her presence a gentle reminder of the night’s progression.
“I believe it’s time we retired for the evening,” Aunt Geraldine suggested, her voice low but firm, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and subtle urgency.
Juliet nodded. “Of course.” As she drew closer to Ewan, her breath a whisper against his ear, she imparted words meant solely for him.
He straightened. Their gazes met, and he offered her a slight nod, acknowledging their shared secret.
He stood at the library window as the two women prepared to leave. The echo of Juliet’s whisper remained a silent pledge that bound them together even as they parted. “Time will tell,” he whispered to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
April 23, 1820
The Fairmont drawingroom was abuzz with the refined activity of the afternoon’s callers. Each gentleman, from Mr. Hargrove with his pristine bouquet of white roses to Viscount Mandeville and his box of fine chocolates, vied for a moment of Juliet’s favor, their friendly rivalry underscored by an unspoken competition.
“Mr. Hargrove, Viscount Mandeville,” Juliet greeted each man with a nod, her smile gracious yet reserved. “Your gifts are as lovely as they are thoughtful. I am truly honored.”
Mr. Hargrove inclined his head. “The honor is ours, Miss Hayward. Your presence brightens even the dreariest of London days.”
Viscount Mandeville, not to be outdone, added with a charming smile, “And we hope that these small tokens might add a measure of enjoyment to your afternoon.”
“That is very kind of you, both.” She glanced at the men. The conversation would be very dull if she didn’t take action. “Gentlemen, have you heard about the latest developments in the Vauxhall Gardens? Considering your shared interest in architecture, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
Mr. Hargrove leaned forward. “Miss Hayward, you know this subject is dear to me. The proposed designs are indeed a topic of great interest. The vision for the gardens is quite remarkable.”
“Absolutely,” Viscount Mandeville chimed in with enthusiasm. “The blend of nature and innovation could transform our experience of the gardens. It’s a thrilling prospect.”
“Miss Hayward.” Sebastian Morgrave stood at the drawing room door. He carried no flowers nor sweets. He walked in with an air that his presence alone was gift enough. His eyes swept the room with an air of superiority, a silent challenge to the assembled suitors.
Morgrave sat stoically, his eyes occasionally narrowing, adding an air of discomfort to the room. His silence was a cloud that dimmed the lively discussion. The other gentlemen shifted uneasily. Their animated conversation was now subdued.
Juliet sensed the need to dispel the unease and turned to Mr. Hargrove with an encouraging smile. “You were sharing your insights on the use of natural light in design. Please, do continue,” she urged, her voice bright and inviting.
Grateful for the redirection, Mr. Hargrove cleared his throat and resumed, though he cast a wary glance at Morgrave. “Yes, as I was saying, the strategic placement of windows can truly transform a space.”
The conversation picked up again, although more cautiously, as the men navigated around Morgrave’s brooding presence. Juliet skillfully handled the situation, guiding the dialogue with grace and ensuring the afternoon retained its charm despite the undercurrents of tension.
“Mr. Morgrave, have you nothing to add to the conversation?” Juliet posed.
“Well, as long as the structures don’t crumble and the ladies find the gardens agreeable, what’s there to fuss about?” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips.
The other men exchanged brief, knowing glances, their polite smiles not quite reaching their eyes. Hargrove stood,and Viscount Mandeville followed. “Thank you for tea, Miss Hayward, and your lovely company.” They turned to Sebastian and nodded. “Morgrave.”
As they reached the door, Morgrave’s voice cut through the quiet that had settled. “Gentlemen, always a pleasure to see the competition.” His tone dripped with condescension.
Mr. Hargrove, pausing at the threshold, turned back with a look of disdain. “Mr. Morgrave, in matters of the heart, the truest competition is the grace with which one conducts oneself. Something for you to ponder.”
