“Yes. I heard. He must have been scared that you would end up like—” Anne started and froze halfway.
Juliet frowned in confusion. “End up like who?”
Anne shook her head, regret scrawled all over her face. “Forgive me. I was not supposed to tell you that.”
Juliet's mind traveled to the day she had taken a trip down the Estfield halls with Anne. She had tried to make mention of someone as well but stopped halfway. What couldn't she tellher? What was she hiding? Who was it that made Weston so afraid of seeing her hurt?
“That is not why I am here anyway.” Anne said, breaking into her thoughts. “I have come to warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“Yes.” Anne continued, lowering her voice. Her eyes darted to the door. It was shut.
“Mother plans to have a private dinner here tomorrow.”
“A dinner?” Juliet asked.
“Yes. At least that is what she will say to you tomorrow morning. But believe me, it is far from private.”
The confusion on Juliet's face continued to grow. “So it is not private?”
“I heard her ask someone to send word to a certain couple in town. Now, I do not know who, but they are arriving tomorrow. She does not want anyone to know about it beforehand, which means, whoever it is, they are not just coming for the smoked chicken.” Anne continued, hurrying through her words like a thief being chased.
“And you do not know who they are? Does Weston know?”
“I do not believe he does.” Anne replied.
Juliet felt her mind start to crowd. Was this one of the things her sister-in-law had warned her about before she left home?
“I just came to tell you—be prepared.” Anne continued. “Mother may pull some surprises tomorrow, and I don't want you to look clueless.”
Juliet nodded in gratitude, although the question continued to ring true in the back of her head.
Who was coming to dinner?
***
Before Juliet could wake up the following day, Weston had slipped out of the room and to the stables. Steadying his feet and ensuring he woke none of the servants, he managed to stalk across the halls and towards the entrance. The calm morning winds blew softly against the window sills and caused them to rattle slowly. He took one last look at his cravat, acknowledging the fact that he was dressed enough to ride into town, and continued to advance to the manor’s entrance.
“My lord?” A sharp, firm voice had called, right as he reached for the doorknob. It didn't belong to Juliet. It most definitely wasn't his mother, and Anne would rather lick every crevice of the manor before addressing him properly. He turned slowly and came face to face with the voice's owner.
Estelle.
She was in a long white gown, just like the other maids in the manor. Her hands were gently on each other before her, and she made a slight curtsy.
“Uh—” Weston whispered, freezing. For some reason, he felt like a dog caught with stolen meat in its mouth.
“Is there anything you would like me to help you with?” Estelle asked once a substantial moment of silence had passed between them.
Weston shuffled his feet. “Not at the moment, no.”
Estelle narrowed her eyes. “Shall I fetch Lady Julie—”
“No. God. Please, no.” Weston cut her off. “I am only trying to take a walk around the manor before the day fully breaks. I do not want to be a bother.”
Weston saw it. The judgment in her eyes. The words lying just on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said. She was Juliet's personal handmaid. If Charles was right, Juliet told her everything. As Estelle's sharp green eyes continued to pierce into him, Weston wondered just how much she knew about his married life with Juliet. Did she know about their relationship? Their bedroom activities, or lack of it?
Was she ready to lash at him with scalding words like water on a hot kettle?
