Let the games begin.
Juliet's eyes scanned the room one more time. Anne had briefed her a few moments ago that morning, so she knew who everyone was.
The Duke was bald and took a lot of effort in his appearance. His beard was neatly shaped, and his shirt was well-designed. The Duchess, on the other hand, was as simple as they come. Her dress was unremarkable, and her thick brown hair was woven around a green lace headband. Her eyes darted to their daughter, Helena.
Now, she was beautiful. Juliet could admit that. Her hazel eyes gleamed as she spoke quietly to her mother. Her face was shaped in a way reserved for portraits. Her dress was the same as her mother's—a plain green and hair woven around a headband.
Her mother-in-law dressed down for the occasion. Her gown was embroidered with different designs and weighed down rather funnily on her partly frail frame. She did not look at her for long. She didn't want to.
“Say, Bernadette. I heard Lady Henrietta got married to that Lord from Hoskin. Is that true?” Beatrice asked her voice, an indicator of the eerie silence surrounding the table.
“Yes.” The Duchess replied, gently placing her spoon on the table. “I heard from Lady Violet that he had mistakenly ripped off her dress at his father's funeral.”
Juliet felt a shudder run through her body at the mention of Lady Violet's name. She looked up at Weston. He seemed to share the same discomfort. His pale blue eyes were on her as well. She must have been reading way too much into it because she could have sworn they seemed to communicate some form of reassurance.
“Quite unfortunate.” Beatrice responded.
“Not for Henrietta. You know how lonesome she can be. This was a happy accident for her. She wouldn't have gotten a husband otherwise.”
“Really? There seems to be a new strategy among wallflower spinsters, wouldn't you say? They seem to find some scandal to surround them so they can latch on to whatever responsible Lord or Earl comes their way.” Beatrice said.
The food in Juliet's mouth froze.
“Now, who are we to judge?” The Duchess called.
“Just people who got their husbands through the proper channels.”
Bernadette chuckled loudly, grating Juliet's ears even more. The tears had returned to her eyes again. She saw Helena shift in her seat. This was not delightful to her either.
“Mother, is this really necessary?” Anne called, her voice sharp and deliberate.
“You do not speak when grown women are talking, young lady.” The Duke said, throwing her a dirty look. Anne retreated into her shell and turned back to her food. Juliet couldn't bear to look at Weston. She feared she would be able to tell his thoughts just from his face.”
“I wonder how long marriages like that can go on for if the husband and the wife have nothing in common.” Bernadette continued, ignoring the apparent tension sweeping across the table like a plague.
“Children are the saving grace of wives like that. Without children, they are just as useless as crippled maids.” Lady Beatrice continued.
And just like that, Juliet could not stop the tears. They flowed down her face like waterfalls. She tried as much as possible not to let it show, even as she reached into her pocket for a handkerchief. She dabbed her face gently and stifled a sniff. This wasn't right. None of it was.
She stuffed her handkerchief into her pocket and raised her head to look at Weston.
He was already looking at her.
And he was irate. She could tell from how tight he gripped his spoon. She could tell, from his eyes, that the anger was not meant for her. It was meant for his mother for organizing such a preposterous charade. A slight wave of pride flashed across her heart at the thought.
He was angry.
And it wasn't directedather. It wasforher.
Chapter Fourteen
Thunderous clouds gathered in the sky the following day, casting a cool gloom on the manor and the fields around it. The occasional lightning flash seared into the clouds, and calm winds blew across the drylands, finding their way into Juliet's room.
Estelle tapped the door gently from the outside, announcing her presence before Juliet waved her in, her voice weak and her spirit exhausted. The last thing Estelle expected to see was her mistress lying on her bed with her face turned to the windows. She was still in her blue gown from the previous dinner. Her hair, on the other hand, had been unpacked and her gloves removed.
“Is anything the matter, milady?”
Juliet did not respond. Estelle moved closer.
