Her Secondhand Groom Read online

  Caroline made no move to release the teapot.

  “Speaking of Olivia,” Emma said, grabbing her reticule. “We received a missive from her just the other day.”

  Caroline started at Emma’s words and splashed a few drops of tea outside the teacup she was filling. She placed the cup down and used her handkerchief to wipe up the drops. “You did?”

  “Mmmhmmm,” Emma answered. She continued to dig in her bag until she found what she was looking for. “Here it is.” She unfolded it and handed it to Caroline.

  Juliet picked up her teacup and took a swallow of the warm liquid, and let her eyes shift back and forth between the two women.

  “Still beastly as ever, I see,” Caroline said, scowling. She thrust the letter in Juliet’s direction. “Care to read what you were lucky to escape?”

  Curiosity piqued, Juliet plucked the letter from Caroline’s grasp; a hush had fallen over the room.

  Juliet’s eyes scanned the note, growing larger in size with each line they passed.

  Marcus,

  I demand you get your arse here, post haste! I cannot take another day, and I refuse to commit suicide. That only leaves the option of you coming for me.

  There is a passenger vessel that leaves every Thursday. I shall expect to see you in no more than a fortnight. Any longer than that, and I shall have to go on a rampage and start killing everything in sight. Starting with that atrocious man who dares to insist on visiting my bed, though I have no idea why he’d feel so inclined when I have another man’s bastard inhabiting my innards.

  Truly Marcus, that man is a disgusting pig. You should be ashamed of yourself for making such a match for me. But alas you did. As if being shackled to Arid Alex wouldn’t have been awful enough, you had to find a man who is not only boring, but is physically repulsive, as well.

  I look forward to your timely arrival,

  Yrs,

  Olivia

  PS Caroline has yet to return my ear scoop. Would you see to it she gets an ear horn for her terrible hearing so she can stop fruitlessly trying to use my ear scoop to improve her hearing, and return it to its rightful owner?

  “Is she locked away somewhere?” Juliet asked innocently.

  Caroline’s blue eyes sparkled. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  Juliet nodded, handing the letter back to Emma who tucked it into her reticule.

  “Is Marcus going to allow her to come back?” Caroline asked, her tone difficult to distinguish.

  Emma snatched a biscuit off the plate. “I don’t know. She still has about two months before the grand event. If he waits much longer, she won’t be able to travel.”

  “When does his ship leave, then?”

  “You know him well.” Emma dabbed her lips with the edge of her cloth napkin. “But not well enough.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

  “Let’s not speak of it now,” Emma said, waving a hand through the air. The tense look on her face caused a sinking feeling in Juliet’s stomach. Something wasn’t right.

  Caroline didn’t look any more inclined to let it drop than Juliet did, but she didn’t press. “Would you like to stay at Watson Estate while he’s gone?” she offered.

  “Oh, there’s no need for that. Marcus isn’t going, his solicitor is.” She turned to Juliet, her good humor seemingly restored. “I had no idea you were so good with watercolors.”

  Juliet blushed at the compliment. “I wouldn’t say I’m good. Fair perhaps.”

  “If that cottage you painted is what you consider fair, I’d settle for adequate by comparison,” Caroline said approvingly. “One of Alex’s cousins paints, but even she’s not as good as you.”

  “Thank you,” Juliet murmured. “I’m actually not that talented, it’s just that cottage―” she shrugged―“it just calls to me.”

  “Well, if an image of me ever calls to you, please don’t hesitate to paint it,” Caroline said.

  “Does that mean you still haven’t had your portrait done for the family gallery?” Emma queried, pulling Kate onto her lap.

  Caroline handed Kate a biscuit. “No. Alex insists on it, but I don’t much care for having my portrait painted.”

  Two hours later, as Juliet saw her friends out, her heart lifted.

  Chapter 12

  Patrick ran his fingers over the scrolled black lettering on the thick card in his hand. Very seldom had he enjoyed attending social events, but for some reason he was seriously considering attending this one. He shook his head ruefully. Who would have ever guessed such a socially disinclined pair as Lord and Lady Watson would willingly host yet another social event? Less than three months ago they’d held a house party and now they were hosting some fancy dinner.

  He lowered his eyes to scan the invitation again. He didn’t know Lord Watson or his family very well, but he did know Marcus and Emma, and though Marcus abhorred social events, Patrick suspected he’d be there. He sighed. This would also be a good opportunity for him to start setting things to rights with his wife. Not only had Juliet become quite close with Emma and Caroline, but she was a viscountess now and deserved to attend functions befitting her station, not just afternoon teas with little girls. He grimaced. He really needed to find a governess. He’d conducted two interviews already, but neither lady had the qualities he required.

  He dropped Caroline’s invitation and picked up the papers sent to him from the employment agency. Mrs. Rawlings had been most adamant that the two governess candidates he would be interviewing today had better qualifications, but had written a note in the margins. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite make it out. Oh well. He wasn’t too worried about it. He’d interview the two this morning and pick the one he thought to be the most suitable.

  “Pardon me, my lord,” Links said, coming into the room.

  Patrick waved him in.

  “A Miss Farrell is here to see you, my lord.”

  “Very good.” Patrick took to his feet and blinked. “Links, do you happen to know where Lady Drakely is?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Do you think you might send her in please?”

  The butler blinked at him, then cleared his throat. “Right away, my lord.”

  Ten minutes later, a slightly disheveled Juliet crossed the threshold to his study. “Yes?”

  Patrick stood and gestured to an empty chair that sat across from a settee. “Care to join us?”

  “Us?” She looked around the room.

  “Us,” he confirmed. “One of the ladies from the employment agency has arrived for her interview and I thought you’d like to be included.”

  Juliet’s eyes widened and Patrick bit back a smile at her stunned expression. “But you didn’t include me in the others...”

  “I know. Not to worry though, you didn’t miss anything. Their education―or lack thereof―made them both highly unsuitable. But I have hopes one of these ladies is going to leave a lasting impression on us and I’d like you to be here.” Unlike the first two weeks of their marriage where Juliet avoided him as if his mere presence would bring her the ague, these past two weeks Juliet hadn’t been avoiding him or changing directions when she saw him coming. He rather liked that.

  She cocked her head to the side. “Though I cannot be certain, I get the strangest feeling that you’re asking me to take an active part in selecting the girls’ governess?”

  Patrick leaned back against the edge of his desk and casually crossed his arms. How she’d gleaned all that from his garbled sentence, he’d never know, but the fact that she had, unsettled him. He cleared his throat. “Well, are you going to sit down or not?”

  She sat.

  No sooner had he joined her in one of the chairs, Links entered. “Lord and Lady Drakely, may I present Miss Mary Farrell.”

  Both Juliet and Patrick stood to greet the woman as Miss Farrell walked into the room and curtsied.

  “Why don’t you have a seat on the settee,” Patrick encouraged.

  Biting her li
p, Miss Farrell nodded vigorously then walked to the settee and sat down. “Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” she rushed to say, wildly rubbing her palms on the front of her skirt.

  Patrick cast a glance to Juliet. Her face didn’t indicate she’d thought Miss Farrell’s behavior odd. He dismissed the thought and sat down. “Tell me, Miss Farrell, do you have any experience as a governess?”

  Miss Farrell fisted her hands together and swallowed. Then again. And yet again. “Umm―” she shifted in her seat― “no.” She released her right fist and clutched onto the front of her skirt again.

  “All right,” Patrick said slowly. “Do you have any experience working with children?”

  She shook her head and whispered, “No, my lord.”

  “None?”

  Miss Farrell released her crushing grip on the front of her skirt and idly used the edge of her thumb to rub the seam that ran down her ring finger. “I have younger siblings,” she said helpfully.

  “Very good,” Juliet said with a warm smile. “And did you ever help with the instruction of these younger children?”

  Miss Farrell shook her head again. “Oh no. They were all boys. My father, Lord Ravenscar, wouldn’t allow his boys to be taught by anyone other than the finest tutors until it was time to attend Harrow.”

  Patrick blinked at her. He remembered attending school for a whole term with two of Ravenscar’s sons. He had no idea that old codger was still procreating. “Tell me then, Miss Farrell, did the earl see to your education?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said with a nervous swallow. Her right thumb no longer tracing the seam of her finger, but had found a little knot of thread near the end to direct its focus.

  “Did you attend a school in London?” Juliet asked.

  “No, my lady. Nothing so fancy. I had a governess. My father was of the mind that boys learned best outside the estate, and girls better on the estate.”

  Patrick almost rolled his eyes. That might be what Ravenscar told them, but the truth was, the man was such a miser, he probably would have let them all learn at home―or not at all―if not for the sake of keeping up appearances. “So I take it you have no difficulty with words and sums?”

  Miss Farrell’s eyes widened a touch and she nodded. “Of course not, my lord.” She brought her left hand over to join her right on her lap and was now using her left thumbnail to pick at the knot her right thumb had earlier discovered. In seconds, the knot was loosened, and Miss Farrell had a gaping hole in the end of the ring finger on her right glove. Just inside the hole was a red-tipped finger with a very pronounced hangnail which, of course, her thumb immediately gravitated to.

  Forcing his attention away from her thumb-scraping-hangnail spectacle, Patrick asked. “Do you think you could recite your sums for us?”

  Juliet shot him a sharp look and he ignored it. If this woman was to be his girls’ governess, he needed to have reason to believe she could perform her job. As of now, he wasn’t convinced.

  Miss Farrell swallowed and took a deep breath. “One plus one is two. One plus two is three.”

  “No need to start with ones,” Patrick cut in. “Why don’t you count by sevens.”

  “Sevens?” she breathed. Her fingers continued to move nervously in her lap. “A―all right. Seven, fourteen, twenty―” she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling― “one.” She smiled and cleared her throat. “Seven, fourteen, twenty one, twenty se―eight.” She licked her lips. “My lord, I must confess. Mathematics is not my academic of choice. And I daresay, I do not think they will matter overmuch for your daughters’ pursuit of a husband.”

  Patrick bristled. “Perhaps if you’d―”

  “My lord,” Juliet snapped, cutting his unsavory remark off mid-sentence.

  “Pardon me,” he said not a bit apologetically.

  “What do you think a valuable education consists of?” Juliet asked. Her voice so soft it momentarily calmed both Patrick’s temper and Miss Farrell’s nerves.

  Miss Farrell cast Juliet a grateful smile. “I’d say the airier academics.”

  Patrick’s jaw dropped. “Airier?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Miss Farrell directed her gaze back to him, and her thumb’s attention back to her hangnail.

  “Pray explain the airier academics, if you will.”

  “Watercolors. Music. Fashion. Manners. Social etiquette. You know, the less logical-type academics. But rather the ones that will help them attract a gentleman.”

  Patrick stared at her. Perhaps he wasn’t like most men, but if a young lady had tried to capture his attention with one of those pursuits, then he would have learned she hadn’t a hint of logic engrained in her and he’d have lost interest. “Airy academics” as she referred to them, only held a man’s interest so long. “All right,” he drawled, leaning backward in his chair. “What of reading? Do you consider that to be an academic a young lady ought to pursue?”

  “Absolutely,” Miss Farrell agreed, nodding with vigor. “She’ll need to be able to read the scandal sheets.” She raised her right hand and swept a hank of brown hair from her forehead.

  Patrick grimaced at the site of the dark blood beading up at the end of her finger and reached into his breast pocket for his handkerchief. “Miss Farrell―”

  “Here,” Juliet finished for him, handing Miss Farrell her handkerchief.

  Miss Farrell knit her brows.

  “Your hand,” Juliet explained, waving her snow-white handkerchief in Miss Farrell’s direction.

  Miss Farrell turned her hand over to look at the spot she’d been picking and gasped. Then, before another word could be spoken, she peeled back the end of her glove and popped the end of her finger into her mouth, presumably to soothe her fingertip with her tongue. She took it out and inspected her wound. “Pardon me. I don’t know how...”

  “Why don’t you remove your glove so it doesn’t stain,” Juliet suggested.

  Miss Farrell complied and for a reason unknown to Patrick, she removed the other one, too.

  Schooling his features to appear impassive despite his urge to cringe at the image of her ten almost bit-to-the-quick, red-tipped fingertips, Patrick stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “It’s all right, Miss Farrell. Would you care to tell us your experience with some of the academics you would like to teach the girls?”

  Miss Farrell rubbed her hands along the length of her skirt again, then used her thumb to soothe the tender spot on the side of her finger. “Well, I am quite an accomplished painter,” she said, beaming. She leaned forward and put her elbow on her knee, and propped her chin on her palm, mindlessly tapping her nails against her teeth as she thought. “Oh, and I had three Seasons in London, so I’m very well versed in social etiquette and such, which they’ll need to learn.”

  “What of music. Do you have any musical abilities?”

  Miss Farrell gulped. “No.” She closed her teeth around one of her nails and chewed the end. “But I do know how to dance!”

  Juliet responded, but Patrick didn’t hear her. His attention was consumed by the image of Miss Farrell’s sharp, white teeth biting down on the end of her fingernail. If she kept doing that, wouldn’t she eventually bite it off? If she did, what would she do with the nail clipping? Swallow it?

  He had to wait only three seconds before he had his answer.

  Eyes focused solely on her mouth, Patrick had an eagle’s view of Miss Farrell’s knifelike teeth as she bit down one final time while she was talking, severing the tip of her fingernail from the rest. His eyes shifted to her throat, waiting to see her swallow the clipping once she ended her sentence. But she didn’t. A second later, the tip of her pink tongue shot out to lick her pink lips, and in her attempt to moisten her lips, she deposited her fingernail right in the center of her top lip. Then, heedless to the new decoration she was now wearing on her lip, she continued her explanation.

  Patrick inwardly cringed. He swallowed and considered tearing his eyes away just long enough to catch Juliet’s expressi
on, but couldn’t. He was too enthralled with what she’d do when she stopped speaking.

  And then it happened.

  Concluding some explanation about her former dance tutor, Miss Farrell licked her lips again, this time catching her fingernail clipping. Her eyes went wide, and she placed her fingertips just above her upper lip and with a faint but still distinct blowing sound, expelled the bit of nail right onto the skirts of her forest green day gown. Then, with a nervous smile, she used the back of her hand to brush the nail off her lap and onto the floor.

  “All right, Miss Farrell,” Patrick said, jumping to his feet. “I believe that’s all the questions we have. We’ll be in touch with Mrs. Rawlings at the staffing agency.”

  After Miss Farrell exited, Patrick sighed. Miss Farrell wasn’t fit to be a governess, let alone a maid.

  Juliet wagged a finger in his direction. “She was just nervous.”

  “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “Having seven younger siblings does have its advantages.”

  He chuckled. He’d always wondered what it’d be like to have siblings. He opened his mouth to ask her about her younger brothers and sisters when suddenly she spoke again.

  “Are there any others?”

  “One more,” Patrick said. He sat down next to her.

  “It’s not Miss Grant, is it?”

  Patrick groaned. “No it’s not Miss Grant.”

  She twisted her lips. “Why is it you won’t even consider her? Surely you don’t find her education lacking or her manners deplorable, do you?”

  Patrick met her piercing grey eyes straight on and thought carefully of what he’d say. Miss Grant was one of Juliet’s former schoolmates’ older sisters, and what he said about her education or manners could very easily be applied to Juliet as well. “No. I don’t find her lacking in those scores. However, I worry about the possible jealousy that Miss Grant could develop toward you.”

  “Pardon?”