Her Secondhand Groom Page 3

  Passing her father who was reading a book by a five candle candelabra that held only two tallow candles, Juliet smiled thinly and walked on. She knew her parents, especially her father, had had high aspirations about her education and Season in London. Though he never said anything, she couldn’t help but feel she’d disappointed him by not making a match in London.

  In the kitchen, she gathered together what she’d need to make breakfast, humming as she went. A half an hour later, she set out a bowl of coddled eggs and ten muffins, then set off to find everyone and announce breakfast.

  Just as she stepped into their little parlor, Father leapt up out of his chair and nearly knocked her over as he pushed past her on his way out of the room. Furrowing her brows, she looked at her mother. “I didn’t realize he was so hungry, perhaps I should go make more.”

  “It’s not that,” Mother said, twisting her fingers in her skirt. Her face looked a hint paler than normal. Not that that was anything unusual for a woman in this stage of her pregnancy. Mother blinked her eyes rapidly, almost as if she were fighting an onslaught of tears. “Lord Drakely’s carriage just arrived.”

  Juliet’s frown deepened. Lord Drakely may not be the nicest man she’d ever encountered, but there was no need for her father to run from him like the man was an executioner.

  “He’s come to collect his money,” Mother said inanely as her dainty fingers absentmindedly played with the worn lace hem of her right cuff. She sighed. “Money we don’t have.”

  Juliet tried to swallow as her body tensed and the blood drained from her face. Quietly, she left the room. Perhaps she should have tried harder to catch a husband. Not that any of the gentlemen she’d met had shown her much attention. But perhaps she should have encouraged the two who had, even if they already had one foot in the grave with the other racing to join the first.

  Several sharp raps sounded on the front door, making Juliet freeze in place and debate whether to open the door for Lord Drakely or go hide in the kitchen. She glanced at her mother. She appeared to be in no condition to make a composed appearance, and Father was in the room he shared with Mother opening and shutting every drawer and cabinet they owned, presumably looking for some amount of money to appease Lord Drakely until they could make regular payments.

  “Open the door, Juliet,” Father called from his room where he was noisily rummaging through the contents of his bureau.

  Nervously, Juliet nodded, knowing full-well he couldn’t see her. She inhaled deeply and starched her spine. She walked to the door and slowly pulled it open, cautiously meeting Lord Drakely’s sharp brown eyes. “My lord.”

  “Miss Hughes,” he greeted with a low bow that made her flush. She’d forgotten to curtsy. Why was he bowing anyway? They weren’t equals. Far from it.

  Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she met his eyes again. “Did one of the girls forget something?”

  “No, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “I was just hoping to talk to your father. Is he close by?”

  Juliet bit her lip. Father was close by all right. “Come in.”

  Lord Drakely stepped across the threshold and into the small space by the door. “Where shall I wait while you locate him?”

  “The parlor,” she said simply. She pointed down the hall in the direction of the parlor. Mother would be there to keep him company while she rushed down the hall to find her father. Gently scratching on the door to the room her father occupied, she cleared her throat and said, “Father, Lord Drakely is waiting for you in the parlor.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment,” her father muttered as another drawer shut with a sharp snap.

  Juliet exhaled sharply then turned from the door and walked back down the hall to the parlor where Lord Drakely was waiting with Mother. “He’ll be right in, my lord. Would you like me to fetch some tea for you while you wait?”

  Lord Drakely looked a bit hesitant before nodding. “Yes, please.”

  Leaving the room and walking back toward the kitchen, she passed her father in the hall, coins rattling in his pockets with each step he took. She grimaced and walked to the kitchen to ready a tea tray.

  Thankfully she’d already made a pot of tea that was supposed to be served at breakfast so all she had to do was search for the three best teacups and set them on the tray with the tea kettle. She walked to the cabinet to look for their best cups and groaned. None of them were very good. Most had chips along the tops or a crack going down the side. One was even missing an entire handle.

  She picked one up that looked fairly decent on the outside. It had gray scratch marks on the inside from someone being careless while stirring in their sugar. She shrugged and put it down, then looked for another in a similar condition. At least the marks on the inside were easy enough to keep hidden as long as the tea was refreshed every time he took a sip. Cracks, chips, and missing handles were not so easy to disguise.

  Searching the cabinet, she found another cup that would do as long as she gave it to her mother who would make certain to turn the cup so that Lord Drakely couldn’t see the minor chip in the top.

  She just needed one more. Her eyes scanned the row of their finest teacups. Ah, what good fortune! She found one that was nearly flawless with the exception of a triangle shaped chip in the bottom rim of the teacup.

  Satisfied, she placed the cups on the tray, walked down the hall to the parlor, then stopped. She frowned, and tightened her hold on the heavy tea tray. The parlor door was closed. She set the tea tray down on the little table against the hall wall so she could open the door. Careful so not to cause a larger interruption than she was going to already, she tightened her fingers around the door knob and twisted. But it didn’t turn. She tried again. It was stuck. Locked. How odd. Her family never locked doors. That wasn’t allowed. Closing them was unusual, but locking them was unheard of.

  Juliet glanced over to the tea tray then to the door, then back to the tea tray where her eyes just wouldn’t stay put. They wandered back to the door. Then down to the keyhole. Her six youngest siblings were outside playing so she knew she was safe from them giving away her position. That just left Henrietta. Juliet stifled a snort. Henrietta probably wasn’t even awake yet.

  Licking her lips, she bent her knees and lowered her head to peer through the keyhole. Whack! She winced and jumped back. Drat. For as long as she’d been wearing those thick spectacles one would think she’d be accustomed to them and remember to take them off before putting her eye next to something. Removing her bulky spectacles and resting them on the makeshift table her folded legs created, she leaned forward again and squinted, peering through the keyhole.

  Her sight was blurry, not allowing her to see any fine details. All she could see were the hazy outlines of who she presumed to be both of her parents as they sat side by side on the settee and faced the door. A bit to the left, looked like another form. It was Lord Drakely, of course.

  She pressed her eye closer to get a better view and the white edges of her eye touched the cold, hard brass. Juliet jerked her head back and rubbed her stinging eye. Not bothering to try to see when she clearly couldn’t, she repositioned herself and pressed her ear against the door. Ah, perfect. The keyhole was just large enough so that her ear fit perfectly up to it allowing all the noise from the room to be funneled straight into her ear.

  “And that will clear all the debt?” her father asked, his voice holding an edge of excitement. Or was that confusion? It was hard to tell.

  “All of it,” Lord Drakely agreed.

  “When did you have in mind to have the wedding?” Mother asked. “I’d think the sooner the better, no?”

  Juliet willed herself not to grind her teeth as the first hints of understanding washed over her. Her parents were going to allow Henrietta to marry Lord Drakely as a means to pay off their debt. She’d feel sympathy for Henrietta being forced into a marriage not of her choosing if she didn’t feel swamped with guilt that it was her fault. Perhaps she ought to find the key to
the door and let herself in. This debt wasn’t Henrietta’s fault. It was hers. And for as much as she didn’t have any great affections for Lord Drakely, she should be the one who had to endure his unpleasantness, if anyone had to be subjected to it, as a means to pay the debt.

  But she didn’t get up, barge in, and insist she take her sister’s place. She stayed squatted down there with her ear pressed to the keyhole. Though the debt wasn’t Henrietta’s to pay, it was highly unlikely―not just unlikely, but highly unlikely―he’d agree to marry Juliet in Henrietta’s stead.

  A small, somewhat naughty smile curved her lips. They’d actually suit each other well. Henrietta was haughty enough to fit perfectly with him and his ilk.

  Straining with her ear pressed against the door, she listened to their conversation once again as her parents continued to talk with Lord Drakely about the stipulations of the marriage. “Of course I’ll be willing to dower your other daughters, should they require a Season.”

  Juliet frowned. Just who did he think he was buying her sister this way? He must truly have been smitten by her for the whole ten seconds he glanced at her to be offering so much. And what did he mean by: should they require a Season? They were poor villagers who just happened to have some distant―almost nonexistent―claim to lesser gentry. Juliet and her sisters would not be requiring Seasons. Not unless that was his way of “suggesting” they needed Seasons as a way to make her family appear more acceptable to his kind.

  Pursing her lips, she almost shoved to her feet, bent on finding the key so she could open that door and tell that insufferable man what she thought of him and his “suggestion”; but instead of shoving to her feet like she so desperately wanted, she stayed anchored where she was, paralyzed, and entranced at the mention of her name. “Are you sure you wish to marry Juliet?” Mother asked, her tone full of what sounded like disbelief.

  “She’s the one who went to school, isn’t she?” Lord Drakely countered.

  “Well, yes,” Father acknowledged.

  “Then we understand each other.” Lord Drakely sighed. “I know you two hoped she’d have a Season, and I have no doubt she’d have her pick of the gentleman if she were to go; but surely what I’m offering is the best arrangement for your daughter. She’ll still be close enough for you to see her regularly. She’ll also be guaranteed the title of viscountess―which, as you probably know, should she go to London, she may or may not marry a titled gentleman. And don’t forget, all the debt will be wiped away, so you won’t have to impose on your new son-in-law to pay it.”

  “And just how will this benefit you?” Mother asked. She’d never been one for subtlety before, why start now?

  “Well, she’s been to school so she’s been trained in what to expect being married to someone of my position.”

  Juliet cringed at the casual tone in which he spoke those words. Or perhaps it was their meaning. It was hard to know.

  “All right, then,” Father said. “As her guardian, I give my consent. Where do I need to sign?”

  Lord Drakely chuckled and Juliet seethed. That was it? Nobody was going to ask her opinion?

  “The idea just came to me last night,” Lord Drakely began nonchalantly. “In my haste to discuss this with you first, I haven’t had time yet to arrange contracts and such. I was actually hoping for a wedding at the end of the week. Would that be a problem?”

  Yes! That would be a problem indeed, Juliet inwardly screamed as she jumped up and ran to the little board in the kitchen where a handful of keys hung from a couple of nails. She was not going to marry a man she didn’t even know. And worse, it looked like this grand event would be taking place sooner rather than later.

  Grabbing all five keys that hung on the wall, Juliet stalked back across the kitchen. She didn’t know which key it was and didn’t want to waste another minute by coming back to the kitchen to grab another option. She would try them each one at a time if that’s what it took. The occupants of that room weren’t going anywhere. If only she hadn’t been so concerned about which dratted tea cups were suitable for a guest like him, she’d already be in that room.

  Rounding the corner to leave the kitchen, she collided with Lord Drakely. “Pardon me,” she gasped as his firm hands landed on her shoulders and kept her from falling to the floor.

  “It’s all right, Miss Hughes,” he said simply. He let go of her and continued walking down the hall without so much as a backward glance at the woman to whom he’d just affianced himself!

  With a quick glance at her slightly shocked parents, Juliet chased after her betrothed, chastising herself for even thinking of him in such terms. “Lord Drakely! Lord Drakely!” she called as he climbed up in his carriage.

  Poking his head out the open door, he blinked at her. “Yes?”

  “I―I―” she stuttered, trying in vain to think of how to finish the sentence. Several phrases from “I don’t wish to marry you” to “I cannot marry you” to “Who do you think you are to affiance yourself to me without so much as a by-your-leave” ran through her mind. Finally, she decided on, “I think we need to talk about something.”

  “We do?” He blinked his brown eyes owlishly at her.

  “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. His first wife might have passed away some time ago, but surely he remembered something about women from the time she was alive. “Don’t you want to ask me… I mean―that is―I…uh…I overheard you talking to my parents in there and…”

  “Oh,” he said as if he’d just solved a complex mathematical equation. “You heard about the wedding, then?”

  “Yes,” she acknowledged.

  “Well, you can relax. You’ll be able to enjoy yourself that day without the worry of supervising my girls again. I’m planning to bring Mrs. Jenkins with me to attend them.”

  Juliet stared at him unblinkingly. What was he talking about? There was no way she, the bride, could supervise his children that day. Why would he even mention such a thing?

  “I must be off,” he called. “I’ll see you in six days hence. Give my best to Juliet.”

  Juliet? Give his best to Juliet? Was the man cracked or did he just not… Laughter overtook her. He thought Henrietta was Juliet!

  Well, she thought, turning back to the cottage, two could play at that game. She bent her head to hide her grin as she walked past her mother. If he thought he was going to get away with something as underhanded as betrothing himself to her―or her sister, in his mind―without so much as a word in passing, he deserved the little surprise he would find come their wedding day. Not that she expected him to go through with the service, she didn’t. He’d call it off once he raised her veil, but the look of shock on his arrogant face would be well worth the embarrassment she’d face.

  Chapter 4

  Patrick could hardly contain his excitement as he rode back to Briar Creek. Before he’d left his estate that morning, he hadn’t told the girls where he was going or that they might have a new mother―and governess―by the end of the week. He knew it was a slim possibility Ian Hughes would turn his offer down, but remote as it might be, he didn’t dare risk the girls’ feelings.

  As soon as the carriage jolted to a stop, Patrick swung open the door and jumped down to go in search of his daughters. He finally found them out by the stables getting ready for their riding lessons. It would seem they’d developed quite an interest in equines since their week at Marcus’ a few months ago. That alone shocked Patrick more than anything he’d ever witnessed. That man hated horses, and for good reason, too.

  “You girls about ready to mount?” he asked, walking up behind them.

  Celia nodded vigorously. “Yes. And Harry said I get to go first.” Her words spoken as proudly as if she were declaring she’d just won a war.

  Patrick grinned at her. She may be a girl, but there was no denying she’d been spending too much time with Cook’s two sons. A mother would be very good for her, indeed. He’d have to ask Juliet to work with them on being more ladylike. It wouldn�
��t do for Celia―or any of them―to continue to puff her chest out as she spoke when she got older. That could result in all sorts of situations he’d rather avoid.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped closer to her. “Allow me to help you.” He grabbed her about the waist and hoisted her up into the saddle. “Settled?”

  Grabbing for the reins, Celia grinned. “I’m ready to ride.”

  Reluctantly, Patrick handed the reins to his daughter. “Be safe and do exactly as Harry says.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Patrick waited for her to ride off before turning back to Helena and Kate. “Can I interest either of you in a secret?”

  “A secret?” Helena shrieked. “Always.”

  He chuckled. “I thought you might be interested. How about you, Kate?”

  Kate just stared at him with her big hazel eyes in a way that would have made him feel bad if not for the good news he was concealing. She was still disappointed she’d had to leave the Hughes’ home yesterday without a promise of return, but he also knew he had just the words to make her look at him as if he were the bravest hero in the world.

  Locating the nearest mounting box, Patrick sat down and pulled Kate and Helena down to his lap. Settling one on each of his knees, he grinned at one, then the other. “All right, since only Helena’s interested in my secret, I’m only going to tell her.” He winked at Kate before turning to whisper his news in Helena’s ear.

  Helena’s response caught him off guard as she bounced off his lap and started jumping around, while shrieking something he couldn’t understand.

  Turning back to Kate who just blinked at her older sister, he said, “Are you the slightest bit curious now?”

  She turned her eyes back to his and looked at him with an expression only a five year-old could make. “I suppose,” she said in the most insincere disinterested tone he’d ever heard.

  “Hmm. That’s not quite the response I was hoping for. I expected more of a reaction from you. Perhaps I ought to just keep my secret to myself.”