Her Secondhand Groom Read online

  He shook his head. Just as he’d predicted, as soon as her eyes landed on his form, her smile faded just as quickly as the sparkle in her eye. He forced a grim smile to his lips. “What has captured the attention of my four favorite ladies?”

  Juliet sighed. “What has brought you out today?” The interest she was displaying in righting her spectacles far surpassed the interest she was exhibiting toward him while waiting for his answer.

  “I already told you. I’ve come to check on my favorite lot of ladies.” he said smoothly, flashing her his best smile, the one he used to melt Abigail’s heart and make her forgive him almost anything.

  Juliet appeared unmoved. “The girls are learning the basics of watercolors.” She picked up one of the canvases and turned it so that he could see the picture.

  It was all he could do not to cringe. Celia was a sweet girl, but watercolors were not her forte. Perhaps she ought to stick with embroidery. He cleared his throat. “It’s lovely, Celia. A real talent you have.”

  Juliet shot him a queer expression from behind the canvas before handing it back to Celia. “Would you care to see Helena’s?” she asked. The slight upturn of the right corner of her lips gave him pause.

  Slowly he nodded, whispering a prayer he’d at least be able to distinguish the object in the painting and not have to ask. “Perfection,” he lied, blinking rapidly to clear the image from his mind. What in the blazes had the girls been painting on those canvases? He raked his hand through his hair. A few months ago he learned his girls lacked any musical inclination whatsoever; apparently they couldn’t paint, either. Hopefully Juliet could find some sort of feminine pursuit they could master. If not, he better start putting money away for their dowries now. A quick movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. “What are you painting, Juliet?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

  She never took her eyes from her canvas as she said those words. He stepped closer to where she was sitting, then sank down to his haunches, bringing his eyes level with Juliet’s hand. “Papa!” Helena squealed in his ear.

  He turned his head to look at his middle daughter. “Yes?”

  “What color clothes do you want?”

  “Pardon?” he asked, his jaw tightening. The last time she’d asked that question, he woke up the next morning to find all of his cravats covered with colored ink.

  Helena gestured to her canvas. “Your clothes, what color do you want them?”

  “That’s me?” he asked, immediately coughing to cover the hitch in his voice. He looked back at the painting and cocked his head to the right. Then to the left. Then squinted. How was that supposed to represent him? When Juliet first showed it to him, he thought it looked like a very well-fed, but horribly disproportioned starfish. Now that he’d studied it a bit better, he’d amended his opinion. It didn’t look so much like a starfish, but perhaps more like an angry bear. Yes, a hairy, angry bear standing on his hind legs with his arms up in the air. “Helena, why did you paint Papa with such an unhappy look on his face?”

  “I didn’t,” she said, blinking her innocent eyes at him. “That’s how you always look.”

  A peal of infectious laughter rent the air, and a tight coil formed in Patrick’s stomach. He glanced at Juliet. She wasn’t even looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on her canvas instead. He reached forward to pluck it from the portable easel she was using. “Papa,” Kate said, shoving her indecipherable painting in front of him. “What do you think of my painting of Juliet?”

  Patrick dropped his hand from the edge of Juliet’s canvas, and his eyes bored into the image in the middle of Kate’s. That was not a picture of Juliet. It couldn’t be. The hairy, angry, ravenous bear was a closer resemblance to him than Kate’s...uh...he couldn’t even describe what it looked like, was to looking anything like Juliet. It was just a few uneven lines and several blobs as far as he could tell. “It’s lovely,” he murmured, turning his head away before she could ask anything else.

  Kate tapped him vigorously on the shoulder with the bottom edge of the canvas. “Do you think I captured her figger right?”

  “Her what?” he spewed, snapping his head around to look at her.

  Shrugging, Kate said, “Her figger.”

  Patrick blinked at his little girl, speechless.

  “Kate, I believe the word you mean to use is figure,” Juliet said, her voice terribly uneven.

  Patrick swallowed and chanced a glance up at Juliet. Though her eyes didn’t have the light in them he’d seen earlier, there was no denying she was on the verge of laughter. “Poppet,” he said thickly, turning his attention back to Kate. “Your picture is quite splendid.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” Kate said, beaming.

  He patted the top of her head. “You’re welcome, poppet.” He turned his attention back to the mirthful Juliet. “Can I see y―”

  “Papa, do you think I made her fluffies right?”

  “Pardon?” Patrick choked, gasping for air. Her fluffies?

  “Papa, your eyes are bigger than the wolf’s in the story Juliet told us,” Kate commented, her voice full of wonder and her eyes just as big as he imagined his looked.

  Patrick beat his chest with his fist. “Sorry,” he muttered when he felt composed enough to talk. “I was merely shocked.”

  “Shocked?” Juliet queried, the light pink tint on her cheeks the only telling sign of her discomfort with the conversation.

  He nodded. “Yes. I had no idea my little girl knew what fluffies were.”

  Juliet opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by more misguided innocence from Kate. “They’re the fluffy things Juliet keeps hidden in her dress here and here,” she said proudly, tapping her chest to indicate just where these fluffy objects were located.

  Patrick blinked. “That’s quite enough, Katie love. Why don’t you go paint some flowers or something. I need to have a word alone with Juliet.”

  “Excuse me for a moment, girls,” Juliet murmured, wiping her fingers on a damp handkerchief. “Finish your paintings so when I’m done we can have tea.”

  “Would you care to explain what you’ve been teaching my girls?” Patrick asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the girls.

  Juliet blinked at him. “We’re painting. I’m sorry if the portraits they have painted were not what you would have liked for them to paint. I wanted them to become familiar with using paints before asking them to focus on painting―”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” he broke in. “Why is Kate openly talking about breasts?”

  Though Juliet’s face turned crimson, she inclined her chin. “She’s not. She’s talking about fluffies.”

  He penetrated her with his stare. “And what do you think fluffies are?”

  “There’s no need to be condescending, Lord Presumptuous.” She twisted her lips and looked out over the gardens before turning her attention back to him. “She’s only five. She’s just being a little girl.”

  “I wasn’t aware little girls had interest in breasts,” he retorted. He knew for certain boys did. He remembered that part of his boyhood very well. But girls? No. They probably didn’t even notice their existence until they started developing. A knot formed in his stomach. Just when did they start developing? Kate was too young, but what about Celia? His blood froze in his veins. Not Celia. She was too young still. She couldn’t be maturing that way yet. Could she?

  “You’re not even listening to me,” came Juliet’s voice, penetrating his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing. “What was it you said?”

  She frowned. “It’s normal that she’s curious.”

  Patrick stared at her. What was she talking about? “Pardon?”

  Juliet sighed. “I don’t understand why you’re having such a hard time understanding this. She’s a little girl.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Then what seems to be your problem?�
� Juliet burst out, throwing her hands into the air. “Is the problem that she momentarily forgot her manners and mentioned a topic considered improper in mixed company? Or is it the fact she knows anything about them in the first place?”

  “The second one. I think Kate’s too young to know of such things.”

  Juliet removed her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose, her brows knitting together. “She’s not too young at all. But if it’ll make you feel better, next time she asks such a question I’ll direct her to come speak to you.”

  He ground his teeth. “No, you’re their―” He broke off. His mouth couldn’t form the word mother. She wasn’t their mother. Abigail was their mother. He swallowed hard. “Juliet, part of your role here is to help guide the girls into womanhood, I’ll not get in the way of that. I just feel Kate is too young for those discussions. Please wait until she’s a little older and better able to understand. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “You’re impossible,” she muttered, taking a step away from him.

  He reached for her, then pulled her up against him. “No, I’m not. It’s not too much to ask that my girls get to stay innocent a little while longer, is it?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s too much to ask. But I will not lie to them, either,” she said sternly.

  He loosened his hold on her. “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Yes, you are.” She took a step back. “Not in so many words, but that’s exactly what you’re asking me to do.”

  “How so?”

  “In your plea that they get to remain innocent, you’re indirectly asking me to evade their questions and omit facts.”

  “Then answer Celia’s questions, I never asked you not to do that.”

  “Celia?” Juliet echoed.

  He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “If she has questions about how her body is changing, please answer them for her. Heaven knows I wouldn’t know what to say to her, but I’m asking you to answer her questions privately. Kate’s too young to know about fluffies.”

  “Celia wasn’t the one asking questions,” Juliet said, her tone softer than he’d ever heard it before. “She’s too young to be developing, but when she does, she’ll have all the knowledge she needs.”

  “Then who the blazes was asking questions?” he demanded hotly.

  “Kate.”

  “Why?” he burst out, unable to hide his irritation at the whole situation. “There is absolutely no reason a young girl of five should have taken notice of such a thing, nor found it interesting enough to inquire about. Would you care to explain what you’ve done to stir this curiosity?”

  Her grey eyes which were filled with a softness he’d never seen before transformed into cold steel in a second. “Loved her, you jackanapes! Something she’s never experienced at the hands of that nursemaid-turned-governess you hired for them. How you can stand there and accuse me of doing something improper, I’ll never understand.” She swallowed, her face reddening a fraction. “All I’ve done is held her and hugged her and rocked her. I may not be as buxom as other women, but there’s enough there that it caught her attention. When she asked why there was a difference between my chest and yours, I told her. I can see now I might have misunderstood her question. I thought she was inquiring about the physical differences, but now I realize she might have been asking why my chest contains a beating heart and yours doesn’t.”

  Patrick stood paralyzed in her wake. His mouth unable to speak. His body unable to move. His brain unable to think. The only thing that seemed to function was the part of his body that Juliet didn’t think existed: his heart, which, though it was beating normally, ached in a way it never had before.

  Chapter 11

  “I’m sorry, Juliet,” Kate said sadly, her lower lip quivering.

  Juliet forced a watery smile to her lips and wrapped the little girl in a hug. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You did nothing wrong.” Your father did, but not you. She took a step back while Martha carried in a heavy tea tray and set it on the table for their afternoon tea.

  “Juliet,” Celia whispered.

  Juliet turned toward her oldest, yet most reserved stepdaughter. “Yes?”

  The young girl bit her lip. “Please give him another chance.” The unshed tears in Celia’s eyes washed away all Juliet’s hurt and anger.

  “This isn’t for you three to even think about,” Juliet said as firmly as she could manage while fighting back her own wave of tears. Not tears borne of Lord Presumptuous’ ill-treatment, mind you. She could care less about his opinion of her. The tears forming in her eyes were a product of the sadness and hurt she felt for these girls, who’d just had to witness yet another confirmation that their parents didn’t have any great affection for each other, much less a civil regard. She swallowed. She owed it to these girls to get along with their father. By no means did she plan to go out of her way to make amends with him, nor would she bend to his will. But she’d stop avoiding him and would treat him with a cool reserve when they spoke, much as other wives she’d met in London did with their husbands.

  A knock on the door jarred Juliet from her thoughts.

  She smiled at the intruder. “Emma,” she greeted, relief coursing through her. She was in desperate need of a friend just now.

  “Are we interrupting anything?”

  “We?”

  A dark-haired, blue-eyed woman stepped through the doorway. “This is Caroline,” Emma explained. “She’s Marcus’ cousin and one of my dearest friends. I thought the two of you would make great friends, too.”

  Juliet smiled. “Of course we will.” Any friend of Emma’s had to be a good person, indeed.

  Emma and Caroline came in and greeted the girls, who promptly asked to try on their scarves, gloves, hats, and Helena even asked to try on Caroline’s slipper even though it was more than twice the size of her foot.

  “Have things improved any?” Emma asked.

  Juliet shook her head in answer to Emma’s cryptic question.

  “Drake’s always had a hard shell,” Caroline commented. “You’ll just have to find a way to penetrate it.”

  Juliet closed her eyes to keep from rolling them. The last thing she cared to do was penetrate his shell. She wanted the man to be cordial to her, not entice him to divulge his deepest secrets to her. “Wait. Always? He’s always been this way?”

  Caroline slipped off her second lacy glove and handed it to Helena. “I’d say so.” She turned to Emma. “Don’t you think?”

  “I suppose. I don’t think he was quite so cold before―” Emma broke off and bit her lip. She cast a quick glance at the girls.

  The girls were too preoccupied to hear what they were talking about. “What was she like?” Juliet didn’t know why she was asking, but she found herself oddly curious. Besides, if anyone would know and be willing to tell her, it would be these two.

  Emma and Caroline exchanged looks. “I can’t really say,” Caroline said at last. “If I were to be honest, I’d have to tell you that I didn’t know her very well.”

  “I thought Lord Pre―” cough cough― “Excuse me, Lord Drakely was friends with your cousin. Didn’t she come to Ridge Water to visit?”

  “He did, she didn’t,” Caroline corrected. She sighed and plucked at the fabric of her pink skirt. “Lady Drakely didn’t like me,” she admitted finally, averting her eyes to look out the window.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Remember that secret I told you?” Emma asked quietly.

  Caroline shot her friend a grateful smile, presumably because she’d just been relieved of telling a complete stranger that she’d once had a girlhood tendre for her husband. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Caroline,” Juliet assured her. Then before she knew what she was saying, she blurted, “If it makes you feel any better, your sister-in-law tried to play matchmaker between your husband and me and he thought I was too boring.”

  Caroline blinked at her. “What?” she asked with a slight giggle.


  “Edwina thought we’d suit and your husband didn’t,” Juliet clarified, a nervous sensation crawling over her body. Why was she telling such a humiliating fact?

  “Tell me, Juliet, did you want to marry Alex?” Caroline grinned at Juliet’s stunned face, complete with raised eyebrows and an unhinged jaw. “I didn’t think so. Unlike you, I wanted to marry Drake. That’s the difference.”

  Juliet smiled. When put that way, it really didn’t make it seem so bad. “May I ask something?”

  “You just did,” Caroline said with a teasing grin. “But go on.”

  “Why did it matter that you fancied Lord Drakely, weren’t you a young girl?”

  Caroline nodded. “Yes, and that’s why it’s so unusual. I was twelve or so when they married. I remember crying into a handkerchief Marcus had given me during their wedding, but I don’t know why that would make her have such a strong aversion to me that she never came to Ridge Water.”

  “You weren’t the one who ruined her wedding dress, were you?” Emma asked, a tiny giggle escaping her lips.

  Caroline’s blue eyes flared wide. “Was her wedding dress shredded?”

  Emma shook her head. “No. Not shredded. If I remember correctly, there were a few sooty handprints too small to be hers or Drake’s on the back of her dress.”

  “Olivia,” Caroline groaned.

  “Just think,” Emma said brightly. “Maybe she wasn’t avoiding you at all, but Olivia instead.”

  Caroline reached forward and adjusted the hat on Kate’s head. “Well, then, do you blame her?”

  “No,” Emma agreed. She turned to Juliet. “I’ll explain who Olivia is another time, I wouldn’t wish to ruin our tea and biscuits.”

  “She’s doing you a favor,” Caroline added, reaching for the teapot in front of her. “Though I suspect everyone who’s met Olivia has some sort of story to tell about her.”

  Juliet repositioned herself on the forest green settee she was sitting on that was across from Caroline and Emma. “Allow me to pour the tea, you’re the guest.”