The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence
The prodigal Marquess of E—e has returned! Once a great favorite of this page, Lord E—e arrived yesterday but with the dreadful news of his late wife. Whispers abound of the scandal that kept Lord E—e in mourning for a year without even speaking of it. Shocking, indeed! The hushed nature has set many tongues wagging. What’s more was the sighting of a child entering H— House. We are all eager for our next glimpse of Lord E—e and are left to wonder if he will don the black cravat of mourning or the snow white one of courting.
In other news, Lady F—th has recently reported a theft at her residence. Apparently, her famed aviary was breached by an intruder . . .
“Lady Granworth, perhaps this concept is beyond your understanding and best left to your man of accounts,” the banker, Mr. Woldsley, said with a condescending sniff through his bulbous nose.
Juliet had encountered many men who detested doing business with a woman. And certainly there were bankers and tellers enough for her to find one more amenable to working with her. However, it was because of Mr. Woldsley’s supreme distaste for women in his establishment that Juliet found it rather necessary to work with him.
On previous occasions, she had even heard him make derogatory comments about Lady Jersey’s operation of the Child & Co. bank, declaring that she was “quite good at being led by the men in her employ.”
And while Juliet did not think that she could alter his opinion, she would do her utmost to irritate him.
Smiling, she spoke calmly. “I believe it is more a matter of recollection—yours, in particular—Mr. Woldsley. I have told you many times that I prefer not to deal in banknotes but gold and silver instead. It really is that simple. And if you would do as requested, just imagine how much sooner you could be rid of me.”
He snickered at her. “Oh, Mrs. Granworth—”
“Lady Granworth, if you please.”
“Yes, of course,” he drawled. “What you are failing to grasp is that the banknotes are equivalent to the gold and silver you deposited.”
She held accounts in a handful of banks, but her fortune was not singularly invested. Juliet took pride in her own autonomy, knowing that her success had come from seizing control of her own destiny.
She folded her hands in her lap. “Do you believe that men are perfect?”
A confused sort of frown removed his smirk. “No man of any sense would make such a categorical proclamation.”
For the first time since she stepped foot inside this institution, Juliet’s smile was genuine. “If men are fallible, Mr. Woldsley, then certainly that which they have created may fall under scrutiny. Therefore, I retain my preference for gold and silver over your institution’s notes.” She slid her written request across his desk. “If you please.”
At her irrefutable logic, he no longer argued. Either that, or she had given him a megrim.
Nevertheless, moments later, she left the bank with her coin purse full but, most of all, with a priceless sense of satisfaction.
“Lady Granworth, as I live and breathe.” The familiar smooth cadence stopped her instantly on the pavement.
Slowly, she turned around. Bram. There he stood, handsome and fit as ever, his pale features angular, his frame lean. The only sign of wear the passing years had given him was in the first strands of gray threaded with the blond at his temples and loss of luster in his irises. He looked dashing in a way that had always made her heart beat faster. She waited to see if it would happen again . . .
“You are even lovelier than my fondest memory,” he said, removing his hat and placing it over his heart. His broad grin revealed a set of dimples that had once fueled her dreams.
She smiled, pleased by the compliment that implied she had entered his thoughts a time or two over the years, as he had hers. “And you are still as charming, I see, Lord Engle.” Then, suddenly, she remembered the reason for his return to London, and her smile fell. “I was terribly sorry to learn of your wife’s passing. I hope you received the letter that Zinnia and I sent.”
“I did, thank you.” He nodded somberly, curling his hands over the brim of his hat. “Though it is somewhat odd, albeit warming, to receive condolences under such circumstances.”
Juliet nodded, finding it more prudent to say as little as possible. Marjorie had already sent a missive to Zinnia, listing the worst of the news regarding his late wife’s indiscretions. “I have also heard that you have a daughter. Congratulations.”
Bram chuckled. “A prayer for my sanity would be more apt, but thank you nonetheless.”
She wasn’t certain what he meant but supposed it was a jest of his own. At one time, she might have understood those small asides, after having spent so much time in his company. But that wasn’t the case any longer. In fact, she didn’t even know how to reply.
It felt strange to stand there with Bram and not have Max nearby. Thinking back, Max had always been there, through every party, every dinner, every moment . . . And without him, there was a void that she never fully realized before. Now it seemed so clear.
“I am surprised not to see Max with you this morning, as his solicitor’s office is only a few doors down.” Though just when she finished her sentence, she caught a glimpse of him beyond Bram’s shoulder, emerging from that very doorway.
Now her heart did indeed race. The urgency of every beat drowned out whatever response Bram had made, forcing her to nod absently in response. And then Max saw her. The tight expression he wore instantly fell away, replaced with something more intimate. That was, until he noted to whom she was speaking. Then his eyes hardened, and his mouth set in a grim line.
At last, when Max stood beside his brother, he removed his hat and placed it over his heart. “My lady.”
Not Lady Granworth, Juliet noted, pleased not to have the reminder of the mistake she’d made five years ago. “My lord.”
The tension in Max’s jaw eased noticeably, and the smile he gave her was so enthralling that she was tempted to repeat herself.
“As I was saying,” Bram continued, “Mother is still sorting out matters of decorum after learning of . . . the news. For the time being, however, she has declared that we shall observe mourning for a week and then half mourning.”
“And for the next seven days, she has requested that Bram and I only leave the house for business matters,” Max said, a wealth of hidden meaning in his gaze. In other words, there would be no social calls, no hurried parlor moments, and likely no visits to the house they were fighting over either.
She felt the loss keenly. “Your mother is all warmth and compassion. Her example makes us all the better for it.”
“Hmm . . . yes,” Bram agreed. “Though I must say, my little brother is positively stewing over the imprisonment. Just last night, he complained that his courtship of a certain young debutante would be stalled.”
Max cleared his throat and shot Bram an obvious look of warning.
“Just last night, you say?” Inwardly, Juliet started. Though why this news surprised her, she didn’t know. After all, Max had made no secret about wanting to find a wife before settling into his home in Lancashire. Yet up until now, she was under the impression that Max was still in the process of making a list for a ball, hoping to narrow down his choice.
And suddenly, she wondered if the intimate collision between them had been a mistake. It had happened rather unexpectedly, after all. In fact, Max might have already had a bride in mind.
Juliet glanced away toward her waiting carriage and down to the folding step that her tiger had just lowered. She wished to flee as soon as possible. With effort, when she turned back, she had a smile in place. “Congratulations, Max. Is your bride-to-be someone I know?”
Max gritted his teeth and kept his response brief. “Likely.”
And there was her answer.
A swift, keen pain filled the spaces between every beat of her heart.
Since she planned to win the wager, however, she knew they would see each other in town, even at his mother’s for dinner. She didn’t want any strangeness between them. After all, he was an important part of her life, and she was determined to keep their friendship. And—oh drat—was that the sting of tears behind her eyes?
“And what about you?” Bram asked. “Surely you have returned to London to cast a wide net on the most eligible.”
On a steady inhale, she tucked the ache away and focused her attention on Bram. She shook her head. “I have no plans to marry.”
“You must come to my house and meet my daughter,” Bram said, flashing those dimples once more, “for I am eager for your opinion.” And he said it with such ease that she wondered if he’d heard her response at all.
This was never something she’d noticed about Bram before. In the past, he’d always seemed attentive. But perhaps his thoughts were just as distracted as hers. One thing was for certain, however; she needed an end to this encounter before her spirits plummeted any further.
She’d been right all along. Being in love with Max felt exactly like flailing uncertainly with no end in sight.
“I will respect your mother’s wishes and wait this week before I pay a call.” She did not linger but curtsied to them. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“My, my, my,” Bram said, staring after Juliet’s carriage as it pulled away. “What a difference five years can make.”
“She is the same as ever. I do not see why you are so flummoxed.” Max gritted his teeth. It was obvious, in this first meeting between Bram and Juliet, that his brother was overcome by her beauty. Then again, who wouldn’t be?
Even so, a surge of jealousy and bitterness flooded Max, putting him in an even fouler mood. Of course, he wouldn’t have been in a temper at all if not for Bram’s announcement that Max had found his bride.
Juliet’s eyes had dimmed, and her entire demeanor turned cold in less than a single second. He could only imagine what she must have thought and how Bram’s declaration cast a tawdry light on what had been the best moments of his life.
More than anything, Max wanted to tell her the truth, that he had every intention of marrying her if she would have him. But it was that “if” that kept him silent.
“Obviously you are not a man who notices the importance of a serendipitous meeting,” Bram said, turning away from the street and studying the brick façade of the bank, his hands clasped behind his back.
A frisson of warning burned through Max.
“A woman who does her own banking tells me two things,” Bram continued. “One, that she must have something of a fortune. And two, that she requires a man to look after it.”
Max didn’t like the palpable greed in his brother’s countenance, the cunning glimmer in his eyes. Earlier today, the steward informed him that Bram had inquired after Mother’s accounts, which only added to the mystery of why Bram had come home.
After all, if his wife’s affair had humiliated him so greatly, then why risk such a public return now? He could have easily gone back to his country estate and sent for Mother to visit. Instead, he’d come, with his own servants and child, to Harwick House.
By right, the manor belonged to Max, as it was his father’s house. But for Mother’s sake and for little Patrice, he did not press the point. He would allow his brother to stay under his roof, even though Bram had never asked for permission.
However, with the news he’d received earlier from the steward, and now Bram’s interest in Juliet’s fortune, Max wondered at the true reason Bram had decided to come to town.
Instinctively, he knew he would not like the answer.