The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence
The date we have all been waiting for is nearly here, dear readers! In one week, we shall know the name of our Original. And, of course, for those who have been invited to Lord and Lady B—cke’s gala, they will have a final opportunity to speculate on who will be crowned. Thrilling, indeed!
For now, we are ever watchful over the Marquess of E—e who was spotted in the park looking dangerously handsome atop his new phaeton . . .
In the morning, Juliet took her daily walk near the fashionable hour so that she might encounter Ellery. Thus far, he’d been making a splendid showing, but she didn’t want his favor to fall beneath the shadow of Bram’s return. Therefore, she decided to make sure that he did something truly remarkable to keep him firmly in the hearts of the ton and, with any luck, the anonymous committee members as well.
Normally, she stayed away from the Serpentine and kept to the less-traveled paths. However, she knew that Ellery frequently took this winding road toward Rotten Row for his horse’s exercise. And sure enough, not far in the distance, she saw him riding high in his glossy black phaeton, his silvery gray top hat and coat looking like shining armor in the sunlight.
When the moment was right, she would pretend to trip and twist her ankle, barely catching herself with her parasol. Looking down, she saw the perfect spot where she could avoid any shrubbery.
But just when she lifted her gaze, she saw the blur of another phaeton whipping around Ellery’s. The driver’s head was turned to look back over his shoulder, and Juliet knew in an instant she would be crushed beneath the immense wheels.
Fearing for her life, she dashed to the side of the road. Then, tripping over a branch, she landed on all fours in the dirt. Drat it all! But at least she was alive. Taking a quick accounting, she found that she was unharmed, for the most part.
Behind her, she heard several shouts and a scream. Suddenly, she knew that the graceful trip she’d planned had turned into a clumsy, public incident. Instead of merely losing her footing—and thereby procuring Ellery’s gallant rescue—she’d been nearly bowled over by a madman.
By the time she righted herself and began brushing the dirt from her poor ruined skirts and gloves, she heard the voice of someone quite familiar, only it wasn’t Ellery.
It was Bram. “Lady Granworth, you should take care. Why, the Serpentine is no place to walk.”
Looking past him, she saw that the madman’s phaeton was now empty, the horse’s reins tied to a nearby branch just off to the side.
“Were you the one driving that menace?” she asked, sounding like a harridan and not caring a whit.
Bram had the nerve to laugh at her. In fact, he didn’t bother with an apology. “Allow me to escort you to Hanover Street. I will have you home in no time at all.”
Considering the way he drove, she did not doubt it.
Though, remembering her purpose, Juliet cast a somewhat panicked glance in Ellery’s direction. He too had left his phaeton and was striding toward her.
“Lady Granworth, may I be of assistance?” Ellery said, coming upon them. His expression was concerned when he looked at her but turned hard when his gaze landed on Bram.
“And who might you be?” Bram asked rudely.
Juliet made the introduction, each man nodding curtly. She had no intention of ruining her plan and nodded to the viscount. “Thank you, Ellery, that is very kind—”
“However, she already has an escort,” Bram interrupted, putting his hand on her elbow.
Ellery, standing a few steps away, waited for her response. And since there was a curious crowd gathering, and it would not suit either her cause or Ellery’s character to allow a battle to ensue, she abandoned her venture. “Lord Engle will see me home. Thank you again, Ellery. You were kind to stop.”
But if she thought her terror was at an end after nearly being trampled on the path, she was a fool.
She felt an even greater risk while Bram tore through the streets all the way to Hanover Square. He paid no attention to her requests for him to slow, and she feared that she would be sick.
Then, to further her humiliation and dismay, when they finally arrived, Max was just coming down the steps of Zinnia’s townhouse. Messy, disheveled, and thoroughly embarrassed, Juliet wanted to hide.
He rushed to the pavement, tossing his walking stick to the ground. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
She stopped, clutching the side rail of the driver’s perch, and sat up straighter so that he could see that she was well. “I am fine, Max. A little dirty, but alive.” No thanks to Bram.
Before Bram could even set the brake, Max had climbed up to assist her, his hand seeking hers with care, as if she were suddenly an ornament of blown glass. If they were alone, she would have scolded him, even if she found it rather sweet.
Still feeling unsteady once he had her on the ground, she held onto his shoulders a little bit longer for support. “Thank you,” she whispered and forced herself to release him and step back. She missed the feel of his hands on her waist instantly.
Bram hopped down and stood beside her. “And why are you here, little brother?”
Max’s shoulders went back, and he clenched his jaw, causing a muscle to twitch. “I came to pay a call on—”
“On my cousin,” Juliet finished for him in a rush, casting a look of reprimand. He looked positively territorial, and she ignored the responding pulse that quickened in her own body. She felt as if Max were engaged in some sort of medieval joust against his brother for the honor of wooing her. Ludicrous! Yet part of her was afraid of how much it pleased her and how much she wanted to be claimed by him. “I believe I heard Zinnia mention that your mother was sending something over.”
Bram chuckled. “You are still Mother’s errand boy, I see.”
Max gave her a dark look but answered his brother. “Apparently so. There could have been no other reason I was here.”
She swallowed, feeling guilty. But really, did he expect to announce to the entire ton that he was now paying calls on his sworn enemy? She wasn’t even ready to tell him how she felt. The last thing she wanted was to have the gossips announce it before she did. Already, it seemed that a parade of carriages had converged on the square to watch the spectacle.
Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. Wick appeared on the stairs, rushing down to the pavement. Zinnia was framed in the doorway.
“Good day, gentlemen,” Juliet said, taking hold of Mr. Wick’s arm, eager for this entire episode to end.
The following morning, Bram strode into the breakfast room, all smiles and brimming with pleasantries. “Good morning, Mother. And little brother, how fares your courtship of that debutante?”
Max was tempted to tell him to bugger off but thought better of it. “It is promising.”
Or at least it was until Bram had returned. Now, Max felt as if he’d stepped in mud up to his knees, and every step forward was interminably delayed.
Bram continued on as if Max’s response was of no importance. “I have an announcement that I’m certain you are both eager to hear. I have decided on a bride—or courtship, rather. But it is my guess that, soon enough, Max and I will have a new battle, and that will be to see who claims the first wedding day at St. George’s.”
Mother shook her head. “Bramson, we’ve been in mourning. Surely you could not have decided on a bride as of yet.”
“It has become quite clear to me since yesterday. Can you not guess?” Bram puffed out his chest and gripped the edges of his lapels. “I mean to marry Juliet Granworth.”
Max frowned. “Have you spoken to her about this?”
“I did not even need to because it was she who made the suggestion to me in the carriage.”
“She said she wanted to marry you?” Max was stunned, but before he jumped to conclusions, he would find out from Juliet.
“Not in those exact words, but she did agree that I should take a wife soon for Patrice’s sake. And I shall.”
At Bram’s ridiculous assumption, Max wanted to relax once more. With the history between them, however, he couldn’t let go of the reminder that Bram had usually gotten everything he wanted.
The ton was enthralled by Bram, carefully watching his every move. And Max felt the stirrings of a peculiar sensation of déjà vu.
Too sore for walking, and frankly too embarrassed to return to the park yet, Juliet stayed in. Unfortunately, word had spread about her brush with death, and nearly every gentleman of her acquaintance came to call, in addition to a few ladies, including Lilah, Ivy, and Gemma.
But not Max.
Worse was the audacious bouquet that Bram presented to her. The flowers were so large and so many that she had to hold them with both hands when he thrust them at her. She tried to smile, but it froze when she spied several ants climbing out from the centers.
“Peonies. How lovely,” she cried but tried to hide her alarm. “Myrtle, could you please take these to the upstairs sitting room.” And she quickly handed them off to the maid.
Then the next day, he brandished another bouquet of peonies, of such magnitude and quantity that they ended up in this morning’s Standard.
“The Marquess of E—e hefted another armful of enormous peony blossoms up the stairs of a certain Hanover Street house,” Juliet read aloud to Zinnia, who sat opposite her in the morning room.
“Mrs. Wick requested to keep the flowers out on the terrace, as the ants were spotted in the hall, in the parlor, and crawling out of the upstairs sitting room.” Her cousin paused in the act of penning her letter and shook her head in disapproval.
They’d both thought that banishing them to the moldering sitting room, which they used primarily for the purpose of storing unwanted objects, had seemed the perfect solution. Juliet hadn’t the heart to send those flowers to the sanatorium, as the patients had enough troubles without adding insects to injury.
“I’m not certain what I should do if this continues,” Juliet confessed.
Zinnia gave a peculiar look, tilting her head to one side. “We can always throw them out.”
Juliet laughed. “I’m not speaking of the flowers but of Bram.”
“Do you not like Lord Engle’s attentions?”
She hesitated before answering. “At first, I thought he was trying to make amends for having nearly killed me, but he never actually apologized. Then yesterday, it occurred to me that he might be courting me. Or at least he thinks he is. He never asked, and I would not have consented. What unsettles me most is that I fear Marjorie desires the match.”
“With Lord Engle?” Zinnia blinked owlishly. “Not at all.”
Before Juliet could ask Zinnia to elaborate, Mr. Wick cleared his throat from the doorway.
“You have a caller, my lady.”
“I don’t believe I’m at home today.” Juliet checked the calendar to be sure she wasn’t mistaken. Most people only had certain at home days when they were accepting calls. After all, no one was expected to be available on a whim.
“Yes, my lady. I said the same to your caller; however, he is rather insistent. His lordship states that you will make an exception for him.”
Could it be Max? Her heart began to race. She hadn’t seen him in days, other than the day she’d fallen in the park. He hadn’t returned, even though she’d offered a perfect excuse to call. Running an errand for his mother was innocent enough, wasn’t it? “Who is it?”
“Lord Engle, my lady.”
That oh-so-brief elation abruptly vanished. “I am still not at home. No, wait. I will see him, but keep him in the foyer.” Then to Zinnia, she added, “This will not take long.”
It was time to be perfectly clear with Bram that she was not interested in courtship or marriage.
When she stepped into the foyer, she saw that he was holding not one but two bouquets of peonies. Poor Mrs. Wick.
“Considering how well received the other bouquets were, I knew you liked these the best,” he said with a smug grin. “And did you see the paper this morning? The entire ton is quite envious.”
Max would have known that her exclaiming “peonies” in such a shocked tone was not necessarily stating a preference. In fact, she had told Bram quite plainly that she preferred roses. But he had not listened.
He was entirely too much like Lord Granworth in that regard. In fact, he was too much like Lord Granworth in many regards. Complimenting her clothes and how well she looked, and then complimenting himself and how well they looked together.
At one time, it might have thrilled her to know that Bram was courting her, like having a second chance to relive the past. But if she could go back in time, she would not return to the days when she wrote his name in her diary.
No. There was only one day from her past that she would revisit, and someday she would tell Max about it.
Taking the flowers, she set them on the table. No doubt ants were now crawling out of the petals and onto the rosewood. Thankfully, Mr. Wick was ready and armed with a crumb broom and pan.
“Lord Engle,” she began, “I have enjoyed your return to town. You are as charming and entertaining as ever. However, I want to make sure you know that I have no intention of marrying.” And then to be perfectly clear. “I believe, and I’m fairly certain that the ton believes, you are courting me, but I cannot allow it to continue.”
“This was all in good fun. Nothing more.” Bram smiled and offered a nod of understanding, before he bowed and took his leave.
Well, that was a relief. In fact, it was so simple that Juliet wondered if she’d misread his intentions.
Somewhat uncertain, she made her way back to the parlor with the hope of returning to her previous conversation with Zinnia. With any luck, she would find out what Zinnia had been about to say—regarding the matches Marjorie wanted for her sons—before they were interrupted.