Bram returned to Harwick House early Sunday morning as the family and servants were preparing to leave for church. Without any pomp or circumstance and still in his traveling clothes, he joined Max and Mother in the carriage.
While Mother was glad to receive him, Max would have preferred if he’d made an excuse to stay behind. After overhearing the conversation last night, Max guessed that Bram had learned the latest rumors from town and made certain to renew his addresses to Juliet.
And this time, Max was not going to be around to watch the spectacle.
“I did not expect your return for another two days,” Mother said to Bram as he brushed the travel dust from his trousers and onto Max’s shoes.
“I thought it unfair to accept Miss Leeds’s and her family’s hospitality when I am no longer certain she is the bride for me.”
“This is news, indeed,” Mother murmured with a trace of incredulity. “Have you decided to wait for a more appropriate time to marry?”
“Not at all.” Bram offered a half a shrug. “The truth is, I find that my heart is engaged elsewhere.”
This pretense of his brother’s was testing Max’s patience. “This does not happen to have any bearing on recent news regarding Lady Granworth, does it?”
“Recent news?” He lifted his brows in innocence and placed a hand over his heart. “I do not know what you mean. However, the name that you have spoken is the very same that plucks at the strings of this organ beneath my breast.”
“Then you have no idea that her fortune has returned to her.”
“No, indeed, little brother. I am merely here by her summons.” He withdrew a letter from his inner coat pocket and unfolded it. “She writes: ‘If you are able, then return to town at your earliest convenience, as I have an important announcement regarding my future marital arrangements.’ ”
Max reached across the carriage and snatched the letter out of Bram’s hand, expecting it to be an invention of his brother’s imagination. What he saw instead was confirmation of every word.
Juliet was planning to marry? No. This couldn’t be true. Max knew her too well.
When they pulled up to the church, Bram removed the note from Max’s numb grasp and slipped out of the carriage with a triumphant chuckle. “As I said before—when a woman mentions marriage, she is thinking about marriage.”
All through the service, Max sat stunned, waiting for it to end. He didn’t want to believe that Juliet had chosen to marry another, but her handwritten words proved otherwise. More disturbing was that she had sent the letter to Bram, as if she’d summoned him back to London with a single purpose in mind.
Then, at last, they were nearing the end of service. He could hear the restless shuffle of hymnals and reticules as the parishioners prepared to depart.
“This is the first reading of the banns,” the reverend began, his voice booming from pulpit, “for a holy union between Lady Granworth of Somerset and . . . ”
No! Max jumped to his feet in an instant. This couldn’t be happening. Was she truly intending to marry Bram?
Max wouldn’t allow it. Turning, he saw her sitting three rows behind in her usual place.
“The Marquess of . . . ”
She smiled at him, her eyes beaming like gems in the sunlight. She looked so happy, so in love, the way he’d always wished she would have looked at him.
And suddenly he knew that he could not ruin this for her. If she loved . . .
“Thayne of Lancashire,” the reverend concluded.
There was a collective gasp in the church that echoed up to the ceiling and down again, settling inside his chest. At first, Max didn’t think he’d heard it correctly. His ears were suddenly ringing.
“Should you know of any impediment . . . ”
Beside him, Bram stood too. “I believe you are mistaken, Reverend Thomas.”
The reverend looked at the card again and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Lady Granworth of Somerset to wed the Marquess of Thayne of Lancashire. Lady Granworth, is this correct?”
Now, Juliet stood. The church had gone so quiet that he could hear the rustle of her pink skirts.
“It is,” she said with a nod, still looking at him—him!—with that glowing gaze. “In three weeks, Wednesday next, I will marry the Marquess of Thayne. The man I love.”
If his brain were functioning, he would have been stunned by her public declaration.
But his heart heard the most important part . . . she loved him.
“And Lord Thayne, is this correct?”
Max was already sidestepping his way out of the pew and striding down the aisle. He took her hand in his, feeling that this was exactly how it was always meant to be. “It is, but I might have to argue about the date.”
Already he’d imagined a dozen ways to coax her to the altar sooner.
She laughed, squeezing his hand. “Would you care to wager on that, Max?”