As the Dowager Duchess of Vale requested, Juliet went to tea that afternoon.
By the firm set of Gemma Desmond’s pert features, it was clear that she was attending the tea under duress. Even so, the dowager’s niece was lovely—her skin slightly tanned from having lived abroad in southern climes for many years, her eyes a bluish myrtle green, made all the more compelling by a rim of black lashes. Her inky black hair, however, was pinned into such a confining coiffure that the sight of it made Juliet’s scalp ache.
They had been introduced before, and even then, Gemma had not appeared overly pleased to be in society. Fortunately for her, her lips naturally followed an upward tilt. Otherwise, she might have had quite the formidable countenance.
“Lady Granworth, I’m so pleased you could attend,” the dowager duchess said, the penciled line of her brows slightly pinched with worry. “There are many—aside from my dear friends, of course—who would not think of stepping beneath this roof until the scandal of my brother-in-law’s misdeeds have died down.”
Albert Desmond had become a notorious criminal in these past weeks after the knowledge of his forgery scheme came to light. Allegedly, he’d been robbing people of their fortunes, claiming to sell priceless artifacts and works of art. But his criminal acts turned violent when he’d kidnapped and nearly murdered Adeline Pimm after she’d caught him in the act.
Even though Adeline was a dear friend of Juliet’s, she did not hold Gemma responsible for her father’s treachery. “As you know, I am not unfamiliar with scandals.”
“Precisely,” the dowager duchess said with a pleased smile, as if a debutante caught kissing a gentleman in a library was a trifling occurrence.
Though in many ways, Juliet still felt like that same unprepared girl she’d once been, not truly knowing what had come over her in that all-too-brief moment in the library. “It is fortunate that the ton possesses more ardent curiosity than censure. I am thankful that my return inured the former and only a touch of the latter. Given enough time, I imagine all will be forgotten.”
Miss Desmond’s posture softened in what could only be described as hopeful relief. “Would you agree that your hasty marriage aided in your acceptance?”
“Undoubtedly,” Juliet said with a nod but proceeded with caution. She did not want Gemma, or anyone, to rush into marriage solely to expunge a scandal. However, in Gemma’s circumstances, she could see no other option. “Otherwise I would have been ruined, leaving a stain upon my family name.”
Of course, her father hadn’t been too worried about his own behavior. He’d counted on Juliet marrying well. Yet even he had known that the good fortune he enjoyed, at her expense, would not last. Otherwise, he would not have tried to conceal the gold pieces from the highwayman who’d ended his and Mother’s lives.
The dowager duchess waved her fingers in the air, moving on from those particulars. “Just so. And given the right circumstances surrounding an event, the ton can be quite forgiving.”
Gemma shook her head, her slender hands clenching into fists. “My father is guilty of numerous crimes, not the least of which is the attempted murder of a young woman. I doubt the ton will be quick to forgive, let alone forget.”
“Yes, well, our task is monumental, to be sure, but not impossible.”
“I apologize for disagreeing, Aunt Edith,”—Gemma stood—“but it is quite impossible.”
Then she turned to slip through the space between the gold chintz sofa and chair, no doubt heading toward the door.
“Not entirely,” Juliet heard herself say and wondered what she’d just gotten herself into.
Gemma stopped, issuing the quick exhale of exasperation as she looked over her shoulder. “Lady Granworth, forgive me, but your kissing scandal pales by comparison.”
A younger version of herself might have become irritated by a comment that wholly dismissed her own trials too, but her wiser self saw this as a way to help a young woman facing a dreadful circumstance. “Please call me Juliet, and if I may . . . Gemma?”
The petulant debutante inclined her head without hiding any reluctance and gradually resumed her seat.
Juliet continued. “Have you ever heard of Lord Corilew?”
While Gemma shook her head, the dowager duchess’s eyes went round for an instant before a small smile curled her lips.
“Lord Corilew was once simply Jonathon Tibble, a disinherited younger son. He was renowned for his gambling and womanizing, so much so that he could have begun a Duels at Dawn club, with an extensive list of cuckolded husbands as members.” If there was one thing Juliet knew, it was the simple fact that learning of another’s ruin always took one’s mind off one’s own. She was hoping this distraction would be just the thing to help Gemma open her eyes to new possibilities.
“Then one day, he altered his quarry from the wives of the ton to one of the innocents, a debutante in her fourth year.” Juliet shook her head solemnly before she continued. “There was little hope that Mary Brightwell would marry at all. You see, when she was younger, she’d suffered a terrible kick from a horse to her jaw, leaving her with a bit of a scar and speech impediment. Though it just so happened that one fateful morning, Tibble was caught”—she glanced to the dowager duchess and received a nod to continue—“leaving Mary’s bedchamber window at the break of dawn.” As Juliet hoped, the subject held Gemma’s rapt, unblinking attention.
“Of course, we know nothing of their romance or how it came to be. All we know is that her father, Lord Sharpton, was immensely wealthy, and Mary Brightwell was his only child. In addition, we know that by the end of the first year of their marriage, Mary Brightwell gifted her husband with a son, and thereby her own father with an heir.
“Furthermore, it was rumored that Lord Sharpton was so grateful to his son-in-law that he bestowed a substantial gift upon him, providing enough funds for Tibble to purchase an estate, complete with barony. From that point forward, the scandalous Mr. Tibble became Lord Corilew.” Juliet had chosen this story, in particular, to show Gemma that there were ways out of ruin, and to convince her not to lose hope. “So you see, it really is nothing more difficult than a name change.”
“And to change my name, you are suggesting that I marry?”
“I would never make that suggestion. Such a decision must be yours alone and for your own reasons,” Juliet said, concealing a rise of regret from her own mistakes. “It is my guess, however, that you are looking for an answer to clear away the mark on your name. Otherwise, I doubt your aunt would have called me here to speak on this topic.”
Gemma glanced at the dowager duchess and nodded. “We have spent so many years apart, and I . . . ” She cleared her throat. “Aunt Edith is like a mother to me, and I do not want her tainted by my name.”
The dowager duchess reached over the arm of the chair and patted Gemma’s arm. “As I said before, it does not matter to me. I’m merely happy to have you here, where you belong. I was under the impression that you wanted to be married. Was I wrong?”
“I want to put the past behind me. That includes my father and all that he has done.” Gemma spoke with the type of firm vehemence that paired well with layers of mystery. And Juliet was fairly certain that she would not be the only one to feel her curiosity piqued. Therefore, she would need to offer a word or two of caution to her new friend. But first things first . . .
Juliet brushed her hands together as if the matter were settled. “Then we’ll simply find a man so taken by—what we’ll call—your charm that he’ll sweep you off your feet.”
Gemma laughed softly at the euphemism. “As you might have concluded, I am not of a romantic nature.”
“Romance is highly overrated. I’m told it wreaks all sorts of havoc with the heart. Instead, it is far better to think of marriage as a mutual understanding.” And, at least with this, Juliet could offer firm advice. “It comes down to the matter of the marriage contract. In order to have everything you expect and nothing you don’t, precise wording is essential.”
At last, those myrtle eyes brightened. “A marriage contract. I hadn’t thought of that.”
The dowager duchess smiled and rested back into the chair. She silently mouthed a thank-you to Juliet.
“When do you propose that I begin my search for a new name?” Gemma asked, proving herself to be single-minded in her goal, which—in Juliet’s opinion—was highly admirable for a young woman in the bloom of youth. In fact, with her determination, her intelligence, and her poise under duress, she would make a fine Original, flash of temper notwithstanding.
Hmm . . . that line of thought made her think of her own candidate, and suddenly an idea sprang to mind. It was perfect! After all, Ellery had made it known that he was in search of a wife. And he wasn’t the only one. Max too wanted a wife, and soon.
Yet something about the latter thought did not sit well with Juliet. Certainly, Gemma had already proven herself to be a woman of strong character and not easily manipulated. She had her own mind and possessed the qualities that would make a fine match for Max. Still . . . Juliet could not picture them together. Her mind simply refused to place them side by side.
Therefore, she would concentrate her efforts on Ellery instead.
Armed with a list, Juliet withdrew it from her reticule. “I believe that Lady Haguelin is hosting a ball tomorrow evening. She is a friend of mine and would surely extend the invitation to include you.” In fact, nearly everyone would attend, even Max. “It would be the perfect venue to show the ton that you are not in hiding.”
Not only that, but with Gemma’s presence at her side, Juliet would be able to show Max that she had no intention of going anywhere.
“What ever happened to Lord Corilew?” Gemma asked after they’d settled the particulars of tomorrow evening’s event.
Juliet was sure to swallow her tea and offer a smile. “Oh, he was killed in a duel. However, I heard his son became a highly respected parish curate who garnered absolutely no interest from the ton at all.”
Gemma laughed aloud. “Splendid.”