Her Secondhand Groom(20)
A sound that could have passed for a snort or a laugh erupted from somewhere in Lord Presumptuous’ vicinity. “And who do you think you are to demand such a thing?”
“Juliet Ann Ramsey, Lady Drakely. Your wife.”
He stared at her in disbelief and shook his head. “No you’re not. You may have been asked to pretend to be, but we both know you’re not.”
“Yes. I am,” she said, standing up to her full five foot four inches and meeting his intent gaze.
He scoffed. “Yes, and I’m a thinner version of Prinny.”
“Are you now?” she asked, challenging him with her eyes.
“You know full well I’m not. Just as you’re not Juliet.”
“And if I can prove that I am?”
The look of disbelief on his face coupled with the snort that rent the air only served to irritate Juliet more. “I don’t know how on earth you could possibly do that.”
“Easily.”
With an arrogant air fit for a king, Lord Presumptuous took a seat and waved his hand in front of himself in a way that spoke volumes about his lofty attitude which went hand in hand with his lofty position.
Shooting Father a smile she hoped he understood to mean she had this well-in-hand, she marched over to the bell pull and gave the red velvet chord a hearty yank.
Less than a minute later, the tall, thin butler named Links entered the room.
Juliet strolled over to him and spoke soft and low.
“What are you doing?” Lord Presumptuous barked. “If you think he’s going to run off and see some hack you call a physician and pay him to forge you some sort of nonsense document saying he was present at your birth and shove it under my nose and expect me to accept that, you’re mistaken. Not only is Links loyal to a fault, no document will prove to me just who you are.”
“No document is being fetched,” Juliet said coolly. “Your daughters are.”
“The devil they are,” Lord Presumptuous said, lurching to his feet. “Those girls don’t need to be put in the middle of this. It’s bad enough they’re going to be disappointed tonight when I have to tell them they’ll have to wait for another motherne―”
The way he broke off after nearly slurring the word mother made Juliet’s blood turn to ice. Those little girls were going to be disappointed, indeed. Only it wasn’t because of her they were going to be disappointed. It would be because of him. She pushed the thought from her mind and smoothed her skirts as they were paraded into the room.
As instructed, Celia, Helena and Kate marched into the room and flashed happy smiles at both Juliet and their father. Juliet’s heart clenched at what she was about to do.
“Just so we’re all in agreement,” she started, casting cold eyes on his lordship, “I have not spoken to your girls since the day I watched them in my cottage, which, as you know, was before you spoke to my father about a betrothal.”
“Yes, yes, I know that,” Lord Presumptuous said with a shrug of indifference.
“Nor did I instruct your butler to say anything to them,” she continued just to cover any loopholes there might be by pursuing this means to prove her point.
“Fine.” Lord Presumptuous shot her a smug look of his own, and added, “Not that it would matter if you did. Links is as loyal as they come.”
She shrugged and looked down at her little row of troops. She’d thought it odd when not a one of them had uttered as much as a syllable in the carriage. Now she was glad they’d been so quiet. It added credibility to what she was about to do. Clearing her throat, she made eye contact with their insufferable father and said, “Girls, do you remember the day you came to play at my cottage?”
“Yes,” all three chorused in happy unison.
“And, do you by any chance remember what I told you that you may call me?”
“Have you forgotten your name?” Kate asked, her tone full of wonder and disbelief.
Juliet smiled down at the little girl. “No, I haven’t, but your father has. Care to inform him?”
“Her name is Juliet Ramsey, Lady Drakely,” Helena proclaimed loud and clear.
A triumphant feeling washed over Juliet, and Lord Presumptuous turned white as a sheet.
“I just don’t believe it,” he whispered while literally falling back into his chair.
Chapter 7
“Believe it,” came five quiet, uneven voices.
Patrick’s brain commanded the muscles in the lower half of his face to close his mouth. Unfortunately, they weren’t strong enough to keep it held shut. How could he have been wrong? His eyes moved from one set of eyes to the next, looking for some weakness. Some sort of sign that he’d not just made the biggest ass of himself all day long as he was beginning to believe.