Her Secondhand Groom(67)

She rolled her eyes.

“Might I suggest the British Museum of Natural History,” Mr. Nills said abruptly as the two were almost out of the room.

“Pardon?” Juliet and Drake asked in unison, turning their heads back to face him.

“You were planning to take your lady out to put her new spectacles to the test, were you not?” Mr. Nills asked, pride for his mastery of his trade evident in his voice and face.

Drake smiled. “Oh, I have plans for her all right.”

Juliet shivered. She’d bet Drake did have plans for her, and those plans had nothing to do with her new spectacles. Not unless one considered them sitting on the nightstand beside his bed a plan.





Chapter 20





“Are you ready?” Patrick asked when Juliet walked into his London study in the second most beautiful gown he’d ever seen. The first being the one she wore last week to Caroline’s dinner.

“Yes,” she said with a blush. She clasped her white-gloved hands in front of her crimson dress in a way that, unbeknownst to her, treated him to an excellent view of the tops of her bosom.

He walked over to her and bent his head to kiss her lips. It was so much easier to kiss her now that she didn’t wear those clunky spectacles anymore.

“We should probably leave soon if we don’t wish to be late,” Juliet whispered.

Patrick nodded. His Aunt Harriet, Lady Benedict, was hosting a small dinner gathering at her home and asked―or pleaded with, depending on who one asked―Drake to join them. Since the Season officially ended over a month ago, Patrick agreed. It might just be several of his family members present, but at least it was somewhere to take Juliet.

Juliet’s fingers came up and straightened his cravat then smoothed his coat. “There you are.”

“Thank you.” He lifted one of her hands and pressed a sweet kiss to her fingertips before placing it in the crook of his arm.

“Will there be a lot of people in attendance tonight?” Juliet asked as they reached the front door.

Patrick glanced down at her. Was that nervousness he’d heard in her voice? Surely not. Nothing rattled Juliet. Ever. “Not many, I suppose. Twenty, maybe twenty-four at most.”

Juliet licked her lips. “Oh.”

“There’s no need to worry, Juliet. I’ll be there, too.” He opened the door. “Besides, my cousin Sir Wallace will be there. So if you find yourself lacking for anything to add to the conversation, just ask whoever’s trying to talk to you what they think Wallace is counting.”

Her brows knit.

He chuckled. “You’ll understand better in a bit.”

Three hours and one boring dinner later, Patrick was quite sure Juliet understood exactly what he had said to her about Wallace and his counting habit.

Scooping up two cups of punch, Patrick made his way back to where Juliet and Wallace were occupying the yellow settee closest to the fire. Patrick handed Juliet her glass.

“Thank you,” she murmured before taking a swig.

Patrick’s gaze shot to Wallace. The poor man, dressed in a crisp black coat, perfectly pleated superfine black trousers, a mustard yellow waistcoat that covered a white shirt and matching cravat with a sapphire pin in the middle, sat with his fists clenched in his lap, mumbling numbers under his breath while his eyes were fastened on an object across the room. Patrick’s eyes followed Sir Wallace’s line of vision and his stomach lurched.

Straight across the room sat Jane Cloy, Lady Chatterfield, the very woman to whom Wallace had once declared his love. Aunt Harriet, Wallace’s mother, sat perched on the settee next to her. The two ladies seemed to be making idle chit-chat, and Patrick couldn’t help the pang of sympathy he felt for Wallace. Not only had the woman Wallace once loved been stolen from him, but he was still forced to see her—and consequently her husband—from time to time due to his mother’s friendship with the chit.

“Say, Wallace, why don’t you tell Juliet about your recent hobby?”

“You mean he has a hobby other than counting?” Lord Chatterfield asked rather rudely.

Patrick turned cold eyes on Lord Chatterfield. Had they been somewhere else, just about anywhere else, Patrick would have leveled him with a set down. But since the gentleman being insulted by Lord Chatterfield was also the unwilling host of this party, Patrick settled for piercing the offending lord with an icy glare.

“As a matter-of-fact, I do,” Wallace said. His voice was just as brittle as his posture. Without much interest or emotion, Wallace slid out the drawer in the end table next to him. A moment later, he pulled out a large, thick rectangular box and handed it to Juliet. “Open it.”