“How long have you been making me the laughingstock of society?” she demanded, her green eyes shimmering with tears, her fists clenched as she forced her fingernails into her palms in an effort to cling on to the remnants of self-control.
“I haven’t made a laughingstock of you, Juliet, so please do not think that I—”
“Then simply tell me how long you have been indulging in this sordid liaison.” At least let him be truthful about that!
“Not long.”
“Liar!” she cried. “You first broke your vows at the beginning of this year, and you have clearly been doing it ever since! You’ve been making love to your doxy, then leaving her bed to come to mine! How could you? How could you . . . ?” The last two words were only whispered, for a great wave of misery washed over her and she broke down in tears.
He stepped instinctively toward her, but she struck him on the face, her fingers leaving red marks. “I suppose the locket was a sop for your conscience, a loving trinket to allay suspicion?” Her voice was almost shrill with emotion, and the watching guests ceased to whisper but chattered loudly about the incredible fracas they were witnessing. Their voices fell away into silence again to listen to Charles’s reply.
“Juliet, my dearest darling . . .” But he couldn’t say any more, for he was guilty. Guilty! He closed his eyes, wishing hell and damnation on the thieving bird that had brought this about.
“I want you to leave this house,” Juliet said then, her voice suddenly becoming oddly calm.
Lady Marchwell spoke up quickly. “Never do anything in the heat of the moment. Juliet, my dear, I know this is a horrid bolt right out of the blue, but—”
“But it isn’t completely out of the blue, Aunt M,” Juliet interrupted, her gaze still fixed upon Charles. “I’ve suspected for a long time, and this has merely confirmed my fears.”
Charles was tormented. “Forgive me, I beg of you! Forgive me everything, for I vow I will never hurt you again. I love you, Juliet, and if you would but give me the chance to explain—”
“What is there to explain? You keep a mistress, her name is Sally, and she wishes you to be with her. I only hope she is worth it, because you are not welcome here. I want you to leave because I cannot bear to be with you anymore.”
Lady Marchwell was desperate to prevent the matter sliding further into the morass of rage and recrimination. “Juliet, my dear, this is my house, not yours, and if—”
“And if he stays here, then I will leave,” Juliet said quietly, “and it will not be to return to Somerset, for I will never set foot in Neville Castle again. Nor will I go to Grosvenor Square.” Everything she held dear had been dashed aside, and Charles was solely responsible. He had broken his vows, and with them her heart. She couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive him.
Still Lady Marchwell endeavored to pour oil on troubled waters. “My dear, you are hurt and bitter right now, but I am sure that you and Charles still love each other enough to—”
“I despise him,” Juliet broke in softly, for in that moment she did.
So did a young lady guest garbed as Puss in Boots. “Hear, hear . . .” she cried, her own husband having similarly deceived her.
Charles spread his hands. “Please find some forgiveness in your heart, Juliet,” he whispered.
“Were you forced to commence your liaison?”
He didn’t want to reply, but had no choice. “No.”
“Then I have no forgiveness.”
“Nor I! Nor I!” cried Puss in Boots, brandishing a dainty fist.
Lady M spoke up quickly. “Juliet, my dear, you must not be rash. Many a man strays from his marriage bed.”
“Yes, and many a wife endures such infidelities, but I think more of myself than to allow anyone to walk over me as if I am of no consequence.” Juliet tossed a heartbroken glance at Charles.
He was appalled by the image her words created. “I would never do that!” he cried. “I may have failed you, my darling, but I have never ceased to love and cherish you.”
“Shame! Shame!” was heard from several of the guests, and Puss in Boots was so indignant that she had to be restrained from rushing down to confront him.
“And never ceased to pat yourself on the back for having so cleverly pulled the wool over my trusting eyes,” Juliet replied. “Please go, Charles, I don’t want to see or speak to you again!” She struggled with her wedding ring, tore it from her finger, and hurled it at him. It arced through the air, then struck the floor with the clarity of a little bell. Shining brightly, it rolled over the tiles and came to rest beneath the table upon which stood the bowl of holly. Juliet caught up her skirts and fled toward the staircase, at the top of which the guests parted like the Red Sea.