Wedding Wagers(23)

Juliet crossed the threadbare rug of the drawing room, picked up an  embroidered pillow that had taken her weeks to create, and threw it as  hard as she could at the cold hearth. The pillow landed with a soft  thump. Hardly satisfactory. She picked up the next pillow-this one  created by her mother-and Juliet paused. How had she stooped this low?  Throwing pillows in a house that was falling apart?

Her brother, Southill, had promised, promised, to see to the remodel her  father had started before his long illness that had resulted in his  death. Southill had then begged off until the mourning period was over.  And Juliet had understood, she truly had, because everything had changed  with her father's death. Life was more urgent. Decisions more pressing.  Not only did Juliet need to reconcile herself to making a marriage  match, but she had to face leaving the home she'd grown up in and loved  with all her heart.

Who her husband would be, she did not know. At nineteen, she'd missed  two London seasons already due to her father's long illness and then the  year of mourning that followed his death. Soon, she'd be on the shelf,  but right now she didn't care. Right now, she wanted to strangle her  brother.         

     



 

Juliet set the embroidered pillow down, deciding to treat her mother's  needlework with the respect that it deserved. She left the room and made  her way to her father's library-well, now her brother's. Not that he  was ever home to spend time in it. Regardless, the moment Juliet stepped  inside the dim room, she was overwhelmed with memories of her father.  His cigar smoke lingered, and she envisioned him sitting in the chair  behind the mahogany desk and raising his head when she walked in.

She missed his smile. She missed his rumbling voice and booming laughter. "Papa," she whispered. But no one answered.

She blinked back the threatening tears and straightened her spine. She'd  shed a year's worth of tears over her father's death already, and it  was time to be strong. She was the lady of the house, and there was a  crisis to deal with. Taking out a quill and paper, she began to write to  her brother.

Dear John,

This morning, I was greatly surprised when a Mr.-



No. She had to be sterner.



Dear Southill,

It appears you have neglected our finances, and matters have reached a critical nature.



She stared at the words, and despite her resolve, the tears came anyway,  dripping onto the paper. She picked up another sheet and began again.



Dear Southill,

You are a careless and cold-hearted man. When I see you again, I will-



The door to the library creaked open, and Juliet looked up, blinking away her angry tears.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Campton, stood there, her hands folded in front of her and worry lines creasing her forehead.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, my lady, but I've used the last of the  kitchen money for this week's shopping. And now the egg boy is at the  door, asking for payment. I put him off last week, so I don't feel like I  can put him off a second week."

Juliet didn't move for a moment. Then she set down the quill and rose to  her feet. Stoically, she walked with Mrs. Campton to the back door of  the kitchen where young Ernest waited. Juliet reached into the sewn-in  pocket of her dress and handed over the required coins. Ernest grinned  his gapped-tooth smile, then bobbed into a half bow. "Thank you,  m'lady."

Before Juliet could reply, he'd taken off running through the gardens  and out the back gate, his bare feet pounding the damp spring earth.

"When will the master return?" Mrs. Campton asked.

It was the housekeeper's way of asking when they would have funds again.  She hadn't been able to make the full salary payments to the household  staff, the gardener, and the coachman on quarter day at the end of  March. "I am writing to my brother today."

Mrs. Campton bobbed her head. "Very well. Dinner will be ready by six. Would you like it in the dining room?"

"Of course," Juliet said. Though she was the only one inside the house  right now, she didn't want to give in to the temptation to take her  meals in her bedroom. While her brother was away, she was mistress, and  she would keep up the appearance that all was well for as long as she  could.

Mrs. Campton returned to the kitchen, and Juliet kept her gaze on the  back gardens for a few more moments. They needed to hire an additional  gardener for the summer season. Last year, the lands had fallen into  disrepair while her brother toured the continent, claiming he wanted to  travel to places that their father had enjoyed in his memory.

Juliet had remained behind, so she'd spent the better part of the past  year on her own. She'd grown used to eating alone. Tonight would be no  different. Juliet kept her chin up as she continued through the house  and into the library. It was time for her brother to come home and set  things to rights. The mourning period was over, and debts needed to be  reconciled.

She had just settled back at the writing desk again, ripped up her first  attempts at letter-writing, and begun anew, when someone knocked at the  front door. Juliet spilled a drop of ink and quickly blotted it. Mrs.  Campton's footsteps echoed across the wooden floors as she made her way  to the front of the house.

Juliet rose from the desk and hovered on the threshold of the library, listening to the conversation.

It was a man, and he didn't sound happy.

"If Lord Southill isn't at home, might I speak with Lady Juliet?"

Mrs. Campton murmured something. There was no more reason for Juliet to  delay the inevitable. She strode out of the library and into the main  hall. Standing in the front entrance was Lord Stratford, their closest  neighbor, a viscount, and a widowed man of indeterminable age. His two  daughters were grown and married, off living somewhere with their own  families.

"Ah, Lady Juliet," Lord Stratford said, his voice rising in pitch as he  spotted her. He took off his hat and smoothed the thinning hair on top  of his head. His next words were accompanied by rapid blinking,  something he did quite often when he spoke. "It is a pleasure to find  you at home."         

     



 

His use of the word pleasure sent a rash of cold goose pimples across  her skin. Juliet had never been bothered much by Lord Stratford's  tendency to ogle her-but that was before her father passed and before  her brother left. Now, the longer she was left to her own devices, the  more it bothered her.

"I'm in the middle of writing my correspondence," she began, but he cut her off.

"This won't take but a moment." He turned to the housekeeper. "Mrs.  Campton, won't you bring us a spot of tea in the drawing room?"

Juliet froze. How dare he order Mrs. Campton to bring tea? Lord  Stratford used to visit with her father frequently, and they'd talk for  hours about the horses that Stratford bred. Since her father's passing,  Juliet had avoided him as much as possible.

Perhaps he was a harmless middle-aged man, but she resented how his gaze frequently rested in the area of her bosom.

Resigned, she led the way to the drawing room.

"Have you been riding lately?" he asked, as he took a seat. "I haven't seen you about."

"I haven't been since the last rainstorm." In truth, she'd sold all  their horses but two older mares. Another concession she'd had to make  in order to procure more funds. Her brother didn't even know since he  hadn't been home to notice. "Have you been riding?" she asked Lord  Stratford. She at least had to speak with him until the tea came. After  that, she could usher him out.

Rather than answering her question, he said, "How does your brother fare?"

"He is well, I am sure," Juliet said, making her voice falsely cheerful. "I was composing a letter to him when you arrived."

"I hate to bring such a delicate matter to your attention, but I have  been expecting payment on a pair of horses he had me send to him four  weeks ago." Lord Stratford shifted in his seat and blinked several  times. His gaze surveyed her clothing, then returned to her face. "Your  brother promised payment within the week, and nothing has come."

Anger flared inside Juliet. Her brother had recently purchased a pair of  purebred horses while Juliet had been forced to sell most of what they  had? She opened her mouth to reply that she certainly didn't have any  information on her brother's financial agreements when Lord Stratford  lifted his hand.

"There have been rumors going about the village as well." He cleared his  throat. "I think you are grown enough to face the reality of what  people are saying about your brother, as much as it pains me to be the  bearer of delicate news."

Juliet went very still. "Continue."

"I am only repeating what I have heard, mind you," he said. "Know that I  have not spread any of the information. Right here in your drawing room  is the first I have spoken of it."

Juliet folded her hands together, clenching her fingers.

"It is rumored that your brother has been frequenting gambling halls  over the past year," he said in a slow and careful tone, "and in that  time, he's gambled away a good deal of his fortune."