"Send the maids to our rooms," Diana said. "We will leave first thing in the morning."
News of the upcoming funeral for the Duke of Wycliff reached Southill Estate, and everyone made preparations to leave. Juliet didn't think everyone intended to go to the funeral, especially the ladies, since nighttime burials were the custom and the night brought out the ruffians and looting. But once Lady Diana and Lady Penelope announced their intention to leave, the others began to make plans too. And all the while, as Juliet kissed and hugged and bade her guests farewell, she could not forget the words of Victor's letter: Dear Juliet, Do not accept any offers . . .
Mr. Talbot had not proposed. His good-bye was charming enough, and Juliet saw the interest in his eyes, but she knew that the momentum of their flirtations would dissipate with his departure. Perhaps he'd heard of Lord Stratford's intentions, or perhaps her brother had warned off Mr. Talbot.
She continued to hold out hope for Victor, although she hated that he'd have to turn his back on his dukedom for her. Yet every night she went to bed, she wondered if a rider would come to Southill Estate and bang on the door. She imagined opening the door to a middle-of-the-night visitor and finding Victor. He'd say he'd come to fetch her, that he'd procured a cottage where they'd live out their days in marital bliss.
But the nights faded to dawn, and dawn gave way to the heat of the summer, and . . . Victor did not come.
Two weeks passed in this manner, then three, and still Juliet held out hope.
That was, until her brother put a stop to it on week six.
He found her in the garden, where she spent an inordinate amount of time in the gazebo reading, or composing letters she promptly ripped up, or simply staring into the garden.
"Lord Stratford will be our guest for dinner tonight," her brother said, stepping into the shade of the gazebo.
Juliet gazed at her brother. New lines pulled at his eyes, and his mouth was a permanent scowl. The sound of his voice grated on her, and she tried not to flinch.
"You have put him off long enough," John continued. "You cannot continue acting in this manner. You are of an age to marry, and we both know we cannot afford a coming out in London."
Juliet exhaled and looked away.
He took another step closer and peered down at her. "You will wear your best dress, you will fashion your hair, and you will treat our guest well."
Juliet could not answer. To do so made it feel like she was giving up all hope. But it had been six long weeks since she last saw Lord Victor Roland. Not a word had been sent her way. There hadn't been an announcement of his marriage, at least not as far as Southill Estate. Her brother didn't pay for the London papers to be brought, so as far as Juliet knew, Victor could already be married to Lady Diana.
"Look at me, Juliet!" her brother barked.
She blinked back the hot tears building in her eyes and lifted her chin to look at her brother.
"You will marry Lord Stratford, or you will take on the post of a governess." He glowered at her. "Is that what you want our family reduced to?"
She shook her head, even though a governess would be a better option than becoming the wife of Lord Stratford.
"Now," John continued in his derisive tone, "Go and make yourself presentable. You have the fate of our family in your hands, and I'll not have you ruin our future with your stubbornness."
Juliet took a deep breath. "You could marry, John. There were plenty of heiresses at the house party. Why did you not propose?"
His mouth twisted into a hard smile. "We both know that my reputation has suffered, and your marriage to Lord Stratford will help restore it. Once we are more financially stable, I can court an heiress without the least suspicion."
Juliet hated that her brother was right. The pettiness of the ton reached far and wide, and time and money would bring her brother back into favor. The house party had been a large boon toward that, but work was still to be done.
Six weeks. She'd waited long enough. John was right. Marriage to Lord Stratford was her only choice now.
She rose to her feet and walked past her brother. She could do this. She had to do this. Something inside her broke when she reached her room, and her hope finally fled. As she prepared for their evening guest, she began the slow and painful process of purging the memories of Victor one by one.
Nine weeks. It had been nine weeks since Juliet had last seen Victor Roland. The banns had been read in the village church for the past three weeks, and now Juliet was to stand before the priest and make marriage vows before God and become Lord Stratford's wife.
"The carriage is ready," her brother said from where he stood at the base of the stairs.
Juliet walked down the stairs, holding one side of her pale lavender wedding gown so that she wouldn't trip. Her brother watched her descend, approval in his eyes. It was the only type of compliment she could ever earn from him.
She picked up the bouquet of wildflowers tied with a lavender ribbon from the hall table. Lord Stratford's daughters had sent them over. They'd now be waiting at the church with their families and the rest of the congregation.
Juliet followed her brother outside, and he handed her up into the carriage lent to them by Lord Stratford. Then they were truly on their way. The early September heat would be merciless by the afternoon, but by then, they should be at the Stratford Estate, where banquet tables would be laden with food and drink. And . . . Juliet would be a married woman.
She tried not to think of how her life would change, of how tonight she'd be sleeping in her new husband's bed since they were foregoing any type of honeymoon, and how in the morning, she'd take on the duties of the mistress of his home. And how her husband and brother would begin their shared business ventures right away while Juliet . . . watched from afar. She would be no more alone than she was now, except for the fact that more would be expected of her. Namely, producing a male heir.
She tried not to think of such details, because then surely the tears would fall, and she feared they'd never stop. The farther the carriage traveled from Southill Estate, the farther her former hopes and dreams seemed to be. She kept her face turned from John, because the last thing she needed was another reprimand.
"Here we are," John said as the carriage pulled up to the church and parked among other carriages, curricles, and wagons.
As John handed her down from the carriage, she gripped the bouquet of flowers while she clutched John's arm with her other hand. He didn't comment on her tight hold, and it was perhaps an allowance on his part. Juliet noticed the garland of flowers and greenery arching across the church's entrance, and she took in their beauty and fragrance. She would have to focus on the good things about her new life and forget the things she'd once hoped for.
All eyes turned on her as she entered the church, and she tried to smile, but it was a rather weak attempt. She also told herself to breathe, in and out, so that she didn't faint in the middle of the aisle.
Up ahead, Lord Stratford waited, standing next to the priest. His oily smile and his searching gaze made Juliet's stomach flip, and not in a good way. She would not become ill. She would keep her chin lifted, her eyes forward, her expression serene. She would save her family's estate, not for her brother, but in honor of her parents and for the children John might have some day.
John released Juliet when she arrived at Lord Stratford's side, and even though she mostly loathed her brother, she didn't want to let go of him, because that meant it was nearly time to say her vows.
"Good morning, dear," Lord Stratford said, his eyes blinking down at her.
Juliet glanced up at him and smiled. At least she tried. She feared the smile was more of a grimace.
"Dearly beloved," the priest began, "we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony . . ."
Juliet couldn't concentrate on what the priest was saying. Her mind kept tumbling through scenarios of what her new life would be like. When the priest mentioned children, she felt her headache start.
"Marriage was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy name," the priest continued. "Therefore if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."
The language was standard, but it seemed hope was still a living, breathing thing inside of her, because she imagined the doors of the church flying open and Victor Roland striding through to claim her as his bride. Of course she would have to turn him away, because crying off from Stratford would plunge her brother's reputation deeper into ridicule. And she could not live with herself knowing that Victor had given up his inheritance for her.