Page 24 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)

April 23, 1820

T he Fairmont drawing room was abuzz with the refined activity of the afternoon’s callers. Each gentleman, from Mr. Hargrove with his pristine bouquet of white roses to Viscount Mandeville and his box of fine chocolates, vied for a moment of Juliet’s favor, their friendly rivalry underscored by an unspoken competition.

“Mr. Hargrove, Viscount Mandeville,” Juliet greeted each man with a nod, her smile gracious yet reserved. “Your gifts are as lovely as they are thoughtful. I am truly honored.”

Mr. Hargrove inclined his head. “The honor is ours, Miss Hayward. Your presence brightens even the dreariest of London days.”

Viscount Mandeville, not to be outdone, added with a charming smile, “And we hope that these small tokens might add a measure of enjoyment to your afternoon.”

“That is very kind of you, both.” She glanced at the men. The conversation would be very dull if she didn’t take action. “Gentlemen, have you heard about the latest developments in the Vauxhall Gardens? Considering your shared interest in architecture, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

Mr. Hargrove leaned forward. “Miss Hayward, you know this subject is dear to me. The proposed designs are indeed a topic of great interest. The vision for the gardens is quite remarkable.”

“Absolutely,” Viscount Mandeville chimed in with enthusiasm. “The blend of nature and innovation could transform our experience of the gardens. It’s a thrilling prospect.”

“Miss Hayward.” Sebastian Morgrave stood at the drawing room door. He carried no flowers nor sweets. He walked in with an air that his presence alone was gift enough. His eyes swept the room with an air of superiority, a silent challenge to the assembled suitors.

Morgrave sat stoically, his eyes occasionally narrowing, adding an air of discomfort to the room. His silence was a cloud that dimmed the lively discussion. The other gentlemen shifted uneasily. Their animated conversation was now subdued.

Juliet sensed the need to dispel the unease and turned to Mr. Hargrove with an encouraging smile. “You were sharing your insights on the use of natural light in design. Please, do continue,” she urged, her voice bright and inviting.

Grateful for the redirection, Mr. Hargrove cleared his throat and resumed, though he cast a wary glance at Morgrave. “Yes, as I was saying, the strategic placement of windows can truly transform a space.”

The conversation picked up again, although more cautiously, as the men navigated around Morgrave’s brooding presence. Juliet skillfully handled the situation, guiding the dialogue with grace and ensuring the afternoon retained its charm despite the undercurrents of tension.

“Mr. Morgrave, have you nothing to add to the conversation?” Juliet posed.

“Well, as long as the structures don’t crumble and the ladies find the gardens agreeable, what’s there to fuss about?” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips.

The other men exchanged brief, knowing glances, their polite smiles not quite reaching their eyes. Hargrove stood, and Viscount Mandeville followed. “Thank you for tea, Miss Hayward, and your lovely company.” They turned to Sebastian and nodded. “Morgrave.”

As they reached the door, Morgrave’s voice cut through the quiet that had settled. “Gentlemen, always a pleasure to see the competition.” His tone dripped with condescension.

Mr. Hargrove, pausing at the threshold, turned back with a look of disdain. “Mr. Morgrave, in matters of the heart, the truest competition is the grace with which one conducts oneself. Something for you to ponder.”

The room held its breath as Morgrave’s confident smirk faltered, the subtle rebuke landing with the precision of a well-aimed arrow. Juliet, from her seat by the window, allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. At that moment, the balance of power subtly shifted, and the drawing room’s atmosphere lightened once more, but not for long.

With Mr. Hargrove’s and Mandeville’s departure, tension gradually returned. Morgrave’s earlier bravado seemed to wane after Mr. Hargrove’s pointed words, leaving him momentarily adrift.

Juliet rose to the occasion. “Mr. Morgrave,” she said, her voice a soothing balm to the prickled atmosphere, “I trust you’ve come with news or conversation to brighten the afternoon?”

Morgrave, rallying his composure, offered a tight smile. “Indeed, Miss Hayward. I’ve come to discuss a matter of some importance,” he replied, his tone now tempered with a hint of humility.

He took a moment to ensure they were alone, his eyes scanning the room before returning to Juliet with a self-assured gleam. “Miss Hayward,” he began, his voice carrying the importance of the moment, “it seems the fates have conspired in my favor. The suitor your family has been so eager to find for you,” he paused, allowing the words to hang in the air, “is none other than myself.”

Juliet’s reaction was a delicate balance of surprise and composure, her mind racing to align this new information with her secret marriage to Ewan. Sebastian, a smug satisfaction settling over his features as he awaited her response.

Juliet’s response was measured, her demeanor calm as she absorbed the implications. “Mr. Morgrave,” she replied, her tone betraying none of the surprise or elation he might have expected, “that is indeed a development. I trust my family believes this to be a prudent match.” She noted a flicker of surprise—and perhaps disappointment—at her composed reaction. Clearly, he had anticipated a different response, one of gratitude or excitement, but Juliet was neither overwhelmed nor relieved. She was resolute, her stance an unspoken declaration that she would not be so easily won over.

Sebastian’s initial calmness gave way to controlled irritation as he processed Juliet’s lack of enthusiasm. “Miss Hayward,” he began, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of irritation, “I had hoped for a more… favorable reception. Your family’s decision is not one to be taken lightly.”

Juliet met Sebastian’s gaze with an unyielding expression. “Mr. Morgrave, while I respect my family’s wishes, I believe matters of the heart require more than mere compliance.”

Sebastian’s composure wavered, his lips pressing into a tight line. The subtle shift in his appearance didn’t escape her either. She witnessed a silent admission of his disappointment, a criticism left unvoiced yet clearly felt. Outwardly, she showed no reaction. However, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction at her small victory.

“Indeed, Miss Hayward. I had not anticipated such… restraint. It is a rare quality, one that your brother, God rest his soul, could have benefited from at the gaming tables.”

Sebastian’s words, with its barb, were designed to unsettle. Yet, as he prepared to leave, he paused, turning back to Juliet with a calculated casualness. “One does hope, Miss Hayward, that the beauty of Fairmont remains unmarred by misfortune,” he remarked, his tone light but the implication clear.

Juliet’s heart skipped a beat, not from fear but from the recognition of the phrase. The anonymous letters she’d received were the threat that had been haunting her. She held his gaze, her composure unbroken, even as the realization dawned that Sebastian may be more involved in her troubles than a suitor.

Juliet’s hands trembled, not with fear, but with a cold decisiveness as she faced Sebastian. “Your games end here,” she stated, her voice a low hiss. “I will not be intimidated in my own home.”

Sebastian’s smirk wavered, the gravity of her stance piercing his arrogance. “My dear, I merely—”

“Enough,” she interrupted sharply, pivoting away from him with a swish of her skirts. “Mr. Wilcox,” she called out firmly as she strode down the hall, “please see Mr. Morgrave out.”

In the kitchen, Juliet’s emotions were a tempest. How dare he assume she’d welcome his proposal? The memory of their exchange played over and over in her mind, each word, each glance examined for missed clues, for the true intentions behind his threats. And yet, amidst the anger, she felt a surge of empowerment, a newfound strength from standing her ground. By the time she reached Aunt Geraldine and Mr. Wilcox, who confirmed Sebastian’s departure, she was ready to tell them everything.

Juliet related the encounter to Aunt Geraldine, her words tumbling out in a rush. She made it clear she did not doubt that the written threat she received was from Sebastian. After sharing everything, she paused, hands folded on the table, as she decided what to do next.

“You must speak with Ewan. He needs to know all this.” Her aunt was insistent.

Juliet hesitated. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Aunt Geraldine stared her down. “Can we? Who is here to help us? Mrs. Murthy and Mr. Wilcox. No, my dear. He is not the type of man we turn our back on. We’ll send for your husband at once. Be prepared. His arrival may draw attention and reveal your secret.”

At that moment, the servant’s door creaked open. Mrs. Murthy entered, shedding her cloak and placing her basket on the table. In that moment, an idea struck both Juliet and Aunt Geraldine simultaneously.

“Perfect,” Juliet breathed out, a plan forming in her mind.

Without a word, she excused herself and hurried upstairs. She quickly changed into a plain brown day dress, retrieved the box containing her brother’s effects and the threatening letter, then returned downstairs.

She slipped into Mrs. Murthy’s cloak, stashed the box and letter she held into the basket, and donned the housekeeper’s hat.

“Perhaps I should go with you or Mr. Wilcox?”

Juliet patted her aunt’s hand. “That won’t be necessary. I dare not go directly to Ewan. Instead, I’m going to Lord Barrington’s house. It is only fifteen minutes away. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

With her aunt’s reluctant agreement, she left the house in the same manner that Mrs. Murthy had entered, her identity hidden beneath the guise of an ordinary errand.

*

Barrington’s voice cut through the quiet of his drawing room, his query directed at the butler. “Sanderson, what’s all the commotion?”

The butler’s reply was prompt, though with a hint of confusion. “A tradeswoman, my lord. I directed her to the servant’s entrance,” the butler replied promptly, a hint of confusion in his voice.

Sitting comfortably with his parents having tea, Ewan caught Barrington’s curious look. “Tradespeople know their place. Are you expecting a delivery?” Ewan asked his host.

Before Barrington could respond, Duncan stood decisively. “I’ll see what this is about,” he announced, striding out of the room.

Moments later, Duncan returned, escorting a cloaked figure whose bearing struck a chord of familiarity in Ewan. He rose swiftly, a mix of concern and recognition in his eyes. “What’s the matter? What brings you here?” he asked, moving closer to the mysterious visitor.

As the woman faced him, her hat slipped away, unveiling Juliet’s unwavering expression. “Thank goodness you are here. Ewan, I’m here on an urgent matter. I need to speak with you,” she whispered, her plea barely audible yet laden with importance.

Lord and Lady Aurington looked on, bewildered by their son’s alarm at the appearance of a seemingly ordinary woman. “Ewan, who is this?” his mother’s hand paused mid-gesture, her teacup forgotten.

A smile threatened to break through Ewan’s composed facade as he assisted Juliet out of the cloak and bonnet. Together, they faced his parents, “Mother, Father, please meet Juliet Hayward—my wife, the Marchioness Glenraven.” His voice was filled with a touch of pride.

The room fell into stunned silence, broken only by Lord Aurington’s chuckle. “Well, that’s a surprise worth waiting for!”