Page 26 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)

J uliet stood at the threshold of Bradley’s room and took a deep breath to steady herself before she stepped inside. The air was thick with the dust of disuse, and the silence seemed to hold its breath. A faint, unfamiliar scent teased her senses, almost as if the room itself held onto the memory of its occupant. She hadn’t entered his room since…his death. She closed her eyes, fighting against the overwhelming tug that wanted to bring her back to that day. Letting out a breath, she stepped inside.

It was strange. As she approached his desk, she half-expected him to walk in, sit down, and begin his correspondence. Her fingers brushed over his crystal inkwell, his quill, and his blotter. She opened the single desk drawer, and her heart skipped a beat. She found his leather-bound diary.

Lifting it out, she chuckled softly. It was an old one from 1813. She knew Bradley kept a diary for each year. This was just one piece of his meticulous record-keeping.

“Bradley, what secrets have you kept?” she murmured, flipping through the pages filled with his elegant script.

1 January 1813

The Collingwood soiree was as grand as expected, though I confess I would have much preferred a day of hunting with my friends. I wore my finest navy tailcoat with silver buttons, a crisp white cravat, and freshly polished black boots.

The evening began with a dance with Celeste Collingwood. She looked lovely in her emerald gown, but I found her company rather dull. I suspect our conversation will not be one I’ll remember.

I was fortunate to find a chess game in the game room, where I spent most of the evening. It provided the stimulation I craved. Lord Aurington had remarkable luck at the card table, earning my admiration for his skill and composure.

Dinner was a feast. The menu included:

· Roasted pheasant with chestnut stuffing

· Creamed carrots and peas

· A rich beef consommé

· Freshly baked bread rolls

· Plum pudding for dessert

As the evening draws to a close, I reflect on the festivities with a mixture of satisfaction and longing for simpler pleasures. Tomorrow, perhaps, there will be time for more invigorating pursuits.

She chuckled at his description of Celeste Collingwood and his preference for chess over dancing. It was so very Bradley—reserved, thoughtful, and always seeking intellectual stimulation. Yet, beneath the lightheartedness, she felt a pang of sorrow. This was a window into a time when he was alive, when their family wasn’t shrouded in disaster and grief. She traced her fingers over the ink, imagining him sitting at his desk, writing these words, unaware of the dark shadows that would envelop their lives.

Reading his thoughts brought him closer, even if just for a moment. She sighed, closing the book with care. There were so many questions left unanswered, and she wondered if the pages of his other diaries might hold the key to understanding his secrets—and perhaps even her own.

Beneath the diary, a stack of letters caught her attention. Each was folded meticulously, bound not with ribbon but with the precision of a man who valued order even in chaos, but with twine. She untied them, her heart aching with each crease she smoothed out. There were several condolence messages, but others spoke of debts, of desperation, of a man cornered by his own folly.

Determined to find his current diary, she searched his wardrobe, under the cushions of his armchair, and even the window seat. Juliet pulled back the carpet and looked for signs of loose floorboards. She found nothing there. Her hands searched for loose bricks along the hearth but found none.

A small, carved chess piece, a black king, rested on the mantle. She picked it up, the wood warm from the sun that filtered through the window. “You were always the protector, weren’t you?” she said to the figure as if it were a channel to her brother. “Always rushing headlong into battle.”

With the diary, the letters, and the king as her talismans in hand, she glanced around the room to ensure everything was in order. She closed the door behind her and heard a familiar voice from downstairs. A moment of panic came over her before she hurried to her room and quietly closed the door.

*

“Lord Glenraven, welcome.” Mr. Wilcox greeted him and led him into the drawing room, where he found Mrs. Murthy serving tea to Aunt Geraldine.

“Good afternoon.” He was in a hurry and not his usual casual self. “Please tell Juliet that I’m here.”

Aunt Geraldine glanced at Mrs. Murthy and then at him. “We thought she was with you?”

He asked them questions, but they could offer no answers, heightening his anxiety. “Please inform me immediately when she returns,” he implored them before he rushed out.

As the sound of Ewan’s coach departing, Juliet came down the stairs, a small bag in hand filled with some essential items, including Bradley’s diary, correspondence, and the chess piece. Mrs. Murthy and Aunt Geraldine exchanged a glance before turning to her.

“Are you certain this is necessary? What will you do?” they asked, their voices filled with worry.

Juliet accepted Mrs. Murthy’s basket of food. “I must handle my family’s troubles without risking Glenraven’s future. He has much more to lose.”

“But he has so much more to gain with you by his side.” Both women protested.

Juliet smiled and hugged her aunt. “I wouldn’t expect you to say anything else, but don’t you see, he cannot announce our marriage without me. It’s safer this way.” She could see they weren’t convinced. “If he announced our marriage, what would stop Sebastian from making Glenraven his next target?”

“And where will you go?” They pressed, their eyes searching hers for a hint of her plan.

“To a place where no one will find me,” Juliet replied, “I will not tell you and make you an accomplice. I love you both too much. I will be at a secret place where I can think and breathe.”

Before she left, Juliet paused. “Did anyone find Bradley’s diary?”

Mrs. Murthy shook her head. “No, miss. But there was something strange about his room after Mr. Wilcox and the coroner finished. The fireplace…”

“The fireplace?” Juliet echoed, puzzled.

“Yes,” Mrs. Murthy confirmed. “We found what looked like a burned leather binding but no pages. Bradley had burned papers.”

Juliet was taken aback. Her brother kept every paper and never destroyed any. For him to burn papers meant something significant.

Mrs. Murthy then retrieved a small wooden box. “I kept the binding in here for safekeeping.”

Juliet opened the box, expecting the acrid smell of smoke even after two months. Instead, a faint, unfamiliar fragrance, musky and rich with a touch of lemon, wafted out and lingered in the air. She put the scorched binding back into the box.

“Please, keep this safe. The Bradley we knew would never destroy his diary. But the more I find out, the more I think I didn’t know the Bradley we buried.”

Wearing Mrs. Murthy’s cloak and hat, she left by the servant’s door. Her steps were firm as she made her way through the busy streets, her decision never in question. No one took notice of her as she entered The Penny Post. She paused at the entrance, her heart heavy with what she was about to do.

The clerk’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Miss?” he inquired, reaching out for her letter.

With a deep breath, Juliet handed over the letter and the fee. The sound of the coin hitting the counter echoed in her ears, sealing the finality of her decision.

She turned away and let the door close softly behind her. She was on her own now, on a path that would challenge her courage and conviction, but she would not fail.

*

April 23, 1820 Dusk

Ewan paced the length of the library, his boots echoing against the polished wood floor. Each report from his men came back the same. There was no sign of Juliet anywhere. His hands, flexing into fists, betrayed his growing frustration.

The door opened, and the archbishop entered. “My lord,” he began, his voice somber. “I’m here to see your father, but I find I have troubling news for you. I’ve received this,” he held up the Glenraven circlet, “along with a message from Lady Glenraven. She mentioned there may be a prior settlement that could threaten your marriage. She asked that I return this to you.” He placed the circlet on the desk.

The room stilled. The gravity of his words and Juliet’s actions settled over the family. Ewan’s mother stared at the Glenraven treasure, trying to hide the worry in her eyes. “Nonsense! Juliet is Ewan’s lawful wife. There can be no truth to such a claim.”

Ewan’s father rose from his chair, his stature commanding. “Juliet is overreacting. We must see this alleged settlement. Without proof, it’s mere tittle-tattle.”

The archbishop nodded, his gaze meeting Ewan’s. “I, too, want to see the document. This is a serious allegation.”

Duncan entered carrying a letter. “This just arrived for you.” He extended it toward Ewan.

The familiar script struck him like a lightning bolt. Without hesitation, he broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. The parchment trembled as he silently read the message.

Ewan,

As I pen this letter, I find myself reflecting on our vows. Though our marriage was born of necessity, it now leaves me questioning our haste.

I am stepping away, not out of a lack of affection but from a deep-seated care that compels me to protect you from my family’s misfortune. I must find clarity and a way forward that does not endanger you or your family’s legacy.

I hope that we can both find the answers we seek and perhaps, in time, a way back to each other.

Juliet

The archbishop, his expression one of compassion and concern, gently placed a hand on Ewan’s shoulder.

Ewan’s breath hitched, each inhale sharp and erratic as the reality of Juliet’s absence settled like a weight upon his chest. “She’s gone,” he whispered, the words barely making sense to him. He shook his head slowly. “No, it can’t be true. There must be a mistake,” as if saying the words out loud could change the truth.

His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another—how could she leave, how could she question the sincerity of his feelings? He had to find her, make sure she was safe, and above all, assure her of the truth. He loved her. “I’ll turn London inside out if I have to.” His voice rose with a fierce tenacity. “I will find her, and I will bring her home.”

Duncan looked up, having read the message. “I’ll go to Barrington at once. He has men throughout London who can aid in the search.”

Ewan glanced at his batman and nodded. Duncan turned toward the door.

“Wait.” Ewan caught Duncan’s arm as he turned to leave. “Sebastian is unaware of our marriage. To him, Juliet merely questioned his proposal.” A plan began to form in Ewan’s mind. “While you speak to Barrington, I’ll consult with Lady Rosefield. With Juliet’s parents away, she’s the one to address this claim.” He refolded Juliet’s letter and tucked it in his pocket. “I’ll go and speak to her now.”

The archbishop interjected, “Be cautious, Ewan. If you challenge the legality of a marriage settlement, you’ll need irrefutable evidence.”

“So will Sebastian.” With a mutual nod of understanding, Duncan departed, and Ewan prepared to follow.

“Go,” the archbishop urged, turning to sit beside Lord Aurington. “Your father and I will manage here.”

With a final glance at the circlet, Ewan turned on his heel and strode from the room. The archbishop’s words fueled his mission to uncover the truth and find the woman he loved.