Page 5 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)

J uliet made her way back to her family’s townhouse on Cavendish Square, musing over Glenraven’s Punch and their effortless banter—was it his subtle influence, or had she steered their exchange while behind Judy’s mask? Whichever it was, the playful banter had been a most welcome delight.

She walked down Cavendish Square and glanced at number fifteen. All thoughts of the afternoon’s performance faded, replaced with her family’s dire situation. As she approached the door, it opened.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hayward. I hope you had a lovely morning.” The butler stood by the door.

“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox. I did have a lovely morning.” She removed her gloves and hat.

“Mr. Reynolds is here to see you. He’s waiting in the drawing room. Your mother is in her salon with your aunt and asks that you join them there when you are free.” The smile in Wilcox’s voice was gone.

She let out a deep breath, her thoughts turning to Aunt Geraldine, the Duchess of Rosefield. A paragon of grace and a fount of wisdom, her aunt’s laughter was as heartfelt as her counsel was prudent, endearing her to all and making her an invaluable confidante to Juliet. “Inform my mother of my return,” she instructed Wilcox, “and that I shall join her and Aunt Geraldine presently. Also, kindly ask Mrs. Murthy to serve tea in the drawing room.

He nodded as she crossed the foyer and entered the drawing room.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Reynolds.” Mr. Reynolds stood as she entered the room. “Please, do take a seat.” She gestured to the sofa, and he obliged. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long. I wasn’t aware you were coming to see us today.”

Mr. Murthy quietly entered with the tea service and set it on the table in front of the sofa.

“Will there be anything else?”

“No, that will be all.” Juliet turned to pour tea as Mary quietly left the room. “One sugar and milk?”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Hayward.”

Juliet glanced at her family accountant and wondered if his somewhat disheveled appearance was related in any way to her family’s dire state of affairs. She handed him his cup and made her own.

“What news do you bring?” She placed a serviette on her lap. News? Her brother Bradley is barely cold in his grave. After his interment, Reynolds told her the ugly details of her brother’s debts and their impact on the family. How many times had she argued with her father about giving him free rein with the finances, but he wouldn’t listen?

“The creditors are getting most anxious. I’ve told them that the family is in the midst of grieving, but I do not know how much longer that tactic will work.” He paused and seemed a bit nervous.

“Is there something else?”

“Yes. There is. Your brother gave vowels.” Reynolds stopped stirring his tea and glanced at her with a pained expression. “Vowels are…”

Her teacup was almost at her lips. “I know that vowels are more than letters in a word but a pledge to pay what is owed. So Bradley lost not only what we had but also what he didn’t have.” She returned the teacup to the saucer without taking a sip.

“Yes.” The room was painfully quiet for several heartbeats.

“Well, then. That is that. Have you found out how much is owed and to whom? You mentioned a ruthless gentleman with whom Bradley played cards. You referred to him as a viper.” She was trying to keep her temper. Reynolds didn’t deserve her anger.

“I have some idea but need to confirm.” The man was sweating. “I cannot go up to someone and accuse him without proof.” He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. “It would be quicker if I had assistance, a Bow Street runner.” He gave her an askant glance.

“I understand, Mr. Reynolds.” She glanced out the window. There was no money to hire anyone. Her parents were determined to keep the ton from suspecting anything was awry. They wouldn’t be able to bear the humiliation and gossip that would run through the ton like a pile of dry wood on fire.

What had she said to Punch earlier when he said their work would not be easy? She bit the inside of her lip as she thought. Yes. I’m prepared to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

“If you will provide me with a list of Bow Street runners, I will see what I can do.” Satisfied she had some direction, she picked up her cup of tea.

“But… You cannot… No one would… Questions were asked. This gentleman we’re searching for doesn’t take nonpayment of debts lightly. You heard what happened to Lord Aurington. Miss—”

“Oh, dear.” She put her cup down. “What you must be thinking.” She crossed her fingers under her serviette. “I assure you that I am merely preparing for what I need to discuss with my father.”

She uncrossed her fingers. “Lord Aurington had a carriage accident.” She should have offered Glenraven her sympathies. A simple wish for his father’s swift recovery would have been a thoughtful and kind expression.

“Rumors are swirling through the ton about foul play, but nothing has been proven. At one time, His Grace was a heavy gambler.” Reynolds took a breath and then gazed at Juliet. “Much like your brother, Bradley.” It was two months past when they found Bradley’s body in the garden and the note in his room. There was no question as to the cause of death—suicide. It was about that time that Reynolds found the discrepancy with the finances… there wasn’t much that remained. Remained. The only thing left was a note from Bradley. She had great doubts it was in his handwriting. He was distraught , the coroner said. ‘ The weight of my transgressions are unbareable. Forgive me. Farewell’. The spelling error and drama were not Bradley. Or was it that she didn’t want to believe he wrote it?

He had an elegant penmanship. She teased him often about how he documented everything: what he ate, what he wore, where he went, and who he spoke to. Scribe. That’s what she called him. They would make up names for people and things so they could talk without caring who heard them. A wide smile brightened her face, thinking about him.

She bit the side of her cheek. Where was his diary? She hadn’t seen it, but that shouldn’t be a surprise. He was always hiding it, afraid Mother would find it. It may be lost forever. She passed his room every day and still hadn’t the courage to go inside.

“I really must be going. Thank you for the tea. Let me know how you fare with your father regarding an investigator. Until then, I will do what I can.”

“You have been most gentle in not mentioning that the family may be contacted with a demand to pay the debt. I want you to know we are aware of this. I wish we knew who the others were in that card game with my brother.”

Reynolds rose from the sofa. “I’ll let myself out. Thank you, Miss Hayward. Contact me immediately—”

“I will, Mr. Reynolds. I will.” The thought of the scoundrel reaching out to the family for any reason, much less repayment, made her furious.

“Good day.” He tilted his head and made his way out.

Juliet sipped the last of her tea. Why hadn’t Reynolds spoken up sooner about the family’s financial position? She closed her eyes. How many times had she scolded him and yelled at him in her head in the last two months? If he had, Bradley might still be alive, and the disaster avoided. Those were all questions that would never be answered now.

She lingered for a moment to clear her mind. Speaking with Aunt Geraldine would quiet her thoughts. Her aunt always found something to laugh about. As Juliet made her way out of the drawing room and upstairs to her mother’s salon, she considered telling her about the Punch and Judy performance and perhaps even Glenraven but quickly thought better of it.

“Mother, Aunt Geraldine,” Juliet swept into the salon.

“I saw Reynolds leave. Did he have anything positive to say?” Her mother twisted her handkerchief as if she were wringing out the last of her patience.

“Cecilie, you stop that this minute. Your falling apart is not going to help the situation or Juliet. Victor’s information was helpful.”

Juliet went to the small cellarette, poured three glasses of wine, and handed them out. “You’ve a message from Father?”

“Yes, you’re correct, Geraldine.” Her mother took a healthy drink. “Your father has asked that I join him in Scotland. I’m leaving as soon as the arrangements are made. He believes that I may have a positive influence on the situation. Your Aunt Geraldine will be here with you.”

“What information did Father send in his message?” Juliet asked.

Her mother glanced at her sister. She looked more pained than when she first walked in. Without a word, her mother handed her his letter.

“Father’s in Edinburgh with Cousin Shane.” She read further down the page. “They have been generous. However, he’s concerned it will not be enough.” She read on. “The family sat together and came to the conclusion…” She turned the page. “What!” She tossed the paper onto the table.

“It is a solution, Juliet,” Aunt Geraldine said as if the suggestion weren’t devastating.

“A marriage of convenience. What am I to do, look into every man’s pocket and pick the one that meets our needs?” She downed her wine.

“Many marriages are arranged that way,” her aunt said.

“Yes, but those girls have something with which to bargain. I have nothing. Reynolds told me the creditors are getting anxious about their payment. He anticipates that so will the man holding Bradley’s vowels.”

Aunt Geraldine got up and pulled Juliet to the window.

“Do you realize what your father is telling you? Think. What does your family have of value? You. If you do not marry now, you could be forced to marry the man who holds those vowels.”

Juliet stepped back, her eyes wide with shock as her hand flew to her throat. Fear, cold and icy, ran through her. “No. He wouldn’t.” Her voice was barely perceptible.

“Let’s not give him a choice. Lady Gladstone is a friend of mine. She is having a soiree this evening. You and I will attend. There is no time to lose. Your mother was telling me about the condolence visits she’s had from your brother’s friends. Some of those young men may be acceptable to you.”

A look of horror played across Juliet’s face.

Her aunt took her hand and said, “Don’t give up hope. I won’t let you marry any man other than the right one.”

Perhaps she should find the puppet master and join his troupe. She could speak her mind and perhaps find a gentleman who makes her heart stutter, like Glenraven.