Page 37

As he studied Juliana’s expression in the portrait, something settled in him he hadn’t known was missing. Not the frantic chaos of the past, but something steadier, more solid and real. Peace and surety flowed through him like warm honey.

However, his feelings for Juliana were anything but passionless. The kiss they’d shared where he’d stupidly said Adalyn’s name had turned his world upside down. His foolish mind simply had reeled back to Adalyn.

But it wasn’t Adalyn who elicited such strong sensations in him.

He’d been so focused on the past, he couldn’t see what was right in front of him in the present—offered like a gift of rare price.

He couldn’t wait to see Juliana and tell her, to beg her to marry him even if they unmasked the perpetrator of The Muckraker and disproved the horrendous allegations.

Victor wanted to marry her.

Like a brush in his hand, or the perfect color combination, it felt—right.

Tierney knocked and entered, taking one look at Victor and shaking his head. “Sir, have you been up all night? You have a bit of paint splotched on your face and nightshirt.”

“Come see, Tierney. Let me know what you think.” Victor motioned his valet over and waited for his reaction.

“Oh, sir. I don’t know quite what you’ve done, but I can feel the breeze flowing and that addition here”—Tierney pointed to the one item Victor hoped would convey his feelings for Juliana—“is bloody brilliant.”

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Odd, how his earlier concern was pleasing the duke, but now he only cared about pleasing Juliana.

“If she doesn’t, she’s blind. Well done, sir. But you should rest. You have a big night ahead of you.”

After eating some toast and tea, Victor strode to his bedchamber on the opposite side of his apartments. He quickly washed, changed his nightshirt, and climbed into bed. Tierney pulled the heavy drapes closed and promised not to disturb him until it was time to prepare for the ball.

Contentment, deep and real, settled on him, and Victor slept more soundly than he had in years.

When Tierney woke him, the sun, hanging low in the sky, cast elongated shadows from the trees outside.

Victor stretched and rose, then pulled off his nightshirt for his bath. He hummed while washing his hair, and Tierney laughed while laying out his evening clothes.

“You’re in a fine mood, sir. Not dreading the parson’s mousetrap?”

“Not at all. I’m eager to marry Miss Merrick.” Not to mention looking forward to the wedding night. But he kept that part to himself.

“Miss Merrick stopped by to see you this afternoon. But as instructed, I told her you didn’t wish to be disturbed. You needed your rest, sir.”

Victor froze at Tierney’s words. “From now on, Tierney, Miss Merrick is the exception.”

Tierney had the decency to look sufficiently penitent.

“Did she say what she wanted? Leave a note?” Surely it wasn’t to cry off? Not the night of their engagement ball?

“No, sir. She wanted to speak with you directly.”

Victor heaved a sigh. What could Juliana have wanted? At least he would see her soon.

Bathed, shaved, and dressed, Victor gathered Juliana’s portrait, carefully wrapping it for the unveiling.

His parents’ carriage arrived precisely at half-past eight, and Victor hoped his mother would hold her disapproving tongue. Hopes were dashed the moment he climbed into the compartment.

Seated in the forward-facing seat, his mother scowled as Victor settled himself next to his father opposite her. He leaned the portrait of Juliana—encased in its protective covering—against the seat by his mother. “Good evening, Mother. Father.”

His mother huffed. “Unless you plan to end this travesty of an engagement, I don’t see what’s good about.”

“Aurelia.” Icy warning in his father’s tone shot through the carriage compartment.

“If you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head this evening and at least pretend you are happy with our son’s choice of brides, once we arrive at Burwood’s, I will send you back home and then to Lincolnshire in the morning.

I will not have you ruin this for him. Is that understood? ”

Even in the darkness of the carriage, Victor saw his mother pale as she gave a defeated nod.

Ignoring her, his father tilted his head toward the portrait. “Finished?”

“This morning.”

“Is it good?”

Victor grinned. “I think so.”

“Then it is marvelous; you’ve always underestimated your gift.”

His mother gave a discreet sniff and received another glared warning from his father.

Witnessing the discord between his parents throughout his life, Victor swore he’d never settle for a marriage where he didn’t care for and respect his wife, and hopefully, genuinely love her.

No matter how many times his mother pushed “acceptable” young ladies in his path, Victor remained resolute.

Perhaps, he reflected, it was what had drawn him to Adalyn and yes—he admitted—Juliana, who could not be more different from women like Lydia Whyte.

As much as Victor loved his father, a small part of him pitied the man who tried to make the best of a loveless marriage.

Before he could ponder it further, the carriage came to a halt.

Mercifully, the line of waiting carriages in front of the duke’s mansion was short as he promised Juliana he would do his utmost to arrive early enough to stand by her side as they greeted guests.

When his father handed his mother down from the carriage, he whispered one word, just loud enough for Victor to hear. “Sheep.”

Victor restrained his chuckle and followed his parents inside where Frampton greeted them and took their hats. “Their Graces and Miss Merrick are upstairs.”

Victor handed the portrait to Frampton. “Could you place this on an easel in the ballroom? Make sure it remains covered.”

“I shall have a footman stationed to guard it.”

As he climbed the stairs to the upper floor, Victor imagined Juliana’s portrait hanging on the walls next to Drake’s ancestors, and pride swelled in his chest. Reaching the top, he scanned the small group of people outside the ballroom.

A few early guests gathered around the duke and duchess, chatting amiably. Where was Juliana?

Upon catching Victor’s eye, Drake broke away from the group. “Ah. Here’s one of our guests of honor.” He shook Victor’s hand, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Recovered from last evening?”

“As best I can be. I finished the portrait. Frampton will have it ready for the unveiling in the ballroom.”

“Excellent! Now, come join us. Juliana is dawdling but should be here momentarily. Some nonsense about her hair.”

Victor bowed before Honoria. “Your Grace. May I take the liberty to say you look lovely this evening?”

Honoria leaned close and touched him lightly on the arm with her fan, which was not annoying in the least. The duchess could give Lydia lessons. “The secret is sleep. Kitty slept for six hours last night.”

Watching the duchess, Victor found himself remembering Nanny Malone’s broad smile and Irish temper that produced a few educational expletives.

Her sunny nature and the way she tucked the blanket tighter even when he protested contrasted sharply with his mother’s polished smiles and chilly reception when he and Cilla were brought before her for a few minutes each day.

Thank goodness when Victor was old enough, his father showed more interest, teaching him about estate matters but also how to ride and taking him fishing and hunting.

He wanted to emulate his father and hoped that—if he and Juliana were blessed with children—she would be more like Nanny Malone or Honoria than Lady Cartwright.

The duchess’s brows dipped ever so slightly. “Mr. Pratt, I should tell you?—”

“Here she comes, Victor.” The duke tapped him on the arm, and Victor turned.

Stunned. All the air whooshed from his lungs at the sight of Juliana approaching.

Their eyes locked, and Victor’s stomach tumbled from the same look of concern he’d witnessed moments before in the duchess’s gaze. But he spent no time pondering why, as his mind had locked on Juliana’s radiance. A discreet gasp sounded from his right.

His mother’s sharp intake of breath became nothing more than a hum in the background.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Juliana.

She had eschewed fashion—and what Victor understood as good ton —and wore her hair down, flowing in golden waves around her shoulders, and a jolt of pride and elation shot through him.

He couldn’t wait to see her reaction with the changes he’d made to her portrait.

Soft-blue silk flowed over her body, the lower waistline beckoning his hands to wrap around the nip of her waist and pull her close.

Tiny blue flowers, much like those in her betrothal ring, edged the neckline and short puffed sleeves of her gown.

Sleeves, Victor was quick to note, which sat low and exposed her shoulders, making way for that glorious hair.

He itched to run his fingers through her golden locks, then considered himself fortunate he had two hands—one for her waist and one for her hair.

She executed a perfect curtsy before him and his parents. “Lord and Lady Cartwright. Mr. Pratt.”

Although Victor’s tongue had apparently become glued to the roof of his mouth, his father had no difficulty providing the appropriate compliments. “Miss Merrick. You look lovely. My son is a lucky man. Isn’t that right, my dear?” His father’s endearment held the all-too-familiar note of warning.

“Miss Merrick.” His mother curtsied. “That is an...unusual choice of coiffure. Are you certain it’s wise to deviate so drastically from the appropriate fashion?”

Pink bloomed on Juliana’s cheeks, but Victor loved the effect.

“Victor—I mean—Mr. Pratt told me he liked my hair down.”

His mother jerked back as if a blow landed, and she turned toward him. “You’ve seen her with her hair down?”

Finally managing to swallow, Victor pried his tongue loose. “Not like this. This is magnificent.”

Juliana held out her gloved hands. “Victor, I need to tell you something.”

As he reached for them, eager to have her by his side, his mother gasped again.

What now?

“What is she doing here?”

Victor followed his mother’s horrified expression, his heart banging hard against his ribcage.

He blinked, clearing his vision.

Surely, it was his imagination.

Yet, there, she stood, next to the dark-haired man Victor had loathed for two years.

Adalyn.