Page 5 of The Diamond's Absolutely Delicious Downfall
“My dear, you have received a marriage proposal from a duke.”
Juliet suppressed a squeal of delight. “At last, Mama!”
Joy danced through her, and it was all she could do not to clap her hands and do a quick jig of excitement right there in the middle of the crowded ballroom. Then a thought hit her and she sobered slightly.
“But I have not met him.”
Her mother’s beautiful face creased with chagrin. “Oh, you have,” she informed as she adjusted the large diamond cuff at her wrist.
Juliet frowned, thinking back, trying to imagine having met a marriageable duke and forgetting it, but then she realized her mother must have meant that he had a different title at the time! A wave of relief swept through her.
“Oh, I see, Mama.” She beamed, anticipating an excellent match. “Who is it, pray tell?”
Her mother gave her a rather pained expression, which was an odd look for her beautiful mama. At present, her mama was a picture of ton elegance. Her beautiful silver hair was coiled in soft, fashionable curls atop her head. Those locks were woven through with jeweled peacock feathers. Her gown was a beautiful sea-green shot through with silver silk.
Jewels dripped from her neck and ears, not to mention the formidable cuff on her wrist.
The diamonds and emeralds glimmered in the candlelight, but not quite as brightly as her mother’s eyes. She waved her enormous ostrich fan slowly, moving the hot air of the ballroom about.
Juliet adored the way her mother dressed and, frankly, she could not wait to do the same. As a young, unmarried lady of the ton, she could not yet dress so boldly or extravagantly.
No, pastel colors were de rigueur. Alas, nothing more exciting than pink for her, but soon she could festoon herself in reds, sapphires, and a host of accoutrements that would make everyone take note.
The ball was an absolute crush from wall to wall, from floor to… Well, not quite to the ceiling, though many still wore towering wigs.
The place was full of the most important people in all of London society. Feathers bounced atop ladies’ hair, which was often supplemented with pieces of wig.
Jewels winked in every foreseeable place, and, of course, gowns of rather full skirts and cinched waists were all about. She hoped that trending fashion would finally see the extremely restrictive wear of her mother’s day on its way out. The softer, gentler silhouette coming out of Paris these days was most welcome. She only wished that society was as gentle as the silhouette.
That hope seemed to be in vain.
“Who is it?” she asked her mama, snapping her own simple painted fan open.
She was tempted to whip it wildly back and forth, for she suddenly felt rather overheated at the possibility of at last reaching her goal.
“The Duke of Winchester,” her mother said with distress.
Juliet took the name in, searched her memory, then frowned as an image of an old man with gout, a powered wig, patches, and rouge came to mind.
“But Mama, the Duke of Winchester? Didn’t he collapse a week ago after a rather striking bout of enthusiastic…”
“Yes,” her mother cut in before she could say anything else.
They had heard rumors that he had been in a house where certain things occurred that young ladies were not supposed to be aware of.
But Juliet was aware of most things, for her mother believed that education was the wisest tool for everyone, and her mother did not believe in censoring her education. Nor did she believe in keeping the realities of what happened between men and women from her.
Her mother cleared her throat and attempted to smile as she gazed out over the sea of people. “His son is now the duke.”
“His son?” Juliet echoed. “I don’t remember his son at any balls. Surely, I would have met him.”
“Oh, you have met the former Marquess of Salisbury.”
“I have?” she queried, wracking her brains for a young man with such a title.
Her mother pressed her lips together for a moment, then rushed, “Yes. At Perdita’s birthday party five years ago.”
Juliet shook her head, wondering if her mother had drunk too much punch. “But surely that would’ve been a children’s party.”
Her mother batted her lashes rather quickly.
“Oh dear,” Juliet groaned as she began to understand. “Mama, you cannot mean…”
Her mother nodded, her elaborate coiffure bobbing. “He is but fifteen years of age. He saw your likeness in the news sheets and wrote a letter to me saying that he would very much like to claim the diamond of the season as his wife and that he’s ready to…be a man.”
“No,” she lamented, on the brink of losing her composure. But diamond’s did not lose their composure, and so she forced a smile instead, despite the growing despair in her heart. “It is not possible, Mama. He cannot be the only duke upon the marriage mart.”
“Truly, he’s not even upon the marriage mart. He’s a foolish young boy who’s likely read Romeo and Juliet recently and thinks that he’s madly in love with the picture that he spotted.”
“Well, I cannot do it,” Juliet said with a sigh.
“Oh, thank goodness,” her mother said, relief easing her features. “I was rather worried you might actually entertain the idea for a duchess’s coronet.”
She tsked. “Truly, Mama, is there no one else?”
“No, my dear. Unless, of course, the Duke of Babbage is someone you would be interested in.”
She paused, allowing herself to truly think of it. But as the memory of rancid flesh and wind came to mind, she suppressed a shudder. “Oh, dear. No, Mama. No, I cannot do it.”
Her mother’s brows rose as she pointed out, “His wife died a month ago, and he is certainly interested in passing the last of his years with a young darling to dandle upon his knee.”
“Mama,” she said horrified.
Her mother shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “Well, my dear, I am simply saying it as it is.”
“I cannot bear it,” she admitted. Surely, that sort of marriage would not be seen as a triumph?
“Good.” Her mother reached out and gently touched her hand. “I’m glad, my dear, that you at least have standards beyond that of a title.”
She frowned. “Mama, my standards are very high.”
At present, the only reason she was not dancing was because she had kept a few open so that she did not collapse in a silken heap from fatigue. She usually danced every single dance. Her card was always full within five minutes of arriving, but her mother did insist that she take breaks so that she could catch a bit of fresh air and drink a glass of punch.
“Now you must go and find your brother,” the duchess instructed. “I wish to speak with him immediately.”
She studied her mother. “Why would you wish to speak with Westleigh?”
“Aside from the fact that he is my son?” she trilled, then smiled. “Because my dear, it is time that he starts looking for a bride and he knows it.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to be a duke and do what one pleased and have that kind of power. “Westleigh is never going to look for a wife this year. You know it. He is far too happy as he is.”
“Happiness has nothing to do with it for a duke, although that would be nice,” her mother replied sadly.
“Nice, Mama?” she echoed. “You don’t like anything that’s nice.”
“Well, that might be true,” the duchess said with a wave of her fan, the ostrich feathers batting through the air. “But one can hope that your brother will find a grand passion just like my own. And like your sister’s. What a delightful surprise that was!”
Juliet could not stop the smile tilting her lips at the memory of her twin’s recent adventure. Though they were twins, they weren’t identical, and the ton had been quite hard on Hermia. Unlike Juliet, her sister did not have a penchant for social gatherings.
“She did not find a grand passion, Mama,” she reminded. “It literally stumbled into her lap.”
A look of pure triumph sparkled in her mother’s eyes, as if she had arranged the meeting herself. “Sometimes that’s the very best way to find it,” she said. “By letting it happen and not forcing things.”
Juliet blew out a sigh. “Yes, Mama. I suppose if that’s what you want me to do, I shall go and find my brother. Do you know where he is?”
“He said he was going to meet with a new friend. One he intends to invite to stay with us. I believe they are in the study down the hall.” Her mother closed her ostrich fan and gestured with it. “Now, be careful. It’s near the cloakroom. There should be no scandal. Lots of people should be about. But we don’t want a repeat of Hermia’s public scandal, if possible. You know I don’t mind scandal, but that was rather extreme, even for a Briarwood.”
Juliet nodded quickly. Her sister had been caught making love to the Earl of Drexel in a side room at a ball! Neither Hermia or Drexel had realized one of the paintings had a peep hole, and that what they’d been doing had spread through the ball like wildfire.
She gave a quick curtsy. “Yes, Mama.”
Juliet bustled out of the hot, stuffy room, eager to get a bit of fresh air.
Often, she wished that her sister Hermia was still about. They had been cheek by jowl at every ball, except, of course, when Juliet was dancing. When she was dancing, Hermia would watch her partner to make certain that Juliet wasn’t dancing with a trout of a fellow. Hermia could always sort out the buffoons from the decent chaps through her observations.
Hermia was now happily married to her earl and eschewed society for more important endeavors. Endeavors which their brother, the Duke of Westleigh, greatly approved of.
It had been touch and go there for a little while, and she’d been quite uncertain whether things would come up to snuff for her sister’s happiness. But fortune had played its hand out quite well for them, and she was delighted for her sister that she—the wall flower of the season—had made one of the grandest matches in recent memory.
Despite the scandal.
As she hurried down the hall, Juliet found herself drawing in a breath against her tight stays. It was quite nice to be away from everyone for a moment. She was often pulled and prodded and stared at. It wouldn’t last for long, no doubt, and she was careful to never be alone for long at such events.
So she hurried down to the study and quickly peered in through the open door to make certain she had the right room. And there was Westleigh, speaking with someone just out of her sight.
But she heard the voice… It was low, rough, and decidedly not English.
Juliet frowned. Surely not. A wave of apprehension danced through her, and she shoved the foolish thought aside. It would be impossible for that fellow to be here talking to her brother.
Life was not a play, after all. There would be nothing so ridiculously convenient as that!
So she boldly strode into the room, ready to take her brother away from whatever new friend he was making. Her brother was always making interesting new friends, but when their mother called? He would answer. For no one gainsaid their mother.
Not even the Duke of Westleigh.
But the moment she called out his name and sailed into the room, she felt her entire body dance with apprehension…and recognition.
For there he was.
Her American. He stood opposite her brother, a Herculean form. Beautiful, strong. Dear God, he was the most handsome fellow she’d ever seen. And now, out of the dark theater hall, it was like being hit by a veritable wave of male power. He was not like a lord of the ton. There was nothing refined or foppish about him. He was rough and strong and looked almost brutish, and she loved every bit of it.
He stared at her for a long moment in turn, his gaze slowly traveling up and down her frame. His eyes crackled and then that sensual mouth, which had caused so much pleasure just the evening before, pressed into a thin line of censure. Oh, dear. He was greatly displeased with her.
If it hadn’t been so alarming, she would have been amused.
“How do you do?” she said with a well-practiced curtsy.
“I do very well,” he said, giving his own bow. “Lady…”
“Juliet,” she replied. “This is my brother, the Duke of Westleigh.”
“Yes. So I understand,” the American replied.
She cleared her throat. “Do you have a name?”
The duke coughed. “Forgive me, Juliet, you don’t need to be so rude. He is not necessarily accustomed to our ways.”
“That’s not exactly true,” he said, but he gave her another more elaborate bow, his gaze dancing now. “Is that any better?”
“A little bit,” she admitted as a flush of excitement traveled through her.
“My sister is currently engaged in what is to be her only Season. She seeks a husband, of course.”
“Oh, does she?” the man said. “Then she must be very careful with her reputation, mustn’t she?”
“As careful as a Briarwood can be,” the Duke of Westleigh said. “But we are not quite so puritanical as you Americans.”
The American’s lips curved in that smile that had set her blood aflame.
“How very fortunate for the young lady to have an understanding family if there were to be an indiscretion,” he rumbled.
The duke stared at him as if he had lost his wits. “I say, have you had too much brandy, sir?”
“No, Your Grace. I am simply marveling at your generous nature,” the American drawled. “I did not know that young ladies were given such a long lead.”
She nearly choked at his ludicrous reply. “A lead, sir, as if I was a dog or a horse?”
“Are not ladies the possession of their families in this country? In America, it is slightly different.”
“Is it?” she quipped, pursing her lips.
“Yes,” he said. “But not very,” he replied truthfully. “After all, they are not strictly considered people in either place.”
Her jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”
“They were not given the vote in my country,” he stated as if that explained everything. “Can they do anything of the like here?”
“No,” she breathed honestly, rather surprised he would even suggest ladies should have such a right.
He cocked his head to the side. “And isn’t it a terrible scandal?” he asked.
She sucked in a breath, stunned. “Yes, it is.”
“Oh God,” Westleigh said. “Mama already invites all the bluestockings over once a week. And I’m doing my best to support them. I even encouraged Mr. Adams to give his wife a larger say in government.”
“Mrs. Adams is most definitely a revolutionary to admire,” the man replied.
“Is any revolutionary really to be admired?” Juliet asked, enjoying poking a stick at the fellow.
“Oh yes,” he said, his gaze locking with hers. “And I think, Lady Juliet, if we’re honest, you are a bit of a revolutionary yourself.”