Chapter 3
8 YEARS LATER
Wetherby
J uliet smiled as she watched a swallow flit through the air ahead of her, exuberant and joyous. She brushed aside bronze hair made darker by sweat. The air was warm, made even warmer by the close-packed woods through which she walked. To either side, large ferns encroached on the path, bestowing feathery kisses as they brushed her cheek. Her dress left her shoulders bare and she relished the touch of the sunshine and the light breeze on her pale skin.
She could have followed the path blindfolded, having explored these woods many times since coming to live with her aunt and uncle as a youth. In fact, she wondered if she might just have spent more time out of doors since moving to Wetherby House than she had indoors. She lifted her face to the sun, where it shone through the trees, closing her eyes for a moment to test herself.
In a handful of steps, her bare foot caught a root and she tumbled into a cluster of ferns. Rolling onto her back, she giggled at her own foolishness, gazing up at the blue sky framed by gorgeous green trees.
Burdop Wood lay just beyond the south boundary of her uncle Gilbert’s lands, as Baron of Swindon. The grounds of Wetherby House, seat of Lord Gilbert and his wife, Lady Margaret, had been sculpted and shaped to within an inch of their life by gardeners. Lawns were kept short by an army of men with scythes and flower beds were arranged in neat patterns, pruned, and carefully controlled. It looked colorful and, Juliet was sure, very pretty to the eyes of the Godwins.
But to her, there was no beauty like the natural world. Its riot of colors, shapes, and scents, in all its apparent chaos, was her idea of heaven.
“Juliet? Juliet! Drat you, where are you?” came a shrill, petulant voice.
It shattered the peaceful woodland, destroying the aura of relaxation that Juliet had felt. A tension grew within her, one that was always present whenever she was in company with her aunt, uncle, or Cousin Frances. It came from the need to hide who she truly was, to disguise the things she loved and was passionate about. The need to fit in with them.
Juliet stood, brushing at her skirts to remove any stray pieces of grass. Glancing around, she saw flashes of color in between the trees. A white dress and a blue one. Two women following the same path that Juliet had. No time to put her stockings on, she simply stepped into her shoes and concealed the stockings among the ferns. Then she trod out onto the path and waited.
Presently, a round-faced woman with dark hair and a pretty button nose appeared. Her looks were spoiled by the petulant pout of her lips and the way she narrowed her eyes upon the sight of Juliet. Frances Godwi n, daughter of Gilbert and Margaret, cousin to Juliet, stood an inch taller than she. Frances was also heavy in the hip and bosom, while Juliet was willowy and graceful.
Behind her was a woman in a sky-blue dress carrying a small book in one hand. She shared Juliet’s fiery coloring, a characteristic both shared with Margaret Godwin who was sister to Juliet’s mother. She had the Godwin’s round features and button nose, of a height with her sister and sharing the womanly hips. While Frances looked like she was chewing on a sour crabapple, Edith smiled at the sight of Juliet. A little of Juliet’s tension eased at the sight of her younger cousin.
“I am here, Fran,” Juliet began, walking towards the two women.
“ Frances ,” Frances corrected testily.
“Were you looking for me?”
“We were. Mama sent us to fetch you,” Frances replied, bitterly.
She looked around the woods, carefully holding her skirts out of contact with anything living.
“There were no servants free to come and find you,” Edith put in from behind her sister.
“Our dresses have arrived and Mama wishes us to try them on while the seamstress is here so that any adjustments may be made,” Frances finished.
Juliet groaned inwardly.
She could not think of a worse waste of a beautiful day than to be trying on dresses and standing on a stool while a seamstress made adjustments. Besides, there was the rabbit she had saved from a poacher’s trap and had been nursing back to health. She wanted very much to check on the poor thing’s progress. For a moment, she thought about telling her cousins that she would be along momentarily. But she did not want to excite their curiosity too much. The old cottage she had discovered at the heart of Burdop Wood served her well as a makeshift hospital for the waifs and strays she came across. The last thing she wished was for her hideaway to be discovered. So, she smiled and followed her cousins back along the path toward the boundary wall of the Wetherby estate.
Frances complained the entire way about having to tramp through wild woods to find Juliet. Even had Juliet been in her own rooms, Frances would still have found reason to be offended. She did not know why her cousin found her so objectionable, but it was clear that she did. Edith on the other hand was more likable, if often distant, her head firmly in her books.
A wooden gate in the tall, stone wall, let the three women into the grounds of Wetherby. Immediately, the trees ceased and the ferns, garlic, and wild grass vanished. They followed a white gravel path between rose beds, rhododendrons, and hydrangeas. Water burbled from a fountain somewhere beyond a square-cut hedge. Turning a corner, they climbed a set of stone steps kept meticulously free of moss and lichen. At the top was a glowing expanse of lawn with Wetherby House beyond.
It was of a warm, orange brick, built in the Jacobean style, and changed little in the intervening years. Windows were tall and, on the ground floor, framed by carefully controlled clematis and climbing roses. All were in full bloom, pinks and reds contrasting with the brickwork. It was pretty but in a way that Juliet found very artificial and staid. It lacked the vitality and abundance of nature.
She found her steps slowing as they approached the entrance to Wetherby. The familiar sense of anxious dread was on Juliet. She tried to forget about the annual Ravenscourt Ball each year. But when it came around, it could not be ignored. Aunt Margaret treated it with the same reverence as a coronation.
“I think I will take the air for just a moment,” Juliet murmured, suddenly unable to face going back into the house and becoming absorbed by the preparations.
“Well, do not tarry too long,” Frances snapped.
She was two years Juliet’s senior and wasted no opportunity to lord it over her. With that, she swept into the house, servants making way before her, which was fortunate as she had her chin raised so high she couldn’t possibly have seen where she was going. Edith stood beside Juliet who turned to look out over the gardens as though taking in the sight.
“You do not care for the Ravenscourt Ball, do you?” Edith said, quietly.
“I do not,” Juliet replied, “or any ball for that matter.”
“Neither do I. I would much rather be lost in a good book than dancing with some empty-headed young man. I think Frances is of the same mind as the two of us, though for differing reasons.”
Juliet furrowed her brows at that. “Truly? I had assumed Cousin Frances lived for days like this.”
Edith giggled. “She does when it is a ball to which you have not been invited. Do you not realize that my sister is deeply jealous of you? Of your having found a handsome match and of your looks.”
That last part confused Juliet. She did not see herself as pretty. She was too tall and her hair too bright a shade of red. She disliked the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks and thought her eyes too far apart. But it did not concern her too much because the possibility of marriage was so remote. As if to remind her of how remote that prospect was, she felt a sudden sensation of breathlessness. Her head felt light, and she knew that before long the world would be spinning around her. It would result in a faint from which she would not awaken for hours. And after each episode, she felt gradually weaker.
“Are you quite well, Cousin?” Edith asked, frowning.
“Quite,” Juliet replied languidly. “The sun is very bright. I fear I have overdone it.”
That explanation would have satisfied anyone but Edith. Her frown deepened and she pressed her lips together in the way she did when in deep thought.
“I have noticed you seem to take dizzy spells quite often,” she began.
“It is just the sun, I assure you,” Juliet put in hurriedly.
All knew of the illness which had taken her mother’s life. Juliet remembered well the stigma attached to it. The fear of contagion. She did not want people to look at her in the same way. Uncle Gilbert would have her packed off to a remote sanatorium at the merest hint that she had inherited her mother’s condition.
“Then perhaps we should get indoors,” Edith said, finally.
Still, she offered her arm as they walked. Juliet accepted it, her knees feeling weak and shaky.
“I shall be right as rain after a sit-down and a cup of tea,” she grimaced.
“Will Lord Hemsworth be attending tomorrow evening?” Edith asked as they walked through Wetherby’s halls to the drawing room.
“No, I am afraid he is otherwise engaged in London this week,” Juliet replied.
“Such a shame. It is an annual fixture after all. Like Christmas... Such a shame that he could not have planned his schedule to allow for it,” Edith commented distractedly.
Juliet gave her a quick look, wondering if she were probing at another of Juliet’s secrets. There was no way that she could know the truth, of course. Both Juliet and Nigel Crickhallow, Viscount Hemsworth, had been very careful in the outward appearance of their courtship. A facade of romance to disguise Juliet’s illness and Nigel’s own secret. One known only to Juliet and the person who truly held his heart in their keeping.
Edith was very intelligent and quite capable of deducing the truth if she had enough information to go on. On the other hand, she had a secret of her own which only Juliet knew. That should be enough to ensure that Juliet’s secrets remained safe.
“He is a very busy man,” Juliet remarked, “and truthfully, I do not even know if he has been invited. He has not said.”
They reached the drawing room and found it occupied. Juliet immediately wanted to turn around. Her Aunt Margaret was taking tea. Frances was sitting next to her, being handed a teacup by a maid, and watching Juliet with glittering eyes. Lady Margaret Godwin glanced up as her daughter and niece entered. She had the characteristic red hair of the Norton family, the line from which she and her sister Judith, who was mother to Juliet, came from. Today she had painted her dark beauty spot high onto her left cheek. Juliet also had a beauty spot, on her right cheek. But hers was part of her, not a cosmetic affectation. She had always been sensitive about the tiny dark mark, though all those around her insisted it was a desirable trait in a woman.
“Gallivanting in the woods again, Juliet?” Margaret said in a high, prim voice.
“Taking the air, Aunt Margaret,” Juliet replied.
“That is what gardens are for. It is not seemly for a young lady to be wandering alone in the wilds,” Margaret gently chided, “you must think of the image you are presenting to your betrothed. Just because Lord Hemsworth is courting you does not mean that he will continue to do so. If he knew that you tramp barefoot in the woods at every chance, dirtying your hands with wild animals, do you truly believe he would wish to marry you?”
“Lord Hemsworth appreciates my love for nature. He has even said that I could aspire to be a veterinarian,” Juliet replied stoutly.
It was a mistake. The kind of conversation best kept private.
Aunt Margaret and Uncle Gilbert would regard any lady of their family considering a trade to be a horrifying prospect. She was being truthful of course, having discussed the matter with her good friend Nigel. He had expressed the view that perhaps she should seek a veterinarian and serve as his apprentice. He was the kind of person who did not consider such things to be beyond the realms of possibility. However, that did not stop Aunt Margaret’s teacup from freezing halfway to her mouth.
“I beg your pardon!” she hissed. “I cannot believe a respectable gentleman like Lord Hemsworth would say such a thing. Therefore, you must be making it up simply to wound. Which is very wicked!”
Juliet stood, head bowed. It was to conceal the anger on her flushed cheeks. Since the death of her parents, she had no home but Wetherby and no family but the Godwins. That meant she could not stand up for herself as she would like. Could not rebel too far from their expectations or rules. But it was difficult.
“I suggest you go to your rooms until you are summoned to try on your dress. Though I hardly think you deserve to attend. If Lord Hemsworth attends and you are not present, then perhaps another young lady will take his fancy. Yes, that should teach you a lesson.”
Frances smiled to herself, sipping her tea but gazing out of the window in reverie. Juliet suppressed a smile. If her cousin was considering the handsome Lord Hemsworth, she would be bitterly disappointed. No woman could hope to win him over.
“Yes, Aunt Margaret. I am sorry, Aunt Margaret,” she replied meekly before turning to leave the room.
Edith made to follow but her mother brought her up short.
“Edith, remain here with us if you please. Your cousin needs some time on her own to consider her behavior, and we have much to discuss.”
Edith shot Juliet a look as they passed, head lowered. She gave a grimace which her mother did not see. It told Juliet that her younger cousin had wanted to speak to her privately. Juliet thought she knew what about and though she was happy to be Edith’s confidante, even to help her with her secret, she was glad that she would be left alone. There was a letter that she needed to finish. To be sent to Doctor Alistair Carmichael of Carlisle, Juliet’s last hope.