Chapter 15
Juliet Finch. Fancy seeing you here.”
Juliet clenched her hands so tightly, her knuckles cracked. Of all the horrible surprises, this snake had to show up at this ball?
Colin locked eyes with her, a smug tilt to his head, the cleft in his chin more pronounced.
He’d always been prideful of that Chamberlain feature.
It shamed her now to think she’d once admired it.
Admired him. But so had all the other ladies of Cheltenham.
He’d made sure of it. And to think she’d fallen victim to that charm.
Henry looked between them. “You know each other?”
“We …” She swallowed hard, despising the shrewd gleam in Colin’s dark eyes. He was waiting to hear how she’d answer. His words had been nothing but a platter with a sharp knife, poised to slice apart anything she might say.
Well. So be it.
“We are acquainted,” she said simply.
“Unfortunately.” Colin snorted, almost covering the word.
“Agreed,” she whispered. Would to heaven she could travel back in time and remedy that mistake.
“Oh!” Clara clapped her hands, beaming. “A reunion of friends. How lovely. And extraordinary, being that neither of you are from Bedford.”
“That is a coincidence,” Charity joined in.
“Quite.” Colin narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to, Juliet?”
“Miss Finch”—Henry stepped closer to her, her name on his lips a shield, a defense, as was the sharp lift of his brow—“is here at my request.”
“Your request, eh?”
Juliet’s pulse thudded in her ears. That look in Colin’s eyes—sharp and almost eager—wasn’t new.
It was the same look he’d worn when delivering the final blow to their engagement.
He’d called it duty to his family’s good name, but she saw it now for what it was—a retreat.
A carefully measured escape from a match that might have tarnished the shiny facade he took great pains to polish.
And yet here he stood, acting as if she were the one who’d wronged him.
Her stomach soured. It wasn’t enough that he’d abandoned her.
Now he meant to destroy her standing with these new acquaintances too.
Perhaps especially with Henry. All for spite. Or wounded pride.
Probably both.
Colin faced her with a tug to his cuffs. “How very accommodating you’ve become.” He clicked his tongue with a sad shake of his head. “Just like your father … and look where that landed him.”
The music restarted, light and merry, nothing like the stormy ire sparking in Henry’s eyes. “What are you insinuating about the lady?”
“Lady?” Colin chuckled lightly.
A low growl rumbled in Henry’s throat. If she didn’t stop this now, fisticuffs would fly right here beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Smoothing her skirts, she forced a light tone to her voice. Quite the feat, that, when she’d rather scream and run away. “Mr. Chamberlain is wont to make cryptic responses. Please pay him no mind. It is a particular pastime of his.”
“Much like Mr. Parker.” Charity snapped open her fan, cheeks suddenly flushed.
“Intriguing!” Clara turned to Henry. “Will you join in the game as well? Do indulge us. I am all attention to hear what you might have to say.”
He didn’t spare her the slightest glance. “What I have to say is that I find your comments to Miss Finch to be quite boorish, sir.”
Before Colin could respond, Charity’s voice cut in, sharp and clear. “I agree. Your remarks, Mr. Chamberlain, are not only inappropriate but entirely uncalled for.”
Colin wrapped his fingers around his lapels. “I apologize if I have offended you, Miss Russell, Mr. Russell.” He gave a small, stiff nod to each in turn. “But I speak only what is true. Perhaps Juliet has not informed you of her history.”
Juliet’s heart stuttered, the polished floor feeling unsteady beneath her borrowed slippers. Henry knew her for who she was—mostly—but Charity and Clara had no idea of her disreputable past, nor did she wish them to. “This is neither the time nor place to speak of such things, Mr. Chamberlain.”
“And yet,” Colin fairly purred, “here we are.”
“Indeed, what fate!” Clara bounced on her toes, apparently oblivious to the charge in the air. “I adore it when circumstances converge so curiously.”
Henry didn’t, not if the rock-hard line of his jaw was any indication. “I am well aware of Miss Finch’s history, sir.”
“Are you? I wonder.” Colin’s gaze slid back to Juliet, the dark curls at his temples falling into his eyes.
He brushed them back with a swipe, his lips flattening to a malicious line.
“The Finches are well known for presenting to the world a sparkling front, when all the while they carry on with their nefarious deeds behind the backs of the unsuspecting.”
Fury churned in her belly, at odds with the sweet melody wafting from the dance floor. The accusation, the shame of it all, this was her father’s doing, not hers. She jerked her face up to his. “That is quite enough.”
Charity stepped closer to her, brows drawn. “What does he mean, Juliet?”
“Nothing of importance,” she murmured.
“And so we will leave it at that.” Henry’s voice cut through the revelry around them.
“Very well.” Colin swiped a champagne flute from a passing tray and drained it in one go. “But a word to the wise from a man with experience. This woman is not to be trusted. I should know, for I barely escaped becoming her husband.”
Clara and Charity gasped in unison.
Henry turned to her, a tempest of confusion and horror in his eyes. “Is this true?”
“I—” Nausea rose, choking off her words. Suddenly she was thrown back to a year ago, facing the same incredulity, suffering the burn of humiliation. She was a stain upon this society. A black mark everyone wished to erase. Would this nightmare never end?
Pressing one hand hard against her belly, she shouldered her way past Colin and fled the ballroom.
A cowardly move to be sure, but wholly irresistible.
Cold air slapped her face as she shoved open the door to an empty veranda.
No one was out there. And just as well. The hot tears streaming down her cheeks would not be stopped.
She dashed to the railing and held on tight, waiting for the emotion to pass.
But it didn’t. Shame kept coming in rolling waves, incessant, nothing but distant stars in the black sky to comfort her, for God would not.
Nor would she ask Him to. Not again. The fear of not receiving an answer was too overwhelming.
Blast that Colin Chamberlain! She’d tried so hard to run from her past, but here it was like a ghost from a grave, all buttoned up in a bespoke suit.
She gripped the wrought-iron railing, relishing the way the unforgiving metal bit into the palms of her hands.
The truth was—she could admit this now that she’d met Henry—she’d never loved Colin.
Not really. Nor had he loved her, or he’d not have so casually thrown her aside when her father’s disgrace became public.
She and Colin had given in to societal expectations, listened to the talk of what a lovely couple they’d made. What a fool she’d been.
Gulping in air, she fought to collect herself.
It had been noble of Henry to defend her so boldly, though he’d likely never make that mistake again.
Not after Colin’s ugly revelation. In hindsight, she should have told him she’d once been engaged.
By holding back the full details of her past, she’d completely undermined the trust he’d placed in her.
Keeping such a secret would give him the impression she had other dark intrigues to hide.
But it wasn’t the dread of Henry’s mistrust that sickened her most. No, far worse than that was the knowledge she’d ruined whatever fragile relationship had begun that day he’d caught her in the woods.
Since then he’d become her friend, her champion.
She’d seen it when his gaze softened on her or his lips curved whenever she chanced to catch him looking her way.
She should have stayed in that ballroom, held her head high, met his horrified stare, and shown him she wasn’t the awful woman Colin accused her of being.
Oh, why hadn’t she stayed? A sob ripped past her lips.
She’d fled, just like her father had tried to do when he’d been found out.
She was no better than he. She’d wasted the past year scorning the very person she was most like.
Her chin dropped to her chest, the realization sapping what little fight she had left.
Would that the earth might open up, swallowing her whole, and she could lie down forever.
Society wouldn’t miss her. Henry probably wouldn’t either.
And she couldn’t blame him for that.
She inhaled deeply, the cold air an ache in her chest. Would she ever know the peace her aunt spoke of?
Behind her the door opened; music swelled and then muffled as it once again shut. Footsteps drew near—a man’s, judging by the deep thud of them. Slow. Deliberate.
She gripped the railing so tightly her knuckles burned.
Her heart hoped it was Henry, but it would more likely be Colin come to gloat—the main reason she’d left Cheltenham in the first place, for he’d made life miserable.
A coward’s habit, she’d later come to realize.
Every time he saw her, it reminded him that he’d fled at the first sign of scandal instead of standing beside her as a decent man would.
No, a cad like Colin would rather belittle her than admit he’d run off like the scoundrel he was at heart.
Gritting her teeth, she forced her fingers to let go of the iron, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble again. Not tonight.
Not ever.
As much as he hated to admit it, Henry missed his father. Vincent Russell would have known how to handle this situation—how to handle any situation, actually. It was a hard standard to live up to.