Chapter 1 #2
Juliana sighed. Give or take a few years, the only complexion Kit would sport would be that same sallow, jaundiced hue, all too common among men who liked wine a little too much.
By then, their estate would have sunk much deeper into debt, dragged into the quagmire of her brother’s poor choices and her grandmama’s excessive coddling.
“By the way, Julie.”
She stiffened at the sound of her brother’s voice calling out to her.
“Do be a dear, my sister, and deliver that package for me,” he told her. “I need the payment for that delivery tonight. Have to keep those damned debt collectors from breathing down our necks.”
Juliana pressed her lips into a thin line. “Understood.”
“Thanks, Julie. You’re the best.”
She did not even bother to turn around to see him grin at her like the complete and utter fool he was being. She only pulled on her gloves through the sting of tears in her eyes and called for Agnes, the faithful housekeeper who now also served as her chaperone whenever she left the townhouse.
Just this one time, she would run this errand, so that they might keep the debt collectors from knocking on their door for yet another month.
After that, she would have to find another way to make up for the funds her brother kept leaking. She simply could not rely on Kit to straighten himself up.
At least not within a month.
“Miss, we have arrived.”
Juliana jerked a little, her eyes taking in the establishment before her, then let out an inward groan. A man stood outside, glaring menacingly at anyone who dared breathe in the direction of the door.
No one came in or out. It was not reassuring in the very least.
Juliana resisted the urge to tear her hair at the roots.
Her brother had sent her to deliver the package to this place, where she could very possibly be assailed and murdered without anyone the wiser.
Kit must be so incredibly out of touch to send her—his sister—to deliver an unmarked parcel to a veritable stranger.
“Wait for me here,” she told Agnes.
The maid looked at her with concern. “Miss, it doesn’t look to be the sort of place you ought to be going.”
Of course not. But Kit did not think of that when he sent her, did he?
“Do not fret, Agnes. I shall be fine.” The words were said more to assuage her fears than those of their faithful maid. She managed a smile that she hoped was more confident than what she truly felt. “I am supposed to simply drop this off, after all. It will not take long.”
She slipped out of the carriage with the parcel tucked safely under her arm before Agnes could protest some more, and she lost what little remained of her courage.
She really, really should box Kit’s ears when she returned to the townhouse.
She walked straight up to the door when an arm stretched out before her, and she was pinned with a cold, steely gaze.
“No one is allowed inside.”
Juliana wrinkled her nose, but pasted on a brilliant smile nonetheless. “Oh, no. You must be mistaken, good sir. I am merely here to deliver a parcel to a Mr. Anderson.”
“There is no gentleman of that name inside.”
“Oh, but you cannot possibly know that!” She was batting her eyes so hard they could have created little whirlwinds.
It was no use—the man remained unmoved. He merely crossed his arms over his chest and glared stonily at her.
Juliana smiled through gritted teeth. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”
The burly guard barely scoffed a reply.
She turned around and went back to the carriage, her fingers digging into the flimsy paper wrapping of the parcel.
Curse Kit and his infernal packages! Could he not at least make these quests a little more straightforward?
“Agnes,” she hissed at the poor maid.
“Miss Hawthorne.” Agnes startled and pressed a hand to her heart. “Is it done?”
Juliana smiled bitterly. She wished it were so easy, but her brother was determined to make her life as difficult as possible—directly or otherwise.
“I am afraid I will need your help, Agnes,” she sighed.
“Oh no, no, no, Miss!” Agnes wailed. “You cannot possibly—”
“There is no other way.”
The housekeeper was close to tears now. “If your lady mother were alive, she would never…” Her voice trailed off into a strangled sob, verging on hysterical.
Juliana pressed her lips into a tight smile.
If her mama were alive, she would probably have said the same thing Grandmama had that morning.
From a very young age, Juliana was taught that—being the heir—Kit was the most important person in their family, and they all had to serve him.
Perhaps it was a good thing, too, that Mama had departed this world.
At least she would not have to witness how low their family had fallen.
At present, however, she had far more pressing matters before her.
She took one look at the distressed Agnes, and resolve hardened her spine into steel. The fraught woman met her gaze, and her eyes widened in horror.
“I beg of you, Miss! You cannot—”
Whatever protestations Agnes might have had, however, were drowned out by Juliana’s shrill scream that rent the night air.
“Help! Help! Oh, please, help us!”
The horses, startled by the sudden ruckus, began pawing at the cobbled street in agitation. The guard, previously an impenetrable wall of muscle and apathy, flinched.
Juliana smiled. Now was her chance.
She gave Agnes’s hand a brief squeeze and muttered a quick “Thank you” just as the guard approached their carriage.
“Is anything amiss, madam?” he rumbled, although Juliana suspected he had lost a tenth of his composure. There was truly nothing more rattling to a man than a woman in hysterics.
“Kind sir, you have to help my aunt,” Juliana told him, wringing her hands for good measure. “She is easily agitated, you see, and we failed to bring her medication with us today.”
She inwardly smiled in triumph when the guard pressed his mouth into a thin, grim line. “Stand aside, miss, and give your aunt some air.”
Juliana dutifully stepped aside, allowing the man to peer into the carriage to check on Agnes.
She caught the flash in the maid’s eye, the imperceptible nod.
When Agnes clamped her hand on the man’s arm—most indecorous, but desperate times called for desperate measures—Juliana bolted for the unguarded door.
She entered through the portal, her chest heaving, clutching the package to her arms.
She was inside at last! Now all she had to do was find this ‘Mr. Anderson’ and be done with this foul task once and for all.
Only… she had quite literally and figuratively landed her feet—worn boots and all—in hot water.