Lady Ellen waved over one of the footmen. “Shall we bring out the game tables? I find myself in the mood for a game of whist.”
Lady Margaret rose as well. “Yes, let’s.”
I stayed in my seat, arms crossed over my chest, and consoled myself with the assurance that we were trapped in company—at least Aunt Agnes would wait until later to make her displeasure known. I tried to convince myself that my roiling emotions were due to the punishment she was sure to mete out.
Robert appeared at my side. “Would you care to join me at the card tables, Juliet?”
“No, thank you,” I said shortly, unable to conceal my foul temperament. “It does not suit my mood this evening.”
“Juliet, what exactly—?”
“Go join the others, Robert.” A voice in the back of my head urged me to curb my anger. What had happened tonight was certainly not Robert’s fault, and I would gain nothing by pushing him away. But I was far too worked up to put on a facade and sit at a card table, making frivolous conversation. I wanted space. Couldn’t Robert see I hadn’t the patience for his questions?
He clenched his teeth. “Very well. Sit alone if you wish, but after your embarrassing display just now, Mother will not be happy.”
Robert turned away, and I was irked that he would use his mother to try to manipulate me. A scowl crept over my face as I picked up a book that sat on the table beside me and leafed through the pages. It was a book on Roman architecture, and it took great effort to even feign interest. Inwardly I seethed, frustrated at the entire house party but myself most of all. I had allowed myself to be taken in by Halstead, his captivating dark eyes and his mysterious ways. The man was a cad. A blackguard. One who had no place in my heart.
Unable to stand another moment in the same room with him, I got to my feet. Wisdom urged me to leave at once, but some force pulled me past the tables where everyone chatted, laughing over their games. Halstead sat near the fire, away from the others.
He looked up in surprise as I approached. “Juliet.” He kept his voice low.
I ignored the way the deep timbres of his voice sent a rush of warmth through me. “How dare you,” I said in a fierce whisper.
“How dare I what?” One brow ticked up.
“How dare you use me! Am I nothing more to you than a pawn?” I demanded. “A part of your scheme to show your distaste for having Lady Margaret thrust upon you?”
He got to his feet in one swift motion, leveraging his cane as he balanced his weight. At once he was looking down on me, the angles of his cheekbones catching the light of the fire. “What I think of Lady Margaret is none of your concern.”
I bristled with righteous indignation, my anger rising. “It is my concern when you use me to convince your mother and grandmother you’ll not be bullied into marriage against your wishes.”
The room had quieted, and though we kept our voices low enough to not be heard, it seemed certain we had everyone’s attention. Prudence dictated I leave before my temper got the better of me, but I could not resist one parting shot. “You don’t deserve the likes of Lady Margaret. She is much too good for you.”
Chapter Eighteen
I watched the flames in the hearth through the reflection in my vanity mirror, waiting for the knock that was sure to come. Exhaustion from my lack of sleep the night before seemed only to fuel my frazzled nerves. The small wooden mountain goat sat on the table near my brush. I picked it up, turning it over and over in my hand. I traced the lines of the goat’s carved fur, mesmerized by the precision of the wood carver’s knife.
The impatient knock that sounded at my door a few minutes later jolted me out of my daze. I set the goat down and turned. “Come in.” I exhaled, resigned to whatever punishment Aunt Agnes had in store.
She strode into my room, her face expressionless. Yet beneath her unruffled facade simmered a great deal of frustration, and every bit of it would soon be turned on me. The slightest wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Do you care to explain what happened down in the drawing room this evening?” Her tone suggested I had little choice in the matter.
I willed myself to be demure, to take her reprimand with meekness. “Are you referring to my performance on the pianoforte?”
Her lips almost disappeared as she pressed them into a thin, unforgiving line. “Take your pick, Juliet. What happened during your performance was only one of many disasters this evening.” Her hands went to her hips. “Did you arrange for the duke to sing with you tonight?”
It took a great deal of effort not to jut out my chin in defiance. “I did not.”
It was not the answer she had expected. “I can hardly trust you enough to believe that.”
“But it is the truth.”
Her eyes looked as if they might shoot out lightning bolts. “Whatever possessed you to cut him off before the song came to an end? It only drew more attention to the whole awkward affair! And then the impudence you had to make a scene with him before leaving the drawing room, unexcused. You will ruin Hugh’s chances, Juliet, and I will not have it.”
“If my behavior can so easily affect Lady Ellen’s affection for Hugh, then I doubt very much their chance for happiness in marriage.” The words rolled out of me before I could even think, and I knew at once I would be made to pay for every one of them. Aunt Agnes’s hands
