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Authors: Karla Hocker
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do?” Juliette asked desperately.
Elizabeth pulled herself together. “Talk to Stewart,” she urged. “Ask him what is wrong.”
“No!” Juliette sat up with a violent start. “I drove him from the house with questions! He spent the days and evenings at his club and only came home when he was certain I must have gone to bed. No, Elizabeth, I cannot ask him again. If I did, he would pack up and leave Stenton immediately.”
So emphatic was Juliette that, for a moment, Elizabeth was at her wit’s end. There seemed to be nothing else to say.
But it was not without reason that she was considered a sensible and levelheaded young woman by those who knew her well. Common sense and composure might have temporarily deserted her while she faced his grace, the Duke of Stenton, but Clive Rowland was not present to disconcert and confuse her now.
“Do you know, Juliette,” she said, “I cannot help but think that you’re wrong. I don’t doubt that Stewart might wish to leave in order to avoid questions, but he would not do it. Just think! How would he explain a sudden departure to his parents? Or to his host?”
Juliette was about to reply when, her eyes widening, she swung around on the settee and stared toward the dressing table.
“Did you hear that, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth also stared at the dressing table. There wasn’t a sound in the room, not the whisper of a noise, save for their breathing.
She regained composure first. “Gracious! What the atmosphere of an old house can do to one! For a moment there, I was convinced someone applauded.”
“Yes, but it was nothing, was it?”
“Not quite nothing, perhaps,” said Elizabeth. “I’m sure we heard something , but most likely it was something to do with the old timber. Do you realize how ancient this castle is?”
“Wood beetles?” Juliette said doubtfully. With one last, lingering look at the dressing table, she rose.
She took a tentative step toward the door. “But I tell you this, Elizabeth. If we weren’t dealing with Stewart, I daresay your good sense would merit applause.”
“Stewart isn’t any better or worse than other men,” Elizabeth said reasonably. “He would not want to hurt his parents’ feelings, and neither would he want to cause talk. Or are you saying that Stewart is too thickheaded to realize that his leaving would give rise to speculation?”
“He wouldn’t give a straw. He did not care when he spent the days and evenings at the clubs instead of getting reacquainted with his wife. Or do you believe the gentlemen who saw him at White’s or at Boodle’s and Brooks’s did not speculate?”
Reluctantly, Elizabeth admitted defeat. “No, I do not believe that.”
She was not given to sighing, but, indisputably, her words were followed by a sigh of disappointment. It startled her, for she wasn’t aware of having indulged in the habit she had always denounced as lachrymose. Undoubtedly, though, that was something else the atmosphere of an old house or, rather, an old castle did to one.
Juliette continued toward the door. This time, she did not stop until she reached it.
Pulling it open, she said in a carefully controlled voice, “Stewart informed me this morning that he doesn’t want me to go back to London with him after Christmas. Until matters are settled, he wants me to stay in Hertfordshire.”
“And you? Will you do as he bids?”
Juliette, her back to Elizabeth, stood quite still. “I don’t know—I don’t have a choice, do I? A wife must obey.”
Elizabeth knew that was so. Still, she could not believe that Juliette would be so poor spirited as to give in without a fight. She was about to rally her young friend, when she saw Juliette’s shoulders straighten.
“I may have to obey in the end,” said Juliette. A martial light kindling in her eye, she looked over her shoulder at Elizabeth. “But there’s no law that says a wife mustn’t try to change her husband’s mind, is there?”
Annie Tuck,
Elizabeth pulled herself together. “Talk to Stewart,” she urged. “Ask him what is wrong.”
“No!” Juliette sat up with a violent start. “I drove him from the house with questions! He spent the days and evenings at his club and only came home when he was certain I must have gone to bed. No, Elizabeth, I cannot ask him again. If I did, he would pack up and leave Stenton immediately.”
So emphatic was Juliette that, for a moment, Elizabeth was at her wit’s end. There seemed to be nothing else to say.
But it was not without reason that she was considered a sensible and levelheaded young woman by those who knew her well. Common sense and composure might have temporarily deserted her while she faced his grace, the Duke of Stenton, but Clive Rowland was not present to disconcert and confuse her now.
“Do you know, Juliette,” she said, “I cannot help but think that you’re wrong. I don’t doubt that Stewart might wish to leave in order to avoid questions, but he would not do it. Just think! How would he explain a sudden departure to his parents? Or to his host?”
Juliette was about to reply when, her eyes widening, she swung around on the settee and stared toward the dressing table.
“Did you hear that, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth also stared at the dressing table. There wasn’t a sound in the room, not the whisper of a noise, save for their breathing.
She regained composure first. “Gracious! What the atmosphere of an old house can do to one! For a moment there, I was convinced someone applauded.”
“Yes, but it was nothing, was it?”
“Not quite nothing, perhaps,” said Elizabeth. “I’m sure we heard something , but most likely it was something to do with the old timber. Do you realize how ancient this castle is?”
“Wood beetles?” Juliette said doubtfully. With one last, lingering look at the dressing table, she rose.
She took a tentative step toward the door. “But I tell you this, Elizabeth. If we weren’t dealing with Stewart, I daresay your good sense would merit applause.”
“Stewart isn’t any better or worse than other men,” Elizabeth said reasonably. “He would not want to hurt his parents’ feelings, and neither would he want to cause talk. Or are you saying that Stewart is too thickheaded to realize that his leaving would give rise to speculation?”
“He wouldn’t give a straw. He did not care when he spent the days and evenings at the clubs instead of getting reacquainted with his wife. Or do you believe the gentlemen who saw him at White’s or at Boodle’s and Brooks’s did not speculate?”
Reluctantly, Elizabeth admitted defeat. “No, I do not believe that.”
She was not given to sighing, but, indisputably, her words were followed by a sigh of disappointment. It startled her, for she wasn’t aware of having indulged in the habit she had always denounced as lachrymose. Undoubtedly, though, that was something else the atmosphere of an old house or, rather, an old castle did to one.
Juliette continued toward the door. This time, she did not stop until she reached it.
Pulling it open, she said in a carefully controlled voice, “Stewart informed me this morning that he doesn’t want me to go back to London with him after Christmas. Until matters are settled, he wants me to stay in Hertfordshire.”
“And you? Will you do as he bids?”
Juliette, her back to Elizabeth, stood quite still. “I don’t know—I don’t have a choice, do I? A wife must obey.”
Elizabeth knew that was so. Still, she could not believe that Juliette would be so poor spirited as to give in without a fight. She was about to rally her young friend, when she saw Juliette’s shoulders straighten.
“I may have to obey in the end,” said Juliette. A martial light kindling in her eye, she looked over her shoulder at Elizabeth. “But there’s no law that says a wife mustn’t try to change her husband’s mind, is there?”
Annie Tuck,
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