Emily Hendrickson Read Free Page B

had best learn to say my lady, even when we are alone. I shall become used to my new name in time, I fancy,” Juliet concluded as she snuggled beneath the fine lavender-scented linen sheets. “Consider the alternative, and you will accept that what I have done was for the best.”
    Pansy couldn’t argue on that score, for she had no more liking for Marius Winterton than his sister did—even less. And truth to tell, she knew that her mistress would have been most miserable married to a man just like her stepbrother.
    Left alone, Juliet pondered the change in her life. Was it terribly wrong of her to pretend to be someone else—a woman who did not exist? Even though she had not been to London, Miss Pritchard had seen to it that she was conversant with the latest fashions and in particular the marriages among the ton. Juliet’s memory had never failed her in the past, and she could not recall a marriage for the viscount.
    Then she frowned, for she did recall something about him. He was one of the premier gentlemen of London, much mentioned in the gossip columns. If her memory served her right, and it usually did, he flitted from one woman to the next with all the discrimination of a butterfly.
    Well, it was a great comfort to know that his lordship would not deign to cross the threshold of this modest country house. Juliet doubted if he ever strayed far from the London scene, and if he did, it would not be to this remote village. Woodbury was too lacking in amusements of the sort to appeal to a man of his undoubted tastes. She shortly fell asleep, assured she was quite safe.
    * * * *
    “I tell you, Harry, I am quite heartily fed up with the beauteous Camilla. Odd thing is, were she a retiring sort, I believe I could find her tolerable.” Lord Hawkswood stared into the depths of his glass, wishing it were full instead of empty.
    “Tolerable, old chap?” Harry Riggs cried softly. “I should wish a wife more than tolerable.”
    “A wife? Who said anything about a wife?” his lordship murmured with a chuckle.
    “What do you propose to do about her?” Harry inquired.
    “Find a bolthole somewhere she can’t find me.”
    “That shan’t be an easy task,” Harry offered.
    “There must be someplace that dratted woman won’t go,” Hawkswood said, frowning into his glass.
    “I wish you well. Someday you will have to marry, you know,” Harry concluded.
    “Not now and certainly not to the estimable Camilla,” came the instant reply. “Perhaps my solicitor can think of a place.” With that vague notion, Lord Hawkswood bid his friend good night, concluding this was coming to be the worst Season he had ever known.
    Perhaps Harry was right, he should marry. It might not be too bad if he could find some acceptable chit and deposit her in the country. Why, he might not have to change his ways in the least. And on that happy thought he fell into a sound, if ignoble, sleep.
     

Chapter 2
     
    Juliet stretched, relishing the comfort of her bed, then blinked when—upon opening her eyes—she saw gold damask overhead rather than her own plain white ceiling. She turned her head, absorbing the details of the room she had so hastily perused the day before.
    In the clear light of early morning, she could see that the golden hue was repeated throughout the room. The walls were hung with pale gold damask; delicate fruitwood chairs were covered with the same fabric; and only the rug that decorated the floor had white and celadon green as well as the lovely golden hue. It was most assuredly a room to cheer the heart.
    Punching up her pillow, she settled back to study the portrait hanging above the fireplace surround. A young, very handsome boy leaned against an enormous dog, one arm draped lovingly about his pet’s neck. The boy smiled out at the artist—and the world—with charm, possessing a grace that few boys had. Certainly Marius had never in his life gazed out with such self-possession and appeal. Juliet wondered who the