Chapter Ten

Breakfast at the Estfield Manor was quiet, moody, and awkward, as usual. Eyes shifted from one face to the other as spoons clinked against plates. Juliet grew more uncomfortable with each second. She could tell that her mother-in-law's eyes were on her.

"You need to start eating more, dear." Beatrice said, dabbing her lips with a white handkerchief. "If you're going to start considering bearing children, you must be properly nourished."

Juliet and Weston exchanged subtle looks of terror. Aside from sleeping together in the same bed, Juliet and Weston had never done anything else. Sometimes, Juliet wondered if Weston was only sleeping in the same bed with her out of some bound duty.

"I will ask the cooks to start adding aids to your meal. A lady's clock runs fast. You need to start trying for children by now."

"Let her enjoy her meal, mother." Anne cut in, coming to Juliet's rescue. "Your children talk may be the very reason she isn't eating much."

"I am only trying to look out for the future of the house. We do not want another situation like—"

"Mother!" Anne warned again, her voice higher than before.

"It is the truth. The only reason Weston became a Marquess is because Richard—"

"Mother, please. Can we just get through the breakfast without the incessant talk? We all want a moment of peace." Weston said, unable to bear it any longer.

Juliet focused solely on her food. The last thing she needed was to cause a rift between family.

"Just think about it." Beatrice added, her voice sharp. The rest of breakfast was enveloped in sheer silence with tension thicker than before. Juliet felt a slight sigh escape her lips. This was not helping anybody, and it was beginning to weigh down on her. It had been almost four days since she talked to her husband, and he blew her off for a ride with Charles.

"I shall retire into my room now." She said, slowly rising from her chair. She could feel Beatrice's hot gaze on her as she made her way out of the dining room and into the hallway. As she stepped inside her room, a loud exhale escaped her lips. Throughout the breakfast, she couldn't help but feel like she was being suffocated. Now, there were talks of children? She didn't need to add more pressure to her soul. She wondered if Weston felt the same. Of course, she could always ask him, but he would most likely give her a vague answer, and would add to the awkwardness between them.

Trying so hard to follow Estelle's advice, Juliet had tried her best to find favor with Weston. The previous night, for example, just as Weston sank into bed beside her, she turned to face him.

"I need to talk to you." She whispered.

Weston opened his eyes. "This is not a good time. I am truly tired."

"I don't know when to talk to you anymore. You have been avoiding me since I got here."

"I am not avoiding you."

"You always try to run away every time I seek to converse with you. Apologies if I can't help but think so."

"Juliet. I am tired. I have been riding around town all day. I need to rest."

"Well, I need to talk, so you're going to have to listen."

"Juliet—"

"I have had enough of you shutting me out, alright? I have been here almost a full week, and you haven't spoken to me for longer than thirty minutes. Until you stop avoiding me—"

"Again, I am not avoiding you."

"Until you stop avoiding me, I'm afraid we will both be at an impasse."

Weston drew a loud exhale. "What do you intend to talk about anyway?"

Juliet felt a victorious smile creep on her face. "I was wondering if we could both take a stroll around the fields of Estfield tomorrow. Since fate has decided to place us in this position, the better thing to do will be to get to know each other. Now I was thinking—"

Juliet trailed off. Her speech had been interrupted by Weston's soft snores. Her eyes shifted to his face. He was fast asleep.

Crumbling under the weight of frustration, Juliet moved to her side of the bed and laid on it, feeling tears form behind her eyes.

"Milady." Estelle's voice interrupted her reminiscence. "Shall I draw you a bath?"

Juliet sighed and waved towards the bathroom. "Why not?"

Estelle frowned in confusion. "Is anything the problem, milady?"

Juliet crashed into her bed in despair. "Lady Beatrice asked me to start preparing for childbearing."

Estelle shuffled her legs. "Oh."

"I know." Juliet replied. "This is happening way too fast. I have only been here a week."

"What about your husband? Have you been able to speak to him yet?"

"What do you think?"

Estelle sighed. Juliet could tell that she was stumped and short for words. This barely happened to her maid, which meant this was even more serious than she thought.

"How about you? Have you been able to speak to Lord Charles?" Juliet asked.

"I haven't had the opportunity to get him alone."

"It has been three days, Estelle."

"This is a delicate matter, milady." Estelle replied. "One that requires the utmost diligence. I promise I shall get you the answer you need."

Juliet rose from her bed. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me yet. We still have work to do."

As Juliet opened her mouth to speak, a loud knock came from the door. Estelle and Juliet exchanged confused expressions.

"You think it is Lady Beatrice?" Juliet asked.

"I hope not." Estelle responded and hurried towards the door. She pulled it open, and Lady Anne walked in, a giant smile on her face.

"Anne." Juliet greeted, returning the smile. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I was coming to see if you were busy." Anne asked.

"No. I was only preparing to draw a bath." Juliet responded.

"The bath can wait." Anne replied. "I need you to come with me."

Juliet frowned in confusion. "Come with you?"

"You have been in Estfield for a week. What do you say I give you a proper tour of the manor?"

"Really?" Juliet asked.

"My bone-headed brother should have been the one to do it, but we all know how Weston is."

Juliet's eyes shifted from Anne to Estelle. Estelle shrugged.

"Come. There are things I would like you to see." Anne said, reaching for Juliet's hand.

Estelle watched Anne pull Juliet from the bed, lead her out of the room, and close the door behind them.

"Oh well." Estelle sighed and retreated to the bathroom one more time.

***

Anne threaded her arm with Juliet, and they started to walk down the hallway.

"I take it you haven't seen much of the manor since you got here, have you?" Anne asked.

"Not really." Juliet replied. "I haven't had the time."

Anne turned to look at Juliet, an unconvinced grin on her face. "That is not why."

Juliet said nothing in reply, confirming Anne's suspicions.

"You have been trying to avoid my mother, haven't you?"

Juliet sighed. "I would never do that. She has been nothing but nice to me since I got here."

Anne squeezed Juliet's arm rather gently. "This may be hard to believe, but I don't spy for my mother. I know she can be a bit overbearing. Between us girls, it's okay for you to admit the same."

Juliet wanted to. She loved having a friend to chat with apart from her maid. Estelle was great, but there was only so much she could relate to. Anne was the perfect friend, especially in a time like this. They could grow closer and even become sisters more or less. But that would be saved for later. For now, she didn't want to risk anything getting back to Lady Beatrice.

"I only have great things to say about my mother-in-law, Anne. I promise."

Anne shrugged. "You know where I am if you change your mind."

Juliet's eyes swept across the environment. They were in new territory. This area of the manor felt grossly unfamiliar to her. While it

was just like other parts of the manor in terms of architecture, the atmosphere felt different.

"This used to be where the previous Marquess of Estfield held meetings with his friends. Think of it as his own personal drawing room.

Juliet looked around. There were several chairs lining the corners and a giant round table in the middle of the room.

"He was a happy man, Lord Richard." Anne continued. "He derived joy in the simplest things in life, and he was always contented, even when life dealt him bad cards."

Juliet looked around the room. While it looked thoroughly cleaned, it felt empty. She didn't need anyone to tell her that no one had used the house in a long time.

"It does feel a little deserted." She finally decided to comment.

"That is because no one ever comes here. When Weston became Marquess two years ago, he had another part of the house renovated as the new drawing room. Come."

They both walked out and continued their journey down the unknown path. Juliet continued to look around, taking in every new infrastructure, every centerpiece and tiny statue that rested on some exquisitely designed wooden table. Her eyes also caught a few paintings, some of the manor, some of horses galloping in the wind, and some of unknown faces. One in particular caught her attention.

"Who is that?" She asked, gesturing towards the painting. In it was a beautiful woman with brunette hair and a brilliant smile. Her eyes were light brown and shone as the fragmented rays of sunlight hit them. Juliet felt drawn to the woman.

"Lady Isabella Edgeworth." Anne replied. "The wife of Lord Richard. They say she used to be the happiest woman alive."

Juliet looked at the woman's round face, at her pursed lips and bright eyes. "She does look happy."

"She used to be the one who cared for the gardens on the balcony." Anne continued. The flowers that bloomed meant everything to her.

Juliet smiled. That explained the instant closeness she felt to Isabella. They were kindred spirits in a way.

"She caught the fever only a few years before Richard died." Anne explained

"Oh." Juliet whimpered. She remembered how the fever had gotten her own mother, how she had to suffer gruesomely before finally giving up the ghost. Part of her wondered if Isabella had to go through that, too.

"Mother said Richard was so distraught by his wife's death that he wouldn't come out of his room for months. He drank himself to sleep every night."

"It must have been a terrible sight to behold."

"Yes. They had no children, so Richard had no heir. The title had to pass to Weston after his death." Anne continued.

Juliet sighed. That would explain why Lady Beatrice was talking to her about kids so early in the marriage. She didn't want her son to suffer the same fate as Richard. A shudder ran through her body as dark thoughts crept into her mind like flames in a chimney.

Was she going to suffer the same fate as Lady Isabella? Live through marriage without children. At least Lady Isabella had her husband's love to keep her company. Juliet was stuck in a loveless marriage with a husband who wasn't the least curious to know anything about her. Would she also turn out like the woman in the painting as time went on?

Still feeling emotionally drawn to Lady Isabella, Juliet grew determined to continue her acts of tending the garden. Perhaps this way, she might even feel even more attached to her. She didn't see any reason why Lady Isabella's spirit shouldn't live on around the house.

"I shall fix the garden." She said aloud, almost like her voice betrayed her. Anne's eyes shot up, and she smiled at Juliet encouragingly.

"I shall fix the garden." Juliet repeated, now confident in her voice and her decision. This was a great idea, and she shall follow through with it.

***

Weston dreaded club meetings even more than breakfasts with his mother. At least back home, he didn't have to control any form of narrative. With his friends, he had to try and correct them every time they made some irrefutably wrong assumption. He could feel his head pound miserably as his friends continued discussing his marriage.

"So what is the wife like?" Anthony, one of the Earls and a close friend, had asked when Weston settled beside him.

"She is fine. Thank you for asking." Weston had replied. He wasn't in the mood to talk about his wife. Not now and not ever. He hoped Anthony would take the hint, but he was wrong.

"I bet married life is sweeter now that you have an astonishingly breathtaking maiden by your side." George, another close friend of his, who overheard the slight conversation, asked, moving closer to Weston.

"I suppose." Weston replied. His eyes darted to Charles, who was sitting across the round table before him. His eyes pleaded for help. He wanted to leave. Charles seemed to understand the message behind his expressions and, using the same medium asked him to relax. This would all be over soon.

"You know who I thought you were going to get married to in the first place?" Anthony resumed, causing Weston's heart to rumble. "Lady Helena Waters. She was the perfect match for you. You would've had beautiful babies."

"Do not write off Lady Juliet. If she can maintain her looks during pregnancy, her child may come out as handsome as ever." George said, waving gently at Anthony.

"They don't always do, though, do they? I remember when my wife, Patricia, got pregnant with my second son. You could hardly distinguish her from a troll at night."

Weston felt noise pierce the back of his head.

"Lady Juliet is as slim as they come." George repeated. "If she is going to put on any weight when she gets pregnant, it will not affect her looks too much."

"Quiet." Weston muttered to himself. He was trying to say it out loud, but his pride would not let him.

"You never know. Women crave all kinds of food during that time. She may double in size." Anthony replied, gently tapping George. They shared a knowing smile.

"Quiet." Weston repeated, his voice still low. He couldn't bear this for much longer.

"Do you remember Elena? She started to fill out her gowns when her pregnancy reached only twenty weeks."

"Enough!" Weston finally found his voice and used it to the maximum.

George and Anthony exchanged confused expressions as they watched Weston rise from his seat.

"I will not sit here and let you two talk badly about my wife or any other woman in town. You should both be ashamed of yourselves."

"Weston—" Anthony called.

"No. I am going home, and that is it. I cannot bear this any longer." Weston replied. He threw a knowing look at Charles, who was also already up from his seat.

"Weston, this was not a serious matter. You do not have to leave just because of a few jokes." George said in his bid to calm him down.

"Your jokes are not to be made at the expense of my wife."

Weston felt gazes on him from several parts of the room as he excused himself and exited the building.

"Perhaps you could leave next time without making that much of a spectacle." Charles said, walking briskly behind him as they walked towards their horses.

"It does not look to me that there will be a next time. If this is how those men talk about women, about my wife, I do not think I would associate with them any longer."

"So let me get this straight." Charles said, hastening his steps as their horses appeared in sight. "You will not talk to your wife, yet you will jump at her rescue even when she is not there?"

"You say that like it is a bad thing." Weston questioned.

"It is not the best thing either." Charles said. They got to their horses and untied the ropes which were tied around the trees. "If you're going to be a fine husband, let your wife see it as well."

"One of these days, we will have to stroll through town in carriages. I am getting a bit tired of riding all the time." Weston said, his voice carefree and casual.

"You are not changing the subject." Charles said, his voice firm and solid. "If you're going to be a fine husband, be one in and out. Talk to your wife. Get close to her."

Weston grew silent as they both mounted their horses.

"You cannot stay guarded forever, Weston. Eliza's death was a tragedy, but it is time you moved on. You have a wife now, and in case you cannot tell, it feels like you keep punishing her for Eliza's death." Charles continued.

Weston felt a pang in his heart. His walls were still up, and he kept trying as much as possible to remain stoic. He couldn't bear to suffer another kind of heartbreak again.

"I know you think you're betraying her memory, but it has been six years. She would've wanted you to get married, too. She would want you to be happy as well."

Weston tugged gently at his rope, and his horse started to move. With the wind blowing gently through his hair as he began to gallop through the tired streets, he wondered if his friend had a point after all.