Chapter Twelve

Juliet sucked in harsh air through her teeth, causing Estelle to retreat.

"I haven't even touched it." Estelle started, finding amusement in the entire situation.

"Just—be careful. It hurts." Juliet replied, watching Estelle reach for her hand one more time.

It was nightfall and time for Estelle to apply Irene's ointment on the cut across Juliet's palm. Estelle had been trying to get the cloth tied around her hand off for a while, but Juliet wouldn't let her.

"You would think, milady, that of all the injuries I've nursed for you back in Willowbrook, this wouldn't be a challenge." Estelle said, reaching for the cloth again, wary of Juliet's movement.

"You would think, wouldn't you?" Juliet responded. Her eyes were closely fixed on her maid as she slowly unwrapped her hand.

"And you say he took you to the apothecary."

"Yes."

"Him. Lord Weston."

"You don't think I would recognise my own husband?" Juliet asked.

"I don't think any of us do, if he did as you say. Where did the nobility come from?"

Estelle brought a bowl of clean water closer to Juliet's hand after removing the cloth. Slowly, she lowered her mistress's wounded hand into the bowl and let the water run through it.

"You should have seen his face, Estelle." Juliet continued, ignoring the slight stings the water gave her. "It was pure terror. It was like he thought I was going to die."

"Then he would not have survived seeing you in the garden back home. Do you remember how you got your knee badly scraped while tending to the lilies?"

"Like yesterday." Juliet responded, feeling a wave of memories, both pleasant and unpleasant, swim into her mind. She had finished her daily work and was just about to leave. As she moved towards the garden's exit, a row of unattended flowers caught her eye. She decided to take care of them before she left. As she knelt to touch the flowers, her leg slipped off the rocky pavement, and she fell straight on her face, dangerously bruising her knee in the process.

"Your father was angry. He had almost every physician in town coming over to check you." Estelle said, grabbing the vial from the bedstand after getting rid of the water.

"He was scared I may get caught with the fever." Juliet responded, her voice followed by tense silence. For a minute, she wondered if Weston had the same worry as well. Did he have someone in his past who had died from the fever? Well, apart from the former Marchioness?

"You are one of the strongest persons I know." Estelle said. She was back in front of Juliet and was slowly applying the ointment to her palm. Juliet ground her teeth hard, trying to absorb the sharp, biting pain from the ointment.

"You're doing great, milady." Estelle commended, applying one last dab.

"Perhaps there is a space in Weston's heart for love after all. He may not wish to speak to me, but he saved me today."

"Ah, yes. The gentleman." Estelle responded, the mild disdain in her voice immensely palpable.

Juliet shook her head. "Do not be like that, Estelle."

"Well, is he still the doting man he once was after the injury?"

Juliet grew silent.

Estelle nodded. "That's what I thought. Perhaps a broken arm may cause him to have more time to speak with you next time."

"Estelle!" Juliet warned with a slight smile on her face. "I know it may not look like it. I didn't even know this until today but he does care for me. In his own aloof, stony way, he truly does."

"Hm." Estelle remarked. "There may be a place of warmth in that ice palace known as your husband after all."

"There may be." Juliet responded.

Estelle wrapped a fresh sash of cloth around Juliet's hand after letting the ointment sit for a while.

"Will you go to the garden tomorrow, milady?"

Juliet sighed. "Perhaps not. It will be wise to let the wound heal for a while."

Estelle nodded and rose from the floor. "Very well, milady. I was afraid I would have to douse your food in sleep medicine."

"Then, I would not have to face Lady Beatrice." Juliet replied. As Estelle opened her mouth to speak, a knock came from the door.

Juliet exchanged confused glances with her maid. "Lady Beatrice?"

"I do not think so. She does not knock. It is probably Lady Anne." Estelle replied. She headed to the door and, without wasting time, pulled it open.

Anne appeared in a light green gown and her wavy dark hair down. It was apparent she was gearing up for sleep.

"Anne?"

"How are you feeling?" Anne asked, walking in almost instantly. "I heard Irene gave you some of the hard stuff."

In response, Juliet raised her wounded hand and bared her teeth in a giant smile.

"You must have been scared, falling off the ladder." Anne said, lowering herself onto the bed beside Juliet.

"Well, not as scared as my husband was." Juliet responded, her voice floaty.

"Yes. I heard. He must have been scared that you would end up like—" Anne started and froze halfway.

Juliet frowned in confusion. "End up like who?"

Anne shook her head, regret scrawled all over her face. "Forgive me. I was not supposed to tell you that."

Juliet's mind traveled to the day she had taken a trip down the Estfield halls with Anne. She had tried to make mention of someone as well but stopped halfway. What couldn't she tell her? What was she hiding? Who was it that made Weston so afraid of seeing her hurt?

"That is not why I am here anyway." Anne said, breaking into her thoughts. "I have come to warn you."

"Warn me?"

"Yes." Anne continued, lowering her voice. Her eyes darted to the door. It was shut.

"Mother plans to have a private dinner here tomorrow."

"A dinner?" Juliet asked.

"Yes. At least that is what she will say to you tomorrow morning. But believe me, it is far from private."

The confusion on Juliet's face continued to grow. "So it is not private?"

"I heard her ask someone to send word to a certain couple in town. Now, I do not know who, but they are arriving tomorrow. She does not want anyone to know about it beforehand, which means, whoever it is, they are not just coming for the smoked chicken." Anne continued, hurrying through her words like a thief being chased.

"And you do not know who they are? Does Weston know?"

"I do not believe he does." Anne replied.

Juliet felt her mind start to crowd. Was this one of the things her sister-in-law had warned her about before she left home?

"I just came to tell you—be prepared." Anne continued. "Mother may pull some surprises tomorrow, and I don't want you to look clueless."

Juliet nodded in gratitude, although the question continued to ring true in the back of her head.

Who was coming to dinner?

***

Before Juliet could wake up the following day, Weston had slipped out of the room and to the stables. Steadying his feet and ensuring he woke none of the servants, he managed to stalk across the halls and towards the entrance. The calm morning winds blew softly against the window sills and caused them to rattle slowly. He took one last look at his cravat, acknowledging the fact that he was dressed enough to ride into town, and continued to advance to the manor's entrance.

"My lord?" A sharp, firm voice had called, right as he reached for the doorknob. It didn't belong to Juliet. It most definitely wasn't his mother, and Anne would rather lick every crevice of the manor before addressing him properly. He turned slowly and came face to face with the voice's owner.

Estelle.

She was in a long white gown, just like the other maids in the manor. Her hands were gently on each other before her, and she made a slight curtsy.

"Uh—" Weston whispered, freezing. For some reason, he felt like a dog caught with stolen meat in its mouth.

"Is there anything you would like me to help you with?" Estelle asked once a substantial moment of silence had passed between them.

Weston shuffled his feet. "Not at the moment, no."

Estelle narrowed her eyes. "Shall I fetch Lady Julie—"

"No. God. Please, no." Weston cut her off. "I am only trying to take a walk around the manor before the day fully breaks. I do not want to be a bother."

Weston saw it. The judgment in her eyes. The words lying just on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said. She was Juliet's personal handmaid. If Charles was right, Juliet told her everything. As Estelle's sharp green eyes continued to pierce into him, Weston wondered just how much she knew about his married life with Juliet. Did she know about their relationship? Their bedroom activities, or lack of it?

Was she ready to lash at him with scalding words like water on a hot kettle?

"Very well, my Lord." Estelle replied, curtsying one more time. Weston sighed and turned to the entrance one more time. Still feeling her piercing gaze on the back of his neck, he pulled the doors open and closed them behind him.

Later that evening, he was riding back to Estfield with Charles, narrating all that had happened.

Charles used his free hand to push his brown hair back as the wind continued to trudge through it.

"So, she did nothing to stop you, the maid?" Charles asked.

"No. You would presume that strange, wouldn't you?"

"Or she doesn't have the power to stop you even if she desperately wanted to. You didn't have the gall to face your wife when she woke up, so you snuck out. If she could beat you, she would." Charles said.

"She is fierce." Weston continued.

"I have seen Estelle around the halls. She was always meek and gentle. It is nice to know she has a fierce side to her."

Weston threw Charles a surprised smirk.

"What does that mean?"

"It means we will no longer be discussing this." Charles replied, his voice solid. Weston smiled and intensified his riding speed.

"Does this mean you're ready to let go of Eliza after all?" Charles asked after a while.

"It is not that easy." Weston replied.

"I know, but so is life." Charles said, just as the manor came into view. A few more minutes and they will be washing their hands at the stables.

"Mother is arranging a private dinner tonight. You must attend."

Weston expected Charles to counter with another proposal or announce that he had another engagement. It shocked him mildly when he agreed.

"Are you sure?" Weston asked, turning to his friend. "The maids do not eat with us, so Estelle won't be there."

"Keep this up, and you will not have a friend by daybreak."

Weston stifled a chuckle.

They continued to ride in comfortable and slowed-down silence. The servants got the horses from them as they climbed down and proceeded to the manor.

"Charles is joining us tonight." Weston announced as he got closer to the drawing room. He could see his mother sitting in the distance, facing two people he couldn't recognize from afar.

"That is wonderful. The more the merrier." Lady Beatrice replied.

Charles frowned as he got closer. More?

"I thought this was a private dinner, is it not?"

"Well, there isn't much we can do when guests decide to grace us with their presence, now, is there?" Lady Beatrice said again. Weston shifted the remainder of the curtain, blocking his view once he got close enough to do so.

He could see the three guests perfectly now, and the amused intrigue he once had disappeared from his face.

"Weston, I assume you remember the Duke and Duchess of Thornewood?" Lady Beatrice asked, gesturing towards the guests.

Weston comported himself instantly and made a slight bow. The Duke and the Duchess did the same in response from their seats.

"And, of course, their daughter." Beatrice continued, gesturing towards the last guest on the edge of the long sofa.

"Lady Helena Waters."

Weston bowed again and watched Helena do the same.

"You said Charles was joining us for dinner, didn't you? Well, where is he? We shall start soon."

Weston frowned, the confusion on his face growing by the minute.

What was his mother up to?