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Chapter Thirteen

"Will your wife be joining us, my lord?" the Duke asked, watching Weston's feet continue to remain bolted to the floor.

Weston forced a smile. "Absolutely, your Grace"

"She has nothing doing anyway. Unless you count tending to what used to be a garden near the walls."

Weston felt his heart drop. In that particular moment, it hit him like a heap of bricks. His mother had invited these people to make fun of his wife. He wondered how long he would have to listen to every snide remark and nasty comment before he would break.

A maid stepped into the drawing room and took a slight bow, her eyes fixed on Lady Beatrice.

"Dinner is ready." She announced.

"Well, shall we?" Lady Beatrice called, rising from her chair. The others followed. As they headed to the dining hall, Helena turned to look at him. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. That would create an even more awkward situation. Instead, he threw her a polite smile. She did the same. He wondered just how much she knew about what was happening this evening. Was she also part of those intending to make jest of his wife? He had not interacted much with Lady Helena. Most of their conversations have either been in ballrooms and dances. She did not appear to him as someone who would do such things. Perhaps he had judged her a bit too quickly.

"Food is not going to eat itself, Weston."

Weston's eyes darted across the halls. Charles was walking right behind him. He had loosened his waistcoat and had a wary expression on his face.

"Do not indulge them, Weston. No matter what happens at dinner. Do not try to go rogue. It's exactly what your mother wants."

Weston scoffed. He was not thinking about himself. He just realized he'd not been doing that.

He'd been thinking about Juliet. How this was all going to affect her.

"Do you hear me? Do not try to argue with anyone." Charles continued.

"It is bad manners to keep the guests waiting like this. They're here to see you." Beatrice called from the dining hall one more time. Charles gave Weston a reassuring pat on his back as they proceeded to the table. Wearing the strained smile on his face again, Charles acknowledged Lady Helena's parents and went to find his seat.

"Lady Beatrice." Charles called, pulling a chair. "You look younger with each passing day."

"Thank you, Charles. Tell Imogene I will ride to see her soon. As you can see, I have been otherwise occupied."

"Very well." Charles responded.

"Where's Juliet?" Weston asked, looking around the table. Each person has a portion of food placed on plates before them. Right before him was an empty chair, saved for his wife. Beside the empty chair sat Helena. His mother had made the seating arrangements. This was deliberate.

"I already asked her maid to fetch her from her chambers. I wonder what is taking her so long. Last I remember, she has no child to attend to."

Weston swallowed. He could feel Helena's gaze on him even before he turned to her. She had a worried expression on her face.

"You should start thinking of children, Lord Weston. Offspring will alleviate some of the scandal you are currently facing." The Duke started once spoons started to clink against plates.

"That is true. Having children will probably make your wife gain back some of the respect she has lost." The Duchess added.

Weston grabbed a fork and squeezed it as tight as he could. "I shall take your words under advisement, your Grace."

His eyes darted towards Charles. The same wary expression he had given earlier rested on his face.

"Don't." Charles mouthed.

"This is a lovely feast, Lady Beatrice." Helena commented, majorly out of necessity.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it." Lady Beatrice responded.

Weston sighed. This was a desperate attempt by his mother to rile him up, that much was obvious. But did she have to drag Juliet into it? She had been nothing but gentle and strong throughout the situation.

He thought back to Juliet's injury and how he had been there just in time to save her. He wondered if she would have survived the fall were there no one to catch her. Flashbacks of Eliza's fall flickered through his mind.

But then, if he hadn't startled her, her feet wouldn't have slipped from the ladder.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Juliet appeared with her maid standing right behind her. Her dark hair was nearly packed with a giant clip. She was in a long blue gown embroidered with laces at the bottom. Her hands were covered with elbow gloves of the same color, and they held a large handkerchief rather tightly. Weston felt a slight drop in his heartbeat. She looked stunning. His eyes remained on her as she walked to the other end of the table and pulled a chair.

"I apologise for the tardiness, everyone. I had an urgent matter to attend to." She said, pulling off her gloves once she had settled down.

Weston's eyes continued to remain on her. He watched her pull her plate closer and grab a spoon.

"So glad you could join us, Juliet." Lady Beatrice said, her voice cutting through his thoughts like a knife on butter.

***

Juliet drew strong and long breaths as her maid tightened her corset, trying to shelve the panic threatening to burst through the seams of her composure.

"Do you need me to tighten it more than this?"

"No it's fine."

She stared at the long mirror right in front of her, trying hard to draw back the tears forming behind her eyes.

This was a test, and there was no other way to say it. Lady Beatrice had called those people to come see how she was, what she did.

What she did not do.

"Where is Weston?" She asked, freely drawing her palms across her gown. "It looks like he is running late."

"He should be here soon." Estelle responded, her voice reassuring. "Now, you need to get out there. Lady Beatrice is probably concocting all forms of stories about you right now."

Her maid was right. She had been summoned a little over ten minutes ago and had yet to leave her room. If this was a test, she was already failing it.

"Are you sure you do not want me to tighten your corset any harder, milady?"

"It's fine. I need space to breathe when it all becomes too—" Juliet trailed off. Estelle understood. She stood near the mirror herself, and her eyes swept through Juliet's dress through the mirror. It was the most magnificent shade of blue. She had spent a lot of time working on Juliet's hair as well. All circumstances considered, Estelle was satisfied with the outcome.

"I better go." Juliet said. She took one last look at herself and headed out, with Estelle walking right behind her.

"So, have you spoken to Lord Charles yet?" Juliet asked as they walked down the hallway leading to the dining room

"No, milady. I tried talking to him the other day, but he couldn't stop looking at me. It was quite strange." Estelle replied

"Is that so?" Juliet asked, a tiny smile flashing across her face. One Estelle couldn't see.

"Yes. I shall keep trying anyway." Estelle responded. They got to the dining room entrance, and from a distance, Juliet could see the number of people surrounding the table. She could see the guests, all clad in their heavy outfits. She could see Weston. She could see—

"Oh, look. Lord Charles is joining us for dinner after all."

Estelle didn't reply, and Juliet didn't wait for her to. She stepped into the dining room and instantly felt all eyes land on her as she made her way to her chair.

"I apologise for the tardiness, everyone. I had an urgent matter to attend to." She said, lowering herself onto her seat.

"So glad you could join us, Juliet." Lady Beatrice said, her voice breaking through her senses as she grabbed her plate.

Let the games begin.

Juliet's eyes scanned the room one more time. Anne had briefed her a few moments ago that morning, so she knew who everyone was.

The Duke was bald and took a lot of effort in his appearance. His beard was neatly shaped, and his shirt was well-designed. The Duchess, on the other hand, was as simple as they come. Her dress was unremarkable, and her thick brown hair was woven around a green lace headband. Her eyes darted to their daughter, Helena.

Now, she was beautiful. Juliet could admit that. Her hazel eyes gleamed as she spoke quietly to her mother. Her face was shaped in a way reserved for portraits. Her dress was the same as her mother's—a plain green and hair woven around a headband.

Her mother-in-law dressed down for the occasion. Her gown was embroidered with different designs and weighed down rather funnily on her partly frail frame. She did not look at her for long. She didn't want to.

"Say, Bernadette. I heard Lady Henrietta got married to that Lord from Hoskin. Is that true?" Beatrice asked her voice, an indicator of the eerie silence surrounding the table.

"Yes." The Duchess replied, gently placing her spoon on the table. "I heard from Lady Violet that he had mistakenly ripped off her dress at his father's funeral."

Juliet felt a shudder run through her body at the mention of Lady Violet's name. She looked up at Weston. He seemed to share the same discomfort. His pale blue eyes were on her as well. She must have been reading way too much into it because she could have sworn they seemed to communicate some form of reassurance.

"Quite unfortunate." Beatrice responded.

"Not for Henrietta. You know how lonesome she can be. This was a happy accident for her. She wouldn't have gotten a husband otherwise."

"Really? There seems to be a new strategy among wallflower spinsters, wouldn't you say? They seem to find some scandal to surround them so they can latch on to whatever responsible Lord or Earl comes their way." Beatrice said.

The food in Juliet's mouth froze.

"Now, who are we to judge?" The Duchess called.

"Just people who got their husbands through the proper channels."

Bernadette chuckled loudly, grating Juliet's ears even more. The tears had returned to her eyes again. She saw Helena shift in her seat. This was not delightful to her either.

"Mother, is this really necessary?" Anne called, her voice sharp and deliberate.

"You do not speak when grown women are talking, young lady." The Duke said, throwing her a dirty look. Anne retreated into her shell and turned back to her food. Juliet couldn't bear to look at Weston. She feared she would be able to tell his thoughts just from his face."

"I wonder how long marriages like that can go on for if the husband and the wife have nothing in common." Bernadette continued, ignoring the apparent tension sweeping across the table like a plague.

"Children are the saving grace of wives like that. Without children, they are just as useless as crippled maids." Lady Beatrice continued.

And just like that, Juliet could not stop the tears. They flowed down her face like waterfalls. She tried as much as possible not to let it show, even as she reached into her pocket for a handkerchief. She dabbed her face gently and stifled a sniff. This wasn't right. None of it was.

She stuffed her handkerchief into her pocket and raised her head to look at Weston.

He was already looking at her.

And he was irate. She could tell from how tight he gripped his spoon. She could tell, from his eyes, that the anger was not meant for her. It was meant for his mother for organizing such a preposterous charade. A slight wave of pride flashed across her heart at the thought.

He was angry.

And it wasn't directed at her. It was for her.

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