Chapter Fourteen

Thunderous clouds gathered in the sky the following day, casting a cool gloom on the manor and the fields around it. The occasional lightning flash seared into the clouds, and calm winds blew across the drylands, finding their way into Juliet's room.

Estelle tapped the door gently from the outside, announcing her presence before Juliet waved her in, her voice weak and her spirit exhausted. The last thing Estelle expected to see was her mistress lying on her bed with her face turned to the windows. She was still in her blue gown from the previous dinner. Her hair, on the other hand, had been unpacked and her gloves removed.

"Is anything the matter, milady?"

Juliet did not respond. Estelle moved closer.

"Are you alright?"

Again, silence. Estelle walked to the other side of the bed, where Juliet's face came into view. A wave of pity swam up her face once she saw how red Juliet's eyes were.

She had been crying all night.

"I'm a useless wife." Juliet lamented, her voice on the brink of fading.

Estelle said nothing for a while. This was delicate. She didn't want to say anything that would upset Juliet even more.

"I need to apply the ointment on your hand, milady." Estelle called. Her eyes darted to the dresser beside the bed and landed on the tiny vial. "We need your hand to heal as soon as possible."

"Good. It has to." Juliet responded, the weakness in her voice still evident. "Because I intend to go to the garden this morning."

"Milady, I do not think that is—"

"You cannot stop me, Estelle." Juliet retorted, her voice fully loaded.

A moment of silence passed between them, and Juliet shifted on the bed.

"Let me at least take a look at your hand." Estelle called.

Juliet drew a long sigh and finally rose. Estelle watched her mistress slowly place her feet on the floor and raise herself from the bed. She studied Juliet's face. Marks of the untidied sheets rested across the right side.

"Lady Beatrice all but called me useless last night." Juliet started once Estelle made her way to the bath. The ritual was practically ingrained in the back of her brain at this point. Her maid fetched a clean bowl of water, ran her hand through the water, and applied the ointment and a fresh change of cloth. While the pain had significantly reduced, it still stung her from time to time.

"I am so sorry that you had to face that, milady." Estelle said, starting the ritual.

"Anne said Helena Waters was who Weston was supposed to marry. Lady Beatrice had it all arranged, but Weston was uninterested."

"Really?"

"And last night was some sort of comeback. Her way of lashing out at me for standing in the way of her son's happiness because of some—scandal."

Estelle looked over at the other side of the bed. It looked slept in, but she couldn't be too sure.

"Where is Lord Weston?"

"He snuck out before I could wake up this morning. I bet he feels just as bad as I do."

"Hm. I bet he does."

The skies continued to darken even more, and gentle thunder rippled across the clouds.

"Are you really sure this is the best idea, milady? Going out in this weather? It might rain soon."

"If I have to stay in this room longer than necessary, I might cease to breathe. Weston went for a ride before breakfast. I need something to clear my head too."

Estelle nodded. "Very well."

Soon, the treatment on Juliet's hand had been completed.

"You are not useless. I hope you know that." Estelle called, grabbing the bowl. "You are far from it."

"It's hard not to feel different about that. This whole thing had been a disaster from the start. The marriage, this life, this house. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You know that."

Estelle sighed. "And look. You've managed to make the best of a bad situation, at least as much as you could. Do you think that makes you useless? Or anything that comes close to that?"

Estelle turned to look at the fields outside the window. She stared at the dry stems swaying to the gentle winds, at the giant oak tree dancing to the tune of the breeze.

"I need you to alert me whenever Lady Beatrice is ready to come out of her room."

"Breakfast will be ready soon. It shouldn't take time."

"Great. I need to make it out of here before then."

"You won't attend breakfast?"

"I can't—" Juliet froze, choking back hot sobs again. "I can't face her after what she said about me last night. I need time. I need time on my own."

Estelle stared at Juliet, the pity she once felt for her mistress swimming up to the surface again. Juliet deserved none of this. She had always been a kind-hearted spirit. Seeing Lady Beatrice slowly starting to break it caused a pang in Estelle's heart. She was determined to do whatever it was for Juliet. Whatever was going to make her happy, she would be sure to do it.

"I shall be on the lookout, milady." she finally said.

Another flash of lightning breezed through the dark clouds, as if adding weight to Estelle's words.

***

The thunderous clouds continued to roar even louder as Weston rode into the stables. As usual, a ride around town to clear his head was always in order every morning, this one more than usual. He couldn't bear to look Juliet in the eyes this morning, especially. He felt weak, having sat there the entire dinner, unable to do anything. He had to listen to the duchess and his mother throw snide remarks and antics at his wife throughout. Charles had been the one who had managed to keep him restrained. It would not reflect well on him if he had tried to defend his wife before them the previous night.

He got off his horse and headed towards the manor, yanking his gloves off his hands as he neared the entrance, anger still lingering in the back of his mind.

"My Lord." Alfred, the footman, greeted as he walked inside. "Welcome back."

Weston waved in response. "Thank you."

He walked across the halls and towards his drawing room. Perhaps he could sit in silence for a while and wallow in his misery.

"Weston!" He heard Anne call just as he grabbed the doorknob. "Mother has asked you to appear for breakfast."

She was standing near the staircase, already in full breakfast wear. Her maid was slightly helping her adjust her hair.

"No." Weston replied, his voice surprisingly pristine. "I shall eat on my own today. Thank you very much."

"You have to come eat with us." Anne called again. Weston could hear the nuanced plea in her voice, but he wasn't determined to give it any audience.

"I do not want to. Not after what happened last night."

"Weston—" Anne called, moving closer to her brother. Her maid tried following, but she gestured for her to stay back.

"I cannot eat alone with her. Please. You need to appear."

Weston frowned in surprise. "Juliet is not at the table?"

"Can you blame her? She had to listen to all of that last night. If it were me, I would do the exact same."

Weston contemplated the idea for a while and shuffled his feet. She was probably in her room, too ashamed to make an appearance. He blamed his mother sorely for everything. The lingering anger he had been carrying with him suddenly started to grow.

"Please." Anne continued, gently grabbing her brother's arm. "You cannot leave me in there with her."

"Fine. But only for a few minutes." Weston responded. Anne wore the most grateful smile on her face and slackened her grip on Weston.

"Thank you. I already asked Estelle to take the food up to Juliet's room. The only thing we can give her now is space."

Weston exhaled. "I agree."

He looked at the door to the drawing room, feeling the tiny freedom he thought he would have get pulled away from him, again.

Maybe some other time.

"I shall join you soon." He said again. Anne nodded and walked away from him. For a while, Weston thought of heading to his room to meet Juliet. Maybe he could go give her some form of comfort. What would that even look like for both of them? He had tried his best not to talk to her too much since her accident. As he headed to the dining room, memories of the fateful day played in his head, how he had reached for her as she fell. How his heart had stopped for a second once he saw the cut on her hand.

How he had let down the walls around his heart and let himself get vulnerable for a tiny moment.

He pulled a chair and lowered himself into it. His mother was sitting adjacent to him, gently cutting off the skin off her chicken with a small knife. Anne was on the other side, slicing a piece of her bread.

Eerie and tense silence dominated the dining room. Aside from the sounds of spoons and knives against plates, nothing could be heard. Weston took several glances at his mother, seeing if he could find some remorse in her expression.

He found nothing of the sort, and it made him even more upset.

"Fine weather today, is it not?"

Lady Beatrice looked up at her daughter. "Are you blind or deaf? You do not see the clouds or hear the thunderstorm?"

Anne swallowed. "I was only meaning to make conversation."

"Then, be factual. It looks like rain." Lady Beatrice retorted.

"Well, nothing bad with a little rain." Anne said.

Silence, again. Weston turned to look at Anne. Her attempt to cut the tension surrounding the table had been futile. He was wondering how long it would take him to remove himself from this setting appropriately. He bit a part of his fruit. Perhaps he could leave a few minutes later.

"I see your wife is unable to attend breakfast." Lady Beatrice said.

Weston said nothing. He was better off saying nothing. Instead, he continued to eat his fruit.

"I've had her food taken to her, so it is no matter." Anne replied on his behalf. Weston threw his sister a blank stare. She responded with a clueless shrug.

"Is that so?" Lady Beatrice asked, grabbing a cup of water.

"Cease your actions, Mother." Weston warned, his voice dangerously low. He was not ready to have a repeat of the previous night.

"Cease what? Am I not allowed to find it odd that your wife has refused to come down to eat?"

"Indeed, given the reckless behaviour you exhibited last evening, you can't really blame her now, can you?" Weston asked, grabbing a cup of coffee.

He could feel the anger in his body swimming to the surface. All it needed was a match. One he was most definitely sure his mother would be willing to provide. The clouds outside continued to rumble.

"It is not my fault that your wife has such a delicate constitution. If her feeble personality wouldn't allow her to grace us with her appearance, why am I the one getting the blame?" Lady Beatrice said.

And just like that, the match was lit. Weston slammed his cup on the table, causing some of the hot coffee to spill.

"What is this, huh?" He asked.

"Weston—" Anne called.

"Why have you been trying so hard to antagonise Juliet?" Weston's voice drowned out Anne's.

Lady Beatrice turned to look at her son, an expression of contempt written all over her face.

"Are you out of your mind? What makes you think you can speak to me this way?"

Weston's brow furrowed. "Did I stutter, mother? Answer me."

"Can we all just—" Anne tried to break into the conversation one more time.

"I am your mother. You shall cease to speak to me in that manner this instant!" Beatrice said, her voice booming across the halls.

"Not if you keep coming after my wife." Weston replied, his voice unwavering. He was always wary of standing up to his mother. Up till now, he'd always been one to keep quiet and take her remarks. It was the better way to ensure the conversation died quickly without any form of escalation.

Not today.

Today, he would refuse to take any more slanderous accusations against his wife. Today, he would stand up to his mother and call her out.

Today, he would speak.

"It is best you return to your food and keep eating, Weston." Beatrice continued.

"No. I shall not. You have been after her since the wedding."

"I would not call that disgraceful event a wedding."

"I do not care! She is my wife. When are you going to understand that you can't just make bad remarks at her or ambush her with horrendous dinner guests."

"You will transfer your aggression to the Duke and Duchess of Thornewood now?"

"Again, mother, this is not about them. This is about you. You have refused to resign to the fact that I am married, and there is nothing more to do about it."

"Weston, please—" Anne tried to call again, but her efforts apparently were no help. The conversation was heating up, and someone needed to back down soon enough. She knew it wouldn't be her mother.

"Do not try to play this game with me. You know very well I never intended for you to get yourself attached to a wallflower. Now she walks across the halls of the manor, attaching herself to the most frivolous activities."

Weston exhaled, his anger expeditiously growing. "Really, Mother? This is about the garden?"

"Among other things, yes."

Weston pressed his fingers against his forehead. His mother had seen him discussing with Mr. Brown the day after Juliet's injury. She had heard him ask the horticulturist to help deliver the flowers so Juliet could grow them once she cleared it up. He knew she wasn't pleased with his decision, but he didn't think it was enough to warrant the dinner from hell.

"She loves the garden. Why would I deny her the pleasure of tending to it?"

"When has this ever been about Juliet's pleasure? She managed to rope a respectable member of the society into a scandal and got married to him just to protect her dignity. I would say that is enough pleasure for her."

"So that is why you invited Lady Helena and her parents last night? To sneer and laugh at her?"

Lady Beatrice chuckled, her voice laced with contempt. "You still do not understand, do you? The whole reason I brought Lady Helena here was for you. I needed you to see what you could've had if you hadn't been so stupidly naive and immensely stubborn."

Anne felt a gasp escape her mouth.

Weston's eyes widened. Of course, the dinner was never meant to ambush Juliet alone. His mother had set a trap for him, too.

"Again, mother. I am not interested in Lady Helena."

"Oh, but you are interested in the wallflower, is that it?"

Weston froze. He wanted to speak, but the words weren't coming out.

"That's what I thought. At least with Lady Helena, you would've had a wife whose attributes was befitting of a proper Marchioness."

"Enough!" Weston roared, banging his fists on the table as hard as he could. He could see his mother and sister flinch at the act.

"I will not sit here and listen to you cast vile accusations against my wife just because she wasn't the person you intended for me."

"Mother. Weston, please—" Anne called, raising her voice slightly higher than before.

"You know, why does it even matter anyway? Ever since Eliza died, you have done all you could to set me up with people you deemed suitable."

"It is not my fault you couldn't properly connect with these women."

"Or maybe I just didn't want them. Has that thought ever crossed your mind?"

"You do not know what you want even if it was sitting right in front of you. Yesterday's dinner proved that."

"I would have you know that Juliet has remained way too patient with you." Weston railed. "She has shown far more honour and respect than any of those vile creatures you wanted me to be with in the first place."

"I do not care about her honour and respect. The best match for you would've been Helena if you had listened to me, and last night was a reminder of that."

Hot blood pumped hard into Weston's brain. A realization came to him in that instant. He didn't have to sit down and take his mother's words. He rose from his chair and dropped his spoon.

"You are not walking out of here." Beatrice called.

Weston turned just as he reached the entrance and stretched out his hands. "Watch me!"

He turned and bumped harshly into Alfred, the footman.

"Apologies, my lord." Alfred pleaded, moving out of the way.

He wanted to apologize, too, but he was too worked up. Instead, he loudly huffed and stalked out of the manor.