Chapter Twenty

Breakfast the morning after Lady Beatrice's grand ball was the equivalent of an eerie calm after the storm. Thick silence prevailed as spoons clinked against plates and cups against teapots. It was apparent there was a lot to be said, but no one was going to throw the first stone. Weston sat opposite Juliet, stealing furtive glances at her every chance he could get. Now that he had started to see her in a new light, he couldn't take his eyes off her for long. Juliet, on the other hand, kept trying to relive the memories in her head over and over again. Her dance with Weston had been the highlight of her day. He had held her with such grace and firmness that she had felt her stomach flutter. He had made her feel like she was the only woman in the room with his eyes. He had been so intimate and so telling with his eyes. She never wanted the night to end, but like all good things, nay, like magnificent things, it had to.

"Anne." Beatrice called breaking into Juliet's thoughts like fragile glass. "I noticed you were dancing with a certain gentleman last night. Do I know him?"

Anne frowned. "No. I do not think you do."

"Well, we're going to have to change that, aren't we? If I don't know him, that means he couldn't possibly be up to any good."

"Or, you just don't know him because he didn't want to be known?"

"Somehow, that is even worse. Did you at least get his name?"

"Ferdinand." Anne replied. "He's an Earl in South London."

"Hm." Beatrice replied, the obvious caution still laid in her voice. "Whatever happens, I need you to be careful. Do not get married to a lowlife or a wallflower. It would be a shame if that was all we could nail in this house."

Juliet swallowed. She knew it was only a matter of time before the conversation became about her in one way or another.

"Men can't be wallflowers." Weston said, his mouth full.

"You sound incredibly ignorant." Anne replied.

"That reminds me." Beatrice said, turning to look at Juliet. "Your father and his son left earlier than usual last night. Do you happen to have a reason for that?"

Juliet tightened her grip on her spoon. She had a myriad of reasons, of course, the most significant one being the fact that her husband had come to her defense with Adam. She was not ready to let Beatrice know that, though. It would be a fact she would be able to secretly relish with Weston.

"I am afraid I haven't the faintest idea. They most likely needed to retire for the night."

"Really. That is it?" Beatrice asked. "No other reason?"

Weston raised his head to look at her. She was beginning to grow inconvenient by his mother's questions, he could tell.

Juliet shrugged. "I do not know."

Flashes of her slight encounter with her father after her dance with Weston floated through her brain. He said nothing to her apart from "I hope you're well." Juliet could tell her father was still sore about the wedding and how it had happened. She could tell he was hurting from how much she had tainted his and the house's reputation. She didn't admit to herself just how much of a relief it had been to watch her father climb back into the carriage and ride back to Willowbrook until now.

"That is quite unfortunate." Beatrice said. "I was hoping they could stay just a little bit longer so I could talk to them even more."

"Mother, what are you doing?" Weston said, his voice overpowering Beatrice's as he placed his cup on the table.

Beatrice feigned ignorance. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, mother. First, you taunt Juliet by springing her family on her out of nowhere. Then you make her face them with no preparation whatsoever."

"I did not know I needed to ask for her permission before inviting guests to my party."

"Those guests are her family. The ones who were not happy with her because of what happened. You can't possibly be so cruel, mother."

"Enough of that!" Beatrice said, shrinking her son with a withering look. "You shall cease to speak to me in this manner."

"I shall give you the respect you deserve once you start to do the same to Juliet." Weston said, his voice floaty.

"I give her the respect she deserves." Beatrice said, turning to look at Juliet, utter contempt written on her face.

Juliet felt all the blood drain from her face just with that one look from Beatrice. She turned back to her food and continued to stab her meat with the fork. Weston noticed almost instantly.

"If you think the respect she deserves is what you give her, you and I have nothing more to discuss."

Beatrice turned to her son, who was already beginning to turn red from anger. "I am your mother, Weston."

"And I am the head of this house!" Weston proclaimed, slamming his coffee cup on the table. It shattered almost instantly, causing every other woman around him to flinch, including Juliet. "You always seem to forget that somehow."

"Weston—"

"I shall take this no longer. The judgment, the meddling, all of it stops now. Today."

"You're bleeding." Anne announced, her voice a convenient break into the tense argument. Juliet's eyes shifted towards Weston's hand. Blood was slightly seeping down from a cut around his right knuckle.

"Let us find something for that." Juliet said, springing into action almost instantly. The shattered coffee cup continued to rest on the table as she grabbed his wounded hand.

"Juliet, it is no big deal—"

"You're wounded. We'll find something for it. Come now."

With Beatrice's discerning gaze continuing to rest on them, Juliet held on to Weston and quietly led him out of the dining room.