Chapter Twenty-Two

Weston stepped back into the manor, leaving Juliet to enjoy her flowers for the time being. He headed up to his room, looking to have a change of clothes and go for a ride later in the afternoon. As he stalked across the halls and walked past the drawing room, he heard his mother's rather recognizable laughter.

"I did not have the heart to tell her. That dress was outrageous." He heard his mother say as he moved closer to the door.

"She would have to find another dressmaker, I'm sure." Anne's gentle voice floated through the room as well.

Weston twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, coming face to face with his mother and his sister, engaged in a casual conversation.

"I need to speak with Mother." He said, stepping inside completely.

Anne and Beatrice exchanged confused expressions. Weston turned impatiently to his sister.

"Alone, Anne." He said. Anne nodded and rose from her seat, floated past them, and headed out the door.

"Juliet just got her roses." Weston said the minute his sister exited the room.

"What?" Beatrice asked, completely oblivious.

"I asked Mr Brown to deliver some roses to her for the garden. She just got them this afternoon."

"I did not know she was expecting roses in the first place. That is good for her, I suppose."

"You need to have seen her face when she saw them, mother. It was like she had been blessed with life itself. She loved it so much she had to scream out of joy. Did you hear me? Scream."

"It is good to know something as frivolous and patronising as flowers makes your wife as happy as that."

"No. No. You do not get me." Weston said. He moved closer and placed his hands on the chair opposite Beatrice, the one Anne had to vacate. "She was that excited over roses because she is a light soul. She doesn't harbour grudges. She is kind, full of light, peace, and integrity. She is a walking example of a perfect human being. And that is the person you choose to continuously belittle and mock at every turn."

"You're raising your voice again, Weston. I told you I would not take that anymore."

"I am tired of this, mother." Weston continued. "I am tired of having to listen to you criticise my wife constantly. It stops today. Do you hear me? Everything stops."

"She is only your wife because she had to be." Beatrice said, her words a slap across Weston's heart. "There is nothing between the two of you except the great sense of duty and the shame we needed to cover."

"It is more than that now. I am in love with her now, and I would not listen to you disparage her anymore."

Beatrice rose from her chair, her sharp features twisting in both surprise and contempt. "You do not mean that."

"Believe me. I mean it more than anything. And if you continue to make my wife feel bad about herself, I shall take action and leave."

Beatrice blanked. "What?"

He told his mother, at that moment, of his house out of town. He told her about the coziness of the cottage and the peace he would get if he moved there, ignoring the shock that only continued to increase on his mother's face as he spoke.

"You wouldn't dare." Beatrice retorted, her voice low with anger. "You wouldn't dare leave your position and try to abandon the season."

Weston tightened his grip on the chair and leaned closer to an irate Beatrice. "Try me."

Beatrice recoiled in surprise. Her son had never been this adamant. He had never spoken back to her before. He had always received her words with calmness. She could only come to one conclusion as to why he was being this way.

"She has poisoned you against me." Her words grated Weston's ears. "She has found a way to make you into this—this unrecognisable man standing before me. Why does it not surprise me that not only is she an incompetent Marchioness, she is also a witch?!"

Weston blanched. "What did you just say?"

"Of course, it all makes sense. Everything started to go the wrong way when she got here. Under that supposed good nature of hers, I knew she was a deadly snake. Tending to gardens was only her cover."

"Are you listening to yourself, mother?" Weston asked, pressing his fingers against his forehead in sheer disbelief.

"Her and that maid of hers. I knew they were up to no good."

"Really? You're going to include the maid as well."

"Did she plant this idea of leaving in your head? What next? She tries to turn Anne against me, too? Is that her grand plan?"

"Enough!" Weston said.

"No. You listen to me. You are not going anywhere. Do you hear me? That girl is destroying you, and I will do something about that. You are a Marquess. You are bound to lead this manor."

Weston sighed. This was going to take longer than he thought.

***

Ecstatic couldn't begin to describe the feeling running through Juliet's veins. While she did not exactly know what Weston was going to tell her, she had an idea, and if it was what she was thinking, not only would she become the happiest woman on earth, but she would also begin to work towards becoming a mother. As soon as she finished working on the garden, she walked back into the manor, almost skipping in happiness. The bright smile on her face was noticed by maids and servants alike. It was so broad that she did not think anything could make it disappear so quickly.

Until she overheard them.

At first, it had started as low murmurs. One she was curious to understand. She knew the commotion was coming from the drawing room, so she moved closer, holding her dress to avoid being seen. Her eyes searched her surroundings, hoping no one could see her as she placed her ears to the door.

The first sentence she heard caused her heart to skip a beat.

"For the last time, mother. I am telling you. Juliet is not a witch." She heard Weston say.

"I do not know why you continue to defend her. It is evident she had ensnared you from the beginning. Oh! how have I been so blind?" Beatrice's unmistakable voice retorted. Juliet frowned in confusion. What could possibly be the reason for their argument this time around.

"Stop calling my wife a witch, for heaven's sake!"

"Right there from the beginning, at the spring masquerade ball. She had lured you to her. This was all a well-orchestrated plan for her to finally have the home she had been yearning for, and you fell right into her trap like an oblivious mouse!"

Her words stung Juliet's ears. She was used to her mother-in-law's antics by now, but this one, for some reason, affected her way more than she thought it would. Perhaps it was because Beatrice didn't know she would hear.

"She knew having you around her would set things in motion. All she had to do was stay in a corner and cry like a helpless maid when she had been the mastermind behind this immense catastrophe all along."

Juliet blinked back tears. She wasn't sure how much of this she could listen to anymore. Each word Beatrice uttered felt like a dagger slashing across her heart.

"Mother—"

"And you dare come in here and tell me she is excited about roses? Did she show you this house you plan to escape to? I bet it looks as lowlife as her!"

"Listen to me!" Weston said.

"Does she know?"

"Know what?"

"About the woman you would not stop grieving for?"

Juliet frowned. Eliza?

"Yes. I told her about Eliza. We are clear on the front."

"Well, did she know you were using her as a placeholder for the dead girl?"

Juliet clamped her hands tight over her mouth to avoid her gasp from being heard. What?

"What are you talking about?"

"Do not give me that look, Weston. We both know you only started to pay attention to her because you desperately want her to fill the hole Eliza left in your heart. You know that is all she will be. That is all she will ever be good for."

"That is not true."

"You may think you're in love with her now, but deep down, you know this is only because you see she resembles Eliza in her personality."

Juliet's ears stilled. This was staggeringly unbelievable.

"Buy her all the roses in the world, have long talks in the garden with her all you want, but know this. She will always, always be a replacement."

Silence so thick that it bothered Juliet slowly descended. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he denying the gross allegations his mother was making against her? Was that really what he thought of her? A replacement? Her knees began to grow weak from shock and disappointment.

"I am done with this conversation." She heard Weston finally say.

That wasn't a denial.

"At least, you would have found a more worthy replacement in Lady Helena. She was interested in you, too, and I had practically handed her to you on a silver platter. All you had to do was say yes, and she would have been yours. You would've been a husband to her instead of the conspiring wallflower that haunts the garden like an evil spirit."

Juliet began to step back slowly. She had heard enough. It could not get any worse than this. Even if it did, she didn't want to witness it. She was beginning to grow overwhelmed. Her presence had always been a source of discomfort to her mother-in-law. That much was evident. She couldn't do anything to change it, no matter how hard she tried. That fact was slowly beginning to dawn on her.

"Even if she wears the most expensive dresses in the world and tries to interact with people so she can seem human, you and I both know she will never match up to Helena. She would never be half the Marchioness Helena would've been."

And that was it. The last straw. The nail in the coffin. An exasperated groan escaped her mouth. One Weston immediately heard. She could hear his footsteps frantically grow louder. She could have left then. She could have even disappeared as the doorknob began to twist, but for some reason, her feet remained bolted to the floor.

She watched with sheer shock as Weston pulled the door open and caught her right before him. She watched the confusion on his face slowly grow to surprise, then to shock as the realization hit him.

"Juliet—" Weston called, unable to push more words out of his mouth.

Juliet swallowed hard, staring intensely at her husband.