then a fortnight. She’d done her best to keep up her happy carefree façade in public, but the longer he was gone with no word, the more difficult it was for her to believe he was ever coming back.
Finally, after the Season had ended and she and her family had left for her father’s country house, she’d received a letter from Worthington. It was poorly written and vague. Its contents were completely inconsistent with how he’d acted the last time she saw him.
He wrote some asinine thing about how he hoped she hadn’t thought more of their acquaintance than he had. Lies, all of it. Hurtful lies. But she’d vowed to never let him see her pain.
Fine. Perhaps she’d looked for him the following Season. Perhaps she’d kept an eye out at every single ton event she attended. But he hadn’t returned. It was as if he’d disappeared. In fact, she hadn’t laid eyes on him again until this afternoon in Clayton’s stables.
Yes, the Duke of Worthington had hurt her, deeply, and she intended to inflict the same amount of damage on him. If she could learn why Rhys was pretending to be a groomsman, she’d have the upper hand in this entire situation and could use it—would use it—to her advantage. He obviously meant to continue to pretend he was a groomsman. She’d already thought of half a dozen ways she could torture him. What was better than revenge that was fun at the same time?
This afternoon, they’d been interrupted by one of the other groomsmen riding out to inform them another one of the guests wanted to see Alabaster. But Rhys had managed to whisper to her to meet him in the same location at the same time tomorrow and he would give her his answer. His answer regarding whether he would tell her the truth about whatever game he was playing. The way Julianna saw it, the man had little choice but to tell her the truth. Money wasn’t about to sway her. Only the truth would do.
She glanced around the dining room. It was full of guests talking and laughing, but for some reason she felt as if she was all alone. Where was Rhys at the moment? Out in the stables? Was he sleeping on a pile of hay? She nearly snorted at that thought. Surely, he wasn’t spending the nights out there. Or was he? She supposed it depended on exactly what he was up to. Wherever he was, she hoped he was completely unsettled, and she was the one who had unsettled him. Turnabout was fair play after all.
Mary said something to her that she didn’t hear, and Julianna did her best to smile and nod. She glanced around at all of the young ladies at the table. They were all here for the same purpose. To find a husband. It hadn’t escaped her notice that the guest list seemed to be comprised almost entirely of young ladies who had made their debuts this past Season and who were still not betrothed. Of course, her darling Mary was one of them.
It also hadn’t escaped Julianna’s notice that the guest list seemed to be sorely lacking in eligible males. Given that, and the fact that one of the nation’s most notorious dukes was gallivanting around the stables pretending to be a groomsman, Julianna was convinced this was no ordinary house party. It was no ordinary house party at all.
Her perusal of the table turned up Miss Frances Wharton. Julianna had met the young woman briefly at one of the events of the past Season, but they hadn’t had much of a chance to speak. Tonight, the poor lady looked bored to tears listening to Sir Reginald Francis drone on and on about his friendship with the Prince Regent. Sir Reginald could be a complete drain on one’s nerves. She hoped, for Miss Wharton’s sake, that Sir Reginald wasn’t considering offering for her.
Apart from her proximity to the knight, Julianna had a flash of envy for Miss Wharton. It had to be somewhat freeing to simply be a normal young woman. She and Mary had been raised to be anything but normal. Since the day she was born, at least as far back as she could remember, Julianna was marked for greatness (her mother’s words).
For the daughter of a duke, greatness meant ensuring she made the most advantageous match with the most eligible partner possible. Was it terribly simple to be Miss Wharton? Just a