anything he oughtn’t, did he? I swear if he so much as laid a finger—”
“Juliet, I’m fine,” Rae broke in. Perhaps she should have asked Charlotte to bring Brooke’s missive up to the door before she disembarked from the coach. She pulled the missive from her reticule. “Here.”
Without ceremony, Juliet broke the wax seal and pulled open the paper.
“Are you enjoying your Season?” Rae asked Drake to stave off her discomfort.
“It’s been splendid.” The pained expression on his face told its own tale of woe. Poor man must have been suffering from a temporarily addled wife all Season. Rae might have felt sympathy for him, but it was his fault. Truly, what did he think would come from all of their hiding in the closet together?
“Of course it is,” Juliet murmured. “We’ve had a lovely time together.”
Rae raised an eyebrow at Drake who nodded dutifully. No doubt Drake would have rather spent the Season in London, but with the physician’s concern about Juliet’s pregnancy, Drake would have driven himself mad had he gone to London and left her in the care of servants. Rae understood his concern since his first wife had died in childbed.
An unusual feeling came over her. Would anyone care so much about her? She dismissed the thought.
“Oh, Henrietta,” Juliet exclaimed. “We have so much to do!”
“We do?”
Juliet waved Brooke’s missive around madly. “Yes! We need to get ready for your wedding.”
“Wedding?” Rae and Drake choked in unison.
“To who?” Drake asked, amusement softening his face.
“Your friend, Mr. Appleton,” Juliet said. Then, as if she thought perhaps Drake had forgotten the man who’d handled all of his investments for the last three years. “Surely you remember him, Patrick. He’s about your height. Green eyes. Brown hair. Wide…er…” she tapped her shoulders. “He works with his father who looks just like him, only with grey hair.”
“I remember him, Juliet.” Drake folded his arms across his chest. “Though I find it curious you remember him so well.”
Juliet waved him off. “He is perfect for Henrietta.” She heaved a loud sigh. “Oh, you two will have such adorable offspring.”
Rae swallowed her gasp. Cough, cough, COUGH. HACK! HACK! Rae’s hand flew to her throat. Was this what choking to death felt like? If she survived, she’d have to remind herself not to try to choke down her emotions ever again.
“Oh, forgive me for being so indelicate,” Juliet said, unapologetically. She said something to Drake about water then a moment later shoved a glass of water in Rae’s face. “Here, dearest.”
Coughs still wracked Rae’s frame. Perhaps she’d better tell Juliet the truth. Well, not all of the truth. But some of it might not hurt? She took a deep breath, then another, and then chanced a sip of the water. The cool liquid was like a balm to her now aching chest.
“Oh,” Juliet said on a sigh. “I am so relieved Brooke was able to secure you such a match.”
Secure a match? If Rae had any air still in her lungs, she’d have had another coughing attack, she was sure of it. “Juliet,” she rasped. “I don’t think you should assume—”
Juliet’s laughter drowned out Rae’s protest. “Dearest, I might not be bosom friends with Brooke, but I’ve heard enough about her to know it’s safe to assume the match is as good as secured.” She playfully wagged a finger at Rae. “And if it isn’t, you’ll be joining your chaperone at Caroline’s house party.”
Upon further contemplation, it might be best not to breathe so much as a single word that might make Juliet question Brooke’s missive.
“There’s no need for that,” Rae said sweetly. “However, a warm bath and a dinner tray wouldn’t be amiss.”
7
Simon scratched the edge of his cards against the stubble on his chin. The night was growing late and he’d been playing cards at White’s for the past four hours. One more hand, he told himself, blinking his stinging eyes. Was it just him, or was the smoke thicker than usual? He waved his hand through a thick cloud of smoke and placed his bet.
Next to him a chair screeched against the wooden floor. Simon cast a glance over his shoulder and cringed. “What are you doing here?”
His father blew out a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. He wore a pained expression, but didn’t speak right away. He folded his hands in his lap and let out another breath. “Simon, I think we need to talk.”
“About?”
“Lord Norcourt.”
Agitation swirled within him. Lord Norcourt, or the man’s sudden