Martha Barwood
Regency Romance Author
The Wallflower's Awakening
Chapter One – Chapter Two – Chapter Three
Chapter One
Lady Juliet’s palms continued to redden as she inspected the flowers in the garden. Fragrances of fresh roses and all forms of sweet leaves wafted through the air, and her nostrils welcomed all of them. Her shiny dress dragged on with her as she walked across the garden, feeling her shoes dig into the soft soil. She reached for her corset and loosened it a little, letting out a tight exhale in the process. One of the extravagant characteristics of the Willowbrook Estate was the pruned bushes that lined its gardens. Over the years, it had become a place of solace for Juliet herself. A place she could escape to, while running from the roars of the public, from her father, who would waste no opportunity to let her know her social period was coming to an end and hasten her resolve to find a man she would call her husband, or her half-brother, who would all but sing the same tune. In the Willowbrook gardens, she could let herself get lost in the roses, clear her head, and loosen her dress as little or as much as she could.
“Lady Juliet?” The familiar voice of her maid called from the garden’s entrance. Juliet turned to look at her, at her gently folded hands and long white gown. Her maid was just as old as she was, maybe a few months older, and had grown to become one of her closest confidants over the years.
“Estelle, is there any reason you decided to tighten my corset even harder this morning?” Juliet asked, reaching for the string one more time. She could barely breathe and trusted Estelle well enough to be herself. While she grew a bit comfortable, she couldn’t help but look forward to the next time she would be able to take off the whole thing, the next time she would be able to fully breathe.
“I apologise, milady. I didn’t intend to—”
“It’s alright.” Juliet said, turning back to the flowers. “They look beautiful, don’t you agree?”
“They do.” Estelle’s voice was louder. She had entered the garden.
“You know, I still remember walking across these flowers with my mother.” Juliet continued, her fingertips grazing the flowers, triggering the floodgates of her memories. “Nothing gave her as much joy as the garden did.”
“She must have been a happy woman.” Estelle mentioned, her voice even closer.
“The happiest.” Juliet responded, leaning forward to sniff a rose. Vivid images of her mother crept through her mind. She could see her, smiling heartily as the cool afternoon breeze wove through her hair. The happy memories do not come without consequences. The memories of her mother laughing in the gardens as her face glowed from the sun will always be followed by the ones where she died on a harsh winter night, only a few days later. Tears formed around Juliet’s eyes. She couldn’t hold back the reminiscence. She had never been able to. She remembered her mother’s last days, how she struggled to eat, drink and retain her weight.
How she struggled to laugh.
“Milady, perhaps you need to stay away from the garden for a while.” Estelle offered, knowing Juliet stopping all of a sudden could only mean one thing.
“And do what, Estelle?” Juliet asked.
A brief pause ensued between them and in that moment, all that could be heard was the rustle of nearby leaves gently being tugged by the wind.
“The new season is upon us.” Estelle continued, a new form of excitement laden in her voice. “Shall I send for the dressmaker? We might trade in a few choices and see what she comes up with this year?”
Juliet scoffed. “You should know by now, just how little the seasons mean to me. They’ve always been a way for my father to have me paraded around the halls like one of his paintings. This year is not going to be any different.”
“You never know, milady.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re this blind.” Juliet said, heading down towards her maid. “None of these men ever want to marry Lady Juliet, the woman who is not afraid to speak her mind. They want Lady Juliet, daughter of Lord Willowbrook. They want the dowry. It’s all they’ve ever been after. If you think this season is going to be any different, you’re even more naive than I thought.”
Estelle lowered her head, interlacing her fingers nervously. “Yes, milady.”
Juliet sighed. “Look, I did not mean to cause you any sadness. I am just tired of everything. You know how it always happens, Estelle. The Estate gets riddled with men who are nothing but sycophants and social climbers. For once in my entire lifetime on this miserable earth, can I find a man who wants me for my heart and not what my father has to offer? Is that too much to ask?”
“What about Lord Neville? He never wanted you for your money, if I could remember.” Estelle asked. Lord Neville had been one of her potential suitors the previous season.
“I had one dance with him and he spent the entire time glaring at my chest.” Juliet replied.
Estelle grew silent and Juliet turned to the bushes one more time, her gown dragging the flecks of the dark soil along with it.
“Do you think it was also this hard for my mother to find a husband? Did she have to wait this long?” Juliet asked.
Estelle drew a sigh, contemplating the question. “I cannot be sure. What I know is that if Lady Celia were alive today, she would want you to marry someone who truly knows your heart, not your dowry.”
A wave of a slight smile swept across Juliet’s face. She stretched out her hand and let it gently run through the roses. She dreaded new seasons. They only brought her fresh heartbreak and a growing hatred for the men in her town, but she knew better than to avoid it. Like all of her problems, she also had to face this one with her head high.
“Send for the dressmaker.” She finally said, feeling the soft petals around her fingers. “I have a few ideas for this season and I must know if she can bring them to life or not.”
“Yes, milady.” Estelle nodded and her voice grew fainter. Juliet didn’t need to turn to know her maid had left the garden.
***
Weston’s idea of life started and died with Eliza. For over six years, nothing had come close to summoning his spirit back to life again. He had been living through life instead of in it. He walked around like a ghost, spoke to acquaintances like a ghost, and even riding felt empty to him.
As he skipped across the green fields of his recently owned manor, he couldn’t feel any joy from it. The harsh wind blowing through his hair as his white stallion galloped through the fields, the enormous view of the faraway mountains and the misty valleys, and even the loud chants of his friend who was only a few yards behind did nothing to trigger any happiness in him. He was floating through life, and as far as he was concerned, he was fine with it.
Soon, he slowed down and let his friend catch up with him, ready to listen to an earful.
“Well, thank the heavens you stopped. For a while, I thought you were going to ride into the sunset and never turn back.” His friend started, his voice rising with each word.
Weston scoffed. It wasn’t like the idea never occurred to him in the first place.
“It is not my fault that the horse you ride is weak, Charles.” Weston replied, gently tugging on the rope wrapped around his stallion.
“Indeed? Do you truly believe the issue lies with the steed?” Charles asked, the discontent in his face masked by the rumbles of both horses.
“Well, what else could it possibly be?” Weston asked.
“I could think of many reasons, just off the top of my head.” Charles replied, the heat in his voice still evident.
Weston rolled his eyes. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”
The sun started dipping into the sky and cast the most glorious shade of hue onto the Estfield manor. Like most of the estates on the outskirts of London, the Estfield Manor witnessed the brightest and the harshest sides of nature, depending on the season. A few miles later, Weston got off his horse and started to lead it across the fields, his legs grazing past the overgrown leaves.
“We should start to prepare for the season.” Weston started. “It is closer than we think.”
“And are you going to entertain any of the festivities this time around?” Charles asked.
“I always entertain the festivities.”
“No one is here but us and the horses, Weston. You don’t have to put up the facade. The horses aren’t going to tell your mother.” Charles replied, dragging the rope alongside Weston.
“I do not know what you’re talking about.” Weston replied, wondering just how long he could feign ignorance.
Silence ensued between them for a few moments. They both continued to walk their horses with nothing but the warm sun shining on their faces.
“Very well, then.” Charles replied.
Weston drew a sigh. Charles had been his closest friend for as long as he could remember, and he knew his friend wouldn’t let this go easily. Perhaps it might do him some good if he shared the weight on his heart with someone else.
“It is the day after tomorrow.” He started.
Charles turned to look at him. “What?”
“The day after tomorrow. It’ll be six years since Eliza—” He paused. Six years, and he still couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Six years, and he was still hoping it was all a dream. A nasty nightmare he would wake up from soon enough.
“Oh.” Charles whispered, a wave of understanding crashing into him. “Do you plan to visit her resting place then?”
“Yes.” Weston replied as if it wasn’t the kind of question that needed consideration. Of course, he was going to visit her grave. He always did, even when it wasn’t an anniversary.
“I shall come with you.” Charles said, his voice firm.
“Charles. It is a long way away. I don’t want you to—”
“I am not asking for your permission.” Charles replied, the air of finality in his voice palpable.
Weston nodded, grateful. While he had become disillusioned with the world, it wasn’t lost on him that Charles had been nothing but a good friend to him over the years. As he led his horse to the closest shade, he wondered how he would’ve survived the past six years if Charles hadn’t been there, acting as the voice of reason and giving him the needed advice.
“I take it Lady Beatrice doesn’t know the details of your journey? Or that you plan to go on one at all?” Charles asked once they stopped under a giant oak tree.
Weston scoffed. “And what good will come of that?”
The last thing he needed was for his mother getting wind of the fact that he was going to visit Eliza’s grave. He could almost picture her, eyes wide and her throatily angry voice yelling at him.
“What you need to have in your mind is your progeny, Weston. You have way too much responsibility now to keep pining over your lost love.”
Weston thought of his father and what he would say if he were alive today. He didn’t know his father for long, but he knew he was a proud man who also bothered himself with posterity. He knew his father would support his mother without hesitation. Perhaps it was a good thing he only had to deal with one overbearing parent instead of two.
“Your mother may seem controlling at times, but you know she comes from a place of love, don’t you?” Charles asked once the dust had settled a little. “I know this is a difficult conversation to have, but it is necessary. Not just for your good but for Estfield Manor.”
Charles wasn’t wrong. The pressure to produce an heir was heavier on him, now more than ever. Before the fate of the manor depended on him, his cousin, Richard, had been the one who had to worry about all of this. When the news of Richard’s death reached him in his house one cold night, he felt all kinds of shivers run through him. Richard had died without an heir, which meant he was next in line. Not only did he come into even more responsibility, he had to deal with the never-ending rants of his mother. Beatrice never shied away from bringing up Richard in any conversation with her son, no matter how minute.
“Richard died without an heir. If you do not want to suffer the same fate, I suggest you start to look for a wife. One that’ll give you lots of children.”
Every time he had this talk with his mother, he would try to end it as fast as possible without having it turn into a full-blown altercation. He couldn’t tell her he was nursing the wound Eliza had left in his heart, the wound he wasn’t sure was going to heal anytime soon.
Right after the death of his father when he was fourteen, Weston had to forcefully mature into a man as early as possible. Childlike wonders didn’t do him any good anymore. He couldn’t find joy in the smallest things like the leaves, the sky, or the sun like he usually did. For a while, he became a shell of himself. Eliza had been the one who was able to breathe new life into him. She had been the only one who could get him to open up and enjoy life once again. The joys of life peaked with her. After her death, Weston knew nothing would be able to bring him back to life anymore. Not the vast acres of land he’d inherited, not the title of Marquess, not even the value that came with being the new owner of a manor.
“You know the social season is only a few days ahead. Who knows? Perhaps you may find someone this time around. Someone whose heart matches yours. Someone who wants you for what’s in your mind and not your estate.”
Weston smiled. “The sun has a higher chance of freezing.”
“I’m sure there’s some lady in another part of the country right now thinking the same thing.” Charles replied.
Weston said nothing in reply. He’d been through several seasons, and yet he couldn’t bother to pay attention to any woman for longer than thirty seconds. They were all vain and haughty. They weren’t ready to pay attention to whatever he had to say either. They weren’t engaging in conversations.
They weren’t Eliza.
“It is getting late.” Charles whispered. Grabbing the rope one more time. “Unless you want to receive another lecture from your mother over dinner, we should head back.”
Weston didn’t argue. He’d had his daily fill of the outdoors anyway. He might as well retire into his room and pore over his books until the night fell.
As they rode back to the manor, Weston couldn’t help but wonder if Charles was right. Could this season be the one he finds someone for himself? Someone who could make him happy like Eliza did?
Almost as soon as it came, the thought disappeared. Like he’d said earlier, the sun had a better chance of freezing over.
Chapter Two
Breakfast at the Willowbrook Manor was a grand affair. The table was usually filled with all sorts of baked and roasted foods. Fruit like grapes and figs hung from corners of the table, and space was barely left for each family member to have a spot to eat.
This morning was no different. While there were only five people surrounding the table, the food available was enough to feed an entire village for a day. Juliet made a mental note to appease the ladies in charge of the kitchen. The silence around the dining table was palpable and was so thick it could be cut with a butter knife. Spoons clinked against fine china, and full mouths gently chewed. Juliet’s eyes scanned every other member of the dining table for a minute. Right before her, on the other end of the table, was her father, Lord Peter Fairmont, whose face was completely buried in his breakfast. On her left was her half-brother, Adam, and his wife, Camilla, feeding him grapes and bits of roasted pork. As Adam took in another grape from his wife, he gently leaned closer to her and playfully bit her cheek. She laughed and gently pressed her face into his arm, a wave of red betraying her cheeks. Juliet tried as much as possible not to grimace. She decided to look the other way instead, and her eyes settled on the last member of the dining table, Aunt Grace, who was busy looking around the table as well. When their eyes met, Juliet tried to return to her food as much as possible.
“Juliet. I heard you sent for the dressmaker.” Aunt Grace started, and Juliet forcefully closed her eyes, hoping whatever was about to happen would go by very fast. “That means you’re preparing for the new Season. Are you going to try and make an effort this year?”
Juliet cut a piece of chicken skin off her bone and grabbed a fork. “I don’t know. Will the gentlemen of the up-coming season still possess the same lack of wit as the predecessors?”
Grace sighed. “You’re going to have to settle on a husband one of these days, Juliet. You’re not growing any younger.”
Juliet noticed her father was no longer paying attention to his food. From her periphery, she could tell he was staring straight at her.
“Perhaps I shall continue to tend to the garden until I find one good enough for me.” Juliet replied.
“Juliet, no man is going to want you in a few years. You’ll be too old for them.” Adam chipped in, his voice sleek and meandering.
“Perhaps that is for the best.” Juliet said, a tiny retort etched into her voice. She didn’t like Adam very much, and her dislike for him began to rise again.
“That’s enough.” Her father growled, his hands slowly beating the table.
Juliet grew silent. Arguing with Aunt Grace or Adam was one thing. Arguing with her father was practically a death sentence. Peter threw her a long, cold stare, and for a moment, Juliet wondered what hell her father was about to unleash on her. Then he turned to Adam and Camila.
“Camilla, You shall be in charge of the gardens from tomorrow.”
Juliet’s ears stilled. “What?”
“I’ll be honoured, my Lord.” Camilla replied, the smile on her face evident in her voice.
“Father, what is this?” Juliet asked, feeling the news hit her like a ton of bricks.
“I’ll have you know that no daughter of mine shall spend her marriageable years whistling alone in a garden and tending to roses.”
“Father—”
“You shall make yourself as appealing as possible to the men that’ll grace our estate this season. If you can’t land a husband, you might as well move to another part of the country.”
“Father—”
“That’s enough from you. You’ve failed to get yourself a husband for the past three years. That is the most unusual behaviour.” Peter said, his voice rising. Juliet knew nothing could be done to appease her father whenever he started to boil from within. The best thing to do was to keep quiet and not to fan the flames of his anger.
“Perhaps if you spent half the effort you do on the roses into looking for a husband, you might have gotten one by now.” Adam said in his annoyingly sleek voice.
Juliet glared at Adam. He was enjoying this as he did anything that brought her misery. Camilla was still holding onto his arm. Juliet’s eyes darted from him to her. She was staring back and had the most coy smile on her face. One that annoyed Juliet even more. Camilla was a social climber. That much was obvious. No one in their right mind would want to settle for her half-brother. Apart from his title and inherited wealth, he had nothing to offer. Adam couldn’t hold long conversations without angering either the women he was engaging with or just women in general. Sometimes, she found it hard to believe they both came from the same father.
“This season, you have to get yourself, at the very least, a Marquess or an Earl.” Adam continued. Juliet turned to look at her father, hoping he would do something and keep him quiet, but alas, Lord Peter’s eyes were buried in his food once again.
“You have a substantial dowry. No man wouldn’t want to be with you.” Adam continued.
“Was that how you got her?” Juliet mentioned, turning towards Camilla, whose smile dropped almost instantly.
“Have you been hit on the head by a brick?” Adam’s eyes widened in anger.
“I mean—your dowry was just as sizable as mine. Even more.”
“Have you gone mad!?” Adam asked again, now rising from his seat.
“Remind me again, how did you and Camilla meet each other?”
“Father, are you going to watch her talk to me this way?” Adam asked, turning to look at Lord Peter.
“Perhaps we all need to simmer down.” Aunt Grace said, her maternal instincts kicking in. “Adam, why don’t you sit down and continue with your food? You know how Juliet can be sometimes.”
“It’s no surprise she can’t find a husband.” Adam replied, lowering himself onto his seat.
Aunt Grace rose from her chair and gently slid closer to Juliet.
“What did you do that for? You know how angry your brother can get.” She said her voice in a mellow and admonishing whisper.
“Half-brother.” Juliet corrected. “And I don’t mind the anger at all. I don’t think you should too.”
“This isn’t going to help anyone, Juliet.” Aunt Grace continued. “You can’t spend the rest of your life looking after roses.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a lady, Juliet. You can’t think about what’s good for yourself alone. You have to think about Willowbrook all the time. Not getting married on time is reflecting poorly on the estate. Come with me.”
Aunt Grace rose from her seat one more time, took a short bow before Lord Peter, and exited the dining room. Juliet grabbed a glass of water and sipped it before doing the same. She could feel Adam’s heated gaze in the back of her head as she slowly made her way out.
“So, I did not want to say this in front of your father because I do not want another war on my hands.” Grace started, once they were out of earshot and in a quiet part of the court. A few guards stood still at the closest entrance, and some maids gently walked past them, quickening their steps once they saw Aunt Grace.
“What is it?”
“I have found a way for you to shed your wallflower ways. You say the problem is that these men only want you for your money and what you look like. Is that right?”
“Yes?” Juliet replied, narrowing her eyes. If she knew anything about her aunt, it was how eccentric and unusual her ideas might be sometimes.
“What if you come to the Spring Masquerade Ball?”
Juliet felt a shade of heat brush through her cheeks. The Spring Masquerade Ball was one of the most significant events of the year, and it was always hosted by her Aunt Grace herself.
“You want me to dress up as one of the masquerades? Do you really think me that unappealing, Aunt Grace?” Juliet asked.
“Juliet. You are as pretty as they come. But perhaps you can strike up conversations better with men when they don’t know what you look like. You know what they say; a mask gives a lady the right amount of courage.”
Juliet sighed. The idea wasn’t utterly repulsive to her. Now that her garden was at stake and at the risk of becoming a giant pound of dust, thanks to Camilla’s exceptional gardening skills, she needed to take action now more than ever.
“Think of just how many of the men of London you shall be able to dazzle without showing your face.” Aunt Grace continued, an encouraging edge visible in her voice.
“A disguise makes even the meekest of maids a bold lady at a costume ball.” Juliet mentioned.
“Absolutely.” Aunt Grace replied. “So you shall come?”
Juliet let a few seconds pass as she thought the idea over one more time.
“Why not?” She finally replied. If this would get both her father and her brother off her back, she was ready to do it.
“Wonderful.” Aunt Grace whispered, the delight in her voice as present as the thick air in the court. “I shall get the dressmaker started on your costume.”
“One more thing.” Juliet continued, watching the elation on Grace’s face slowly fade. “I shall be able to design my costume with roses, yes?”
Aunt Grace became full of smiles again. “Of course, my darling. Whatever you want.”
Juliet nodded. While she didn’t exactly show it, some part of her was looking forward to the Masquerade Ball. Perhaps this might be the solution to her problem after all.
***
Estfield Manor was filled to the brim with men and women from all parts of London, and the idea of going out to meet them made Weston uncomfortable.
It was his sister Anne’s coming out ball, and if it were up to him, the event would be as minimal as possible. Unfortunately, his mother was in control, and she wanted to ensure her daughter’s integration into the social society was known to all and sundry.
Weston rose from his chair and walked to the nearby mirror. He adjusted his cravat before heading out of his bedroom. He could hear the wave of murmurs from the hall as he walked to his sister’s bedroom, but he tried to pay it no mind. He should manage to push through the day, and before the event would come to an end, he could retire to his room. He stopped right in front of Anne’s door. One of her maids was fixing her arm gloves.
Anne saw him appear through the mirror placed right before her.
“Oh, Weston. This is all very wonderful, is it not?” She asked, unable to contain the excitement on her face.
“Yes, it is. And you look really beautiful.” Weston replied, leaning against the doorframe. “Any man would be lucky to have a dance with you tonight.”
Anne had always been one for fairytales. She believed in love and happy endings and all the stuff people grow out of after life had dealt with them. She was the complete opposite of Weston.
“Are you ready?” Weston asked after the maids had left her side, leaving her to look at herself in the mirror again.
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Weston managed to crank up half a smile. He stretched out his right hand and watched his sister walk to him. She slipped her arm in his, and they both walked past her doorway and towards the giant steps that led down to the hall.
“Is it a bad thing if I say that I am feeling nervous?”
“It is okay to feel nervous.” Weston replied, giving his sister a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps you might find a handsome man to dance with tonight. He will ask for your hand in marriage, and you shall ride off into the sunset with your beautiful children.”
“Hilarious.” Anne whispered, rolling her eyes. Weston stifled a chuckle. Soon, they got to the steps, and after giving Anne one more reassuring smile, he descended with her amidst the loud music and the wild chatter of the noblemen and women, all walking around, mingling with each other.
“Lady Anne.” A deep voice greeted her once Anne’s feet touched the floor. “I am Lieutenant Marcus Henderson. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Anne put her hand in his and watched him kiss it. “I am pleased as well.”
“May I have the first dance? I would be honoured.”
Anne turned to Weston, her curious eyes searching for his approval. Weston nodded and threw her a full smile. She let Marcus take her hand in his and lead her into the middle of the hall.
“He is a very fine man.” Weston heard his mother say behind him, causing him to almost jump out of his skin.
“Pray, you cannot approach me so stealthily, mother.” Weston sighed.
“What do you think of her?” Beatrice continued, ignoring her son’s warning. She’d gestured towards a young maiden in the brightest blue gown in the hall, chatting with a few more ladies.
“Who is that?” Weston asked as though he was interested.
“Lady Helena Waters. Her father is the Duke of Thornewood. Pleasant on the eyes, is she not?”
Weston shrugged. “I suppose.”
“She holds a lot of power at court, Weston. You and her together would be an unstoppable match.”
Weston nodded. “I’ll think about it, mother.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. From afar, he couldn’t be less impressed by Lady Helena. He couldn’t be less impressed by everything and anything at this ball. He’d become immune to the wonders, the pomp and pageantry of events like this.
His eyes turned to the middle of the court one more time. Anne and Marcus were still together, gently swaying to the addictive quartet. For a minute, he imagined them to be Eliza and him instead, having their first dance on the very same court. He remembered meeting her for the first time in a satin green gown, one that had brought out the magnificence in her eyes. He remembered the chills he felt through his body when Eliza had put her hand in his for the first time. Now, everything around him was just a hollow reminder of the joy he once had in his life. He’d managed to steel his heart over the past six years. He could do the same for this one night. As Anne and Marcus continued to dance through the night, Weston wondered if anyone would be able to pull him from his reverie. If anyone would be able to shine a light into his wounded heart and fill the hole Eliza had left in him.
His eyes took another sweep of the court one more time and landed on Lady Helena Waters. She was no longer talking to her friends. Instead, she was looking right back at him. Weston judged she’d been doing that for quite a while.
Helena slightly bowed from where she stood, a bright smile on her face. He returned the smile and gave her a slight nod as well.
This was going to be quite a long night.
Chapter Three
Outside the Willowbrook Manor, Juliet stood with her family, gently fanning herself as they waited for their respectful carriages. While the sun had disappeared entirely from the sky, the dresses they all had on still managed to put them in a lot of heat, Juliet especially. She was donned in a bright blue gown that dragged on the dirt as she walked. Her face was completely covered with a mask that had been designed by the dressmaker a few days back after Aunt Grace told her about the Masquerade Ball. The mask had slight adornment of roses on all sides, and to a point, she looked immensely ridiculous.
“I can’t believe you’re wearing this to the ball.” Lord Peter sighed, taking another look at his daughter. He was making no effort to hide his dissatisfaction. “You might as well decide to only go to the ball in your inner wear.”
Juliet said nothing. Angering her father as they waited for their carriages to arrive had never been a good idea. She’d seen it first-hand when he’d thrown a fit because one of his partners wouldn’t let him have some share in a certain farmhouse. Her father could get really cross if he wanted to, and whenever he did, no one could do anything about it.
“It’s the dress I wanted.” She decided to say instead.
“Well, if your plan is to make sure all the men tonight stay away from you, I would say you’re off to a good start.” Adam sneered from the other side. Juliet turned to look at him, a devilish expression on her face. One he fortunately couldn’t see due to the mask she had on. As usual, he had Camilla by his side. She was dressed in a simple green frock and had her hair done up by her maids. Her gloved hand had slipped into Adam’s arm, and she’d leaned into him just as she did at the dining table.
“I know why I’m going to the ball, but why are you going?” She asked, still staring at Adam. “You already have Camilla. Why do you need to be there?”
A slight pause ensued between them as she watched Adam struggle to find his words.
“I’m going because Father’s going.” Adam replied, his voice hazy and lower.
“Father is going as my chaperone. Are you doing the same for Camilla as well?” Juliet asked, a smile creeping up her face.
Adam’s face grew red. “What are you implying, Juliet?”
“Well, to each their own. Endeavouring to revive one’s marriage is not always a misguided notion. At times, one simply requires the right individual to facilitate such a revival.”
“Father? Did you hear her?!” Adam yelled, turning to look at Lord Peter.
“Stop angering your brother, Juliet.” Peter said, looking ahead. A cloud of dust was slowly approaching them, and in front of the cloud were two carriages bearing the insignia of the Willowbrook Manor.
“Well, the carriages are here. Now you can keep your mouth to yourself as you ride with Lord Peter.” Camilla said, a hateful expression on her face. Juliet smiled again, grateful they couldn’t see her face.
“Would you like to have a mask too, Camilla? I could have the dressmaker bring it to you before we get to the ball.”
Camilla’s eyes grew dark. She was growing angry as well.
“You know, I heard Lady Violet Northam and her group of gossip mongers will be at the ball.” Camilla resumed. “If I were you, I’d stay away from anything that could cause me any form of scandal.”
“Are you sure she didn’t just tell you herself? Perhaps you’re a member of this group you speak of.” Juliet retorted. Having a mask on her face might be the most excellent idea she’d ever had, after all. If her face had been uncovered, she wouldn’t have been able to give back these sharp, snide remarks at her half-brother and his wife.
“That is enough!” Juliet heard her father yell. “You’re a Lady, Juliet, and you will comport yourself as such. No one likes a Lady with a loose tongue.”
“But Father—”
“Do not interrupt me again, or I will have this embarrassing thing taken off your face!” Peter continued.
The carriages stopped before them, and they all climbed in. Adam and Camilla got into one, and Juliet got into the other with her father.
“And you are still not free of your obligations. The whole reason I’m allowing this profanity of a dress in the first place is to make sure you secure a husband.” Peter continued once the carriage started to move. “If you fail to do that today, I will be very disappointed in you.”
Juliet sighed. “I feel very comfortable in this attire, Father. Any man worthy of my hand will wish to know my character before trying to see what I look like.”
“I do not care for your tone, Juliet. I see the roses around your face are beginning to affect your tongue and your reasoning.”
Juliet didn’t think to protest. Nothing good was going to come from it.
“I apologise, Father.”
Peter waved his hand in disregard as the carriage crossed over a huge stone, causing it to become unstable for a while.
“Remember, your only task today is to impress the members of the elite class in any way necessary. I do not care if they have to see your face. Make sure you represent Willowbrook in an orderly fashion. Do not wag your tongue dangerously at the men like you do to your brother.”
“Yes, Father.” Juliet replied.
“And try to behave like a lady this time. We do not want a repeat of what happened last year.”
Juliet shook her head, trying to shake away the flood of memories threatening to escape their prisons in her mind. She had tried incredibly hard to forget what had happened the previous year but her father bringing it up now had made all her efforts ultimately futile.
She’d been in the garden at one of the grand affairs during the season, examining the roses. It also happened to be one of the days that Willowbrook Manor housed several people from all parts of London. She’d gotten stung by a bee and had grown disoriented. She’d fallen into the dirt soil, dampening her dress and her well-made hair. Somehow, she had managed to appear in the drawing room, looking majestically unruly and sending the ladies and the men into temporary shock. The look on their faces had continued to haunt her, even to this very day, more so now that her father had brought it up.
“Yes, Father.” She repeated, now doing all she could to lock away those memories once again. Some part of her was looking forward to the ball, and not even her father’s unkind remarks could take that away from her. She looked outside the carriage window as they rode past the rocky road. The sky was slowly darkening, and the cold, dry evening winds were starting to blow onto her face. Willowbrook Manor was a prison. One she couldn’t wait to escape. She couldn’t wait to be done with her father’s temper tantrums and her half-brother’s foolish remarks. Perhaps this might be the night she found her one true love, once and for all. She needed this to happen more than anything else.
***
As he adjusted his cravat in front of his mirror, Weston’s mind strayed a little, and he wondered just how tightly he would have to squeeze it so he could die and escape his mother. She sat in his bedroom chair, watching him button up his red waistcoat.
“I don’t know why you would choose to appear at the Ball looking like a merchant commoner. Your choice of color baffles and disappoints me, Weston.” Beatrice started, staring hard at her son through the mirror.
Weston reached for his tie one more time and thought about how long it would really take for life to get sucked out of him.
“Couldn’t you wear something else? Like the blue jacket, I had the dressmaker make for you the other day. You were supposed to wear it for Anne’s coming out ball, and you didn’t.”
“Crimson has always been my colour, mother. You’ve seen me wear it almost all the time. I don’t see any reason to change it this time around.”
Of course, that wasn’t the absolute truth. He couldn’t be less interested in the ball. He was only going in the first place because it was another opportunity for his sister to familiarize herself with society’s elite. Just because he couldn’t find someone to settle down with didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to ensure Anne didn’t suffer the same fate.
“You wouldn’t impress many women in that garb, Weston.” Beatrice continued.
That was the point. Weston thought, but he decided to keep it to himself. The last thing he needed was another fit on his hands. His friend, Charles, had traveled to South England and would not return until dusk. He had no one in his corner like he used to.
“The only reason I am attending this ball in the first place is for Anne. Nothing else.” He said, remaining as level-headed as possible even though his heart and mind were both screaming out. “I don’t exactly look forward to auctioning myself off like some prized horse.”
“This is just as important for you as it is for Anne.” Beatrice continued, a scalding edge evident in her voice. “Since you decided something was wrong with Lady Helena—”
“I never said anything was wrong with her.” Weston retorted, growing well aware that his mother was only trying to bait him.
“I handed her to you on a silver platter, and you decided to do nothing with it.”
“And that was no fault of Lady Helena, mother. I wasn’t interested.”
“You need to stop hounding around with this narrative. You’re a Marquess now. It is your duty to have a wife. I don’t want to hear any nonsense about Eliza anymore. It has been six long years. Brooding over the past is not going to do you or anyone else any good.”
Weston nodded. “Yes, mother.”
The fate of Estfield Manor relies on you. Look at what happened to Richard.”
Weston drew a tired breath. Not this again.
“He died without an heir. Do you want that to be your fate as well?”
“No, mother.”
“Then I suggest you start impressing on London’s elite spinsters. None of them will be as influential as Lady Helena, but we might be able to salvage what’s left of this crisis.”
Weston nodded again, his hands now on his sides as he stood before the giant mirror. He was done dressing up.
“I will get married when I am ready, Mother. Not a second before.”
“You will not take that tone with me, son.” Beatrice retorted, rising from the chair. Her shoes knocked menacingly into the ground as she walked towards Weston, an angry expression on her face. “Be that as it may, I am still your mother.”
Weston nodded and lowered his face to the ground. “Apologies, Mother.”
“Now, you will attend the ball with your sister, and be sure to talk to a few other women. Most of them are going to be behind their masks, so striking conversations shouldn’t be as hard as it has to be. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Good. I shall go check on your sister to see if she’s ready. Inform the steward to ready the carriages. We leave in a few moments.”
Weston nodded.
“And change that waistcoat. The blue one is far bet—”
“I either go like this, or I don’t go at all.” Weston interrupted, his voice solid and firm. He might be required to obey his mother, but this decision he had to make himself.
Beatrice huffed in desperate resignation and, a few moments later, stalked angrily out of her son’s room.
Weston turned to look at the mirror. The clothes made him feel restricted and somewhat limited. He wasn’t free. The pressure of the title was bearing down on him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped.
A few months back, he’d purchased a cottage along the Scottish border. No one else knew this apart from Charles. For a few moments, he entertained the thought of having to retire to the cottage and live the rest of his life surrounded by silence and sheer freedom. He exited his room and asked one of his servants to fetch the head steward.
“Are the carriages ready? We leave soon.” He asked once the steward appeared.
“Yes. The horses are being brushed one last time, Marquess.” The steward replied. Weston nodded and watched him retire back into his duties.
He was absolutely sure the steward would be capable of taking care of the Manor himself if he had to. He returned to his room and looked outside the window at the vast grassy fields ahead. The sky had grown entirely dark, and the moon was beginning to appear slowly. He reminded himself once again that he was only doing this for his sister. The image of his secret cottage resurfaced in his mind once again. He thought of the silence he would be able to enjoy if he could escape the shackles of politics. He never asked for any of this, and if he could give them away, he would in a heartbeat. The idea of living out his years among tall trees and a babbling brook became a guilty fantasy of his.
“This is only temporary.” He whispered as if giving himself a sordid reminder. All he needed to do was ensure his sister was well-received by the social society. He liked the lieutenant she had danced with the other day. If he were serious about her, he would return to ask for her hand. Weston was sure Anne liked him too, and if all went well, a wedding would be underway. Once he managed to marry his sister off to a good man, he would try to escape his life. He would run away from the estate, from his mother, from the title and the pressure that came with it. He would leave everything behind.
Even his beloved crimson waistcoats.
A maid gently knocked on his door, shaking him from his reverie.
“What is it, Hilda?” He asked, turning to look at her and muster the slightest smile.
“Lady Beatrice and Lady Anne are ready for you, my lord.” Hilda replied, taking a slight bow.
Weston nodded and gently waved her off. “I shall join them in a moment.”
He turned to look at his mirror once again. He just had to get through tonight and a few other nights that would come with it. This was only temporary. Once his sister was settled, this would no longer be his story. He could reach for the freedom he had been dreaming about for so long. Once and for all, he would be able to have a life of his own and live it the way he wanted without any input from his mother whatsoever.
But for now, he needed to face this night and everything it would bring head-on. No matter how hard he tried to protest, there was no escaping the night. He’d been attending events for a long time. This would be no different. He just needed to get through the night, and then, freedom would be on the horizon.
He reached for his mask atop the bedroom dresser.
