A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

It did not bode well.

Gathering her courage, Juliet rapped on the door twice and awaited her father’s reply.

“Come.”

With trepidation, Juliet entered the dining room.

Her father sat at the head of the long mahogany table. Rather than take her place at the baron’s right, Hannah sat at the opposite end for she insisted she had earned the privilege. The baron agreed merely as a ploy to keep the girl out of arm’s reach.

“Come in, Juliet, and close the door.” Her father waited for her to obey and then beckoned her forward. “I’ll not bandy words,” he said, looking her squarely in the eye. “I know you’re a girl who likes straight talking.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Juliet never called him Papa. Many times, she had whispered the word silently in her mind but was not permitted to let it escape her lips.

“I fear I have been remiss in my duties to you as a father,” the baron said, although his indifferent tone conveyed a complete lack of remorse. “The circumstances of your birth made it somewhat difficult. But the time has come to make amends.”

A mild sense of panic sprung to life in Juliet’s chest.

Six years she had lived in the baron’s household, and not once had he openly acknowledged his parental responsibilities. Yes, during the time she lived with her mother, he had paid for her governess, for music lessons but not dancing for what need had she to see the inside of a ballroom? He had provided food and shelter after her mother’s death had left her destitute. But this sudden interest in her well-being had flown over Juliet’s defensive wall like a fireball from a trebuchet.

“I need nothing from you but the simple things,” she replied calmly but imagined crouching and covering her head while waiting for the impact of this unexpected attack.

The simple things?

The impoverished found nothing simple about securing food and a warm bed for the night.

Hannah scanned Juliet’s plain brown dress and sniggered. “How can anyone possibly be content to wear that old rag? Would you not like to dress in fine gowns, have rubies gracing your throat, diamonds dangling from your earlobes?”

Juliet considered her sister’s elegant appearance. Every strand of hair was swept up in an immaculate coiffure—for Hannah refused to wear a cap regardless of the time of day. Her skin was a pure creamy-white, unblemished by the sun’s rays. Her pale pink dress spoke of sophistication rather than the simplicity other ladies required from their morning wear. Hannah did not waste her time reading or writing letters, and so comfort was not a requirement.

“Why would I wish for fripperies when I spend my days below stairs?” Juliet said though it was not a complaint.

“Well, your circumstances are about to change.” Hannah’s smug grin stretched from ear to ear. “You can say goodbye to dear Mrs Wendell for you will no longer serve us in this house.”

The blood drained from Juliet’s face.

Surely they were not planning to throw her out.

But then had her father not said he wished to compensate for his lack of attention? Was he to elevate her from the status of servant to daughter? Lord, no. The thought of spending her days in Hannah’s company sent an icy shiver from her neck to her navel.

“Why must things change? I am more than happy with my current situation.” Juliet swallowed down her apprehension. She loved her small room in the basement. She could read until the early hours, sing to her heart’s content, and Hannah never ventured below stairs.

“You’re to be married,” the baron blurted. “To a … to a gentleman with distinguished bloodlines. There. Let it be known that I do consider your welfare.”

The words hit Juliet like the slash of a whip though shock prevented her from feeling the sting straightaway.

“M-married?” It was the only word she could form.

“Indeed,” her father replied, “that is what most young girls aspire to.”

Hannah brought her napkin to her mouth and tittered. “Well, those girls without fortune. Some of us can afford to be choosy.”

While Juliet stood there dumbfounded, the baron sipped his coffee and Hannah slathered butter on her toast as if neither had a care in the world.

Juliet cleared her throat. “Do I not get a say in the matter?”

“A say?” Her father frowned. “A say! As your legal guardian, I am well within my rights to decide for you.”

Suspicion flared.