When a Marquess Loves a Woman Read Online Free

enough money for them to stay a few weeks at an inn until the gossip died down. Damn it all, he even had a sapphire ring in his pocket!
    But as he took in the scene around him—the maids and footmen bustling about, draping linens over the furniture, lowering the main chandelier to cover it as well—he realized it was true.
    And Juliet was gone.
    â€œSir, if I may,” the butler said, extending his hand, a missive pinched between this thumb and forefinger. “This was supposed to go out with the post, but since you are here . . . ”
    His name and address were looped elegantly on the small square of parchment. Numbly, he took the letter and opened it.
    Max,
    I apologize, both for what I am doing and for what I did last evening. I cannot begin to explain my own actions and profound regret at their results. I hardly know myself any longer.
    The clarity I’d hoped to find this morning is still absent, and so I made the choice that better suits all parties involved.
    Yours affect
    Warmest regards,
    J
    Max stared down at the letter and then slowly crumpled it in his fist. He’d been wrong about Juliet. If she could believe a word she’d written, then she never truly saw him. Worse, she left without giving him a chance to prove her wrong, discounting him like all the others had.
    And he would never forgive her for it.

C HAPTER O NE
    May 1825
    T he Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence
    This humble paper fears a messenger’s fate as we report the latest news from our illustrious committee. Once more, as one month wanes and another waxes, we are left in want. This Season’s Original has yet to be named!
    Hold fast, dear readers! For we have received the news that we shall have our Original at month’s end. Even more scintillating, we have learned that there remain only two candidates on the list. Two!
    We are all eagerness!
    Yet even our anticipation must pale in comparison to that of our Marquess of Th— and, resident goddess, Lady G—, who, by all accounts, have wagered on the outcome. Scandalous! Though we are not certain what the stakes could be, we do know that our contest promises to be quite the show!
    â€œ ‘Q uite the show,’ indeed ,” Juliet Granworth grumbled to herself.
    Lowering onto one of two silver-striped chairs, she cast a withering glance down at the newspaper that taunted her.
    It was bad enough that Cousin Zinnia’s butler saw fit to leave the Standard on the foyer table so that it had been the first thing she’d read in the morning. But this evening, another copy sat on the low oval table in Marjorie Harwick’s blue parlor.
    Juliet couldn’t escape it. Therefore, arranging her emerald green skirts, she did her best to ignore it.
    â€œ Botheration . Who left this dreadful paper on the table?” Marjorie asked, bustling into the room. Immediately, she picked up the scandal sheet, pinching it at the corner like a rat by the tail, and scuttled it from the room.
    In the meantime, Cousin Zinnia— Lady Cosgrove —progressed in slow, refined movements toward the blue damask settee. Seemingly, she took little notice of Marjorie’s activity. Her finely lined countenance remained lovely and serene, her focus solely on the art of pedestrianism.
    â€œThere now. Much better,” Marjorie said as she returned an instant later, flitting past Zinnia—the proverbial tortoise and the hare. The two friends couldn’t have been more different from each other.
    For Marjorie, it was common to see tendrils of gray escaping the loose, dark coiffure, and typically, an easy smile lifted her rounded cheeks. Zinnia Cosgrove, on the other hand, never left her chamber with a flaxen or silver hair out of place. Her posture was faultless, her smiles hard won but worth the effort.
    At seven and twenty, Juliet was more than twenty years younger than they were, but even so, she found a comfortable companionship with them.