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Closing his left eye for aim, Evan let his arrow fly. Black paint again.
“Have another drink, it may improve your aim.” Gilroy lifted his full glass to Evan as he turned around.
“Whilst I’d like to, I have to keep a clear head.”
“Why?”
“You ruined the sale of the Planthroup land. It should have gone for triple the price and now we’ll have to refigure the heads of Cheviot that we were going to purchase to keep on the North Oaks land.”
Gilroy lifted his shoulders. “So we have a few less sheep. Clean it up. You always do.”
“I shouldn’t have to clean it up, Gil.” Evan tossed his bow onto the table. “If you weren’t about to bargain for the price of it, you should have just left it for me when I was back.”
“Except I didn’t know when you’d be back, brother. And Lord Colton wanted the land sooner rather than later. You can’t expect everything to run as perfectly as you like when you decide to gallivant about the country—in southern lands, no less—for this imbecilic trick you’re attempting to play on grandfather.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed at his brother. “You know exactly why I’m doing it.”
“Aye. And I’ll never hear the end of it from your mouth.”
Evan exhaled a sigh, shaking his head as he grabbed his drink and stomped out of the great hall.
Leave Gilroy to his arrows and his soused head. He had work to do.
{ Chapter 13 }
Juliet stood to slip out the door of Ness’s room.
Two days spent with her and Juliet had celebrated a brief moment of victory an hour ago. Ness had looked at her directly, her amber eyes clear and focused, and said, “You are kind, Juliet. Your voice tethers me to this world. Call me, Ness, please. Everyone does.”
It had made sitting in Ness’s room, talking nonstop for hours both days about every topic Juliet could think of, worthwhile. A small grace that most of what Juliet did in London consisted of listening to men talk about whatever they were currently obsessed with—horses, politics, the latest agricultural practices, ships in port, trading routes, accounting, books, dog breeding, gambling, the drama of theton. The list of tepid topics she had at hand to pontificate about was staggering.
Ness hadn’t seemed to mind that the topics ranged from boring to mildly interesting. She’d seemed content just to have Juliet’s voice fill the room.
That had been the only thing Ness had asked of her the first morning Juliet went back into her room. To keep talking. Her face buried in a pillow, Ness had lifted her head just high enough to see Juliet out of her right eye. “Your voice sounds like my mother’s, please just talk, I don’t care what about.”
Juliet’s heart had flipped in her chest at the words.
To be with child and then lose a babe—not once, but twice, according to Gertie—must have been devastating for Ness. She could imagine how she would want the comfort of her own mother in just the same situation. Though not the angry, bitter mother she was at the end before Juliet left with the viscount.
Her mother from her childhood.
The mother that would hug her and pull her onto her lap and hold her as she read out loud from a book. Juliet would lay her head against her mother’s chest, soaking in the warmth of it, listening to her heartbeat, her cheek tickled by the vibration of her mother’s chest as she spoke. A sweep of her mother’s auburn hair was always loose about her shoulders, and would send whiffs of lemon into her nose. There hadn’t been a righter place in the world than on her mother’s lap.
To hear Ness want that one thing—her mother’s voice—had made Juliet pine for the past like never before. A past that was long gone, only wisps of memories left to torment her.
Juliet tried to lift the heavy ancient door of Ness’s room as she opened it, as it tended to scrape against the stone floor and she didn’t want to wake Ness. As the door opened halfway, Gertie slid into the room, giving her a bright smile and a nod as she balanced a tray of broth and tea in her hands. Gertie had been happier than anyone to see her mistress sitting up in bed and taking the slightest sips of broth earlier that day.
Gently closing the door to Ness’s room, Juliet looked to her left. The dressmaker was due to arrive back at the castle with two new dresses and warmer wear for the chill in the air. Welcome additions to the simple dark grey wool dress Juliet currently wore that the woman had altered rather quickly that first day without ever setting eyes on her—Evan must have given the dressmaker an admirable description of her body.
Evan had mentioned to her when he’d left her naked, wrapped in a sheet in his bed this morning, that he had to meet with a number of associates today, and would be busy for most of the daylight hours. Something about cleaning up a mess that he didn’t delve into.
But that gave her a few hours to wander about the castle and grounds, something she’d been excited to do since arriving. She’d always adored old structures such as these—especially ones set upon windy ridges—and there seemed to be an abundance of nooks to discover at Whetland. She’d truly only been in the dining room, her room, Evan’s room, Ness’s room, and the library since arriving.
“Miss, miss.” A little boy ran around the corner of the corridor, his hand waving at her. His cheeks and hands were dirty—sooty—and she guessed he was a stable boy corralled into cleaning the fireplaces.
“Hello.”
“Miss Thomson, is that ye, ma’am?” He pulled to stop in front of her.
