As the week unfurled, Juliet found herself growing lonelier and lonelier at the big castle. The meals she took with the family were always silent and tense; Andrew was usually in his laboratory "experimenting;" Nerissa rose late and made frequent social calls on the neighboring gentry; and the Duke of Blackheath, never pleasant, often aloof, and always more than capable of making Juliet feel as though she was a burden on his time and attention, continued to evade her question about making Charlotte his ward — I have not made up my mind yet, Miss Paige, do not continue to harass me about it. It was little wonder, then, that Juliet found herself spending more and more time at Gareth's bedside, laughing at the amusing things he would say, blushing at his flirtatious remarks, sitting in a chair watching him play with Charlotte. Her new friend was a warm blanket in a glacier of cold English formality, a welcome relief from the oppressive austerity of the duke — which seemed to permeate the very walls of the castle itself.
Despite herself, she told herself that she was not attracted to him. Gareth — light-hearted, carefree, and not always grounded in maturity — was not, after all, the sort of man who would suit her. It was not practical, nor wise, to let herself think of him in any terms other than what he was.
A friend.
Juliet, of course, was not the only one to benefit from this growing friendship; Gareth, too, found his convalescence much easier to bear with a beautiful young woman tending to him, bringing him his meals, his niece, and — if truth be told — a good excuse to needle Lucien. He knew his brother was aware of Juliet's visits and was not altogether pleased about them. Still, Lucien said nothing about the subject, though Gareth presumed the servants reported every visit Juliet Paige made to his room back to his omniscient brother.
A week and a half after the robbery, Gareth — restless from being stuck indoors, his muscles cramped from too much bedrest, his stitches newly removed — decided he'd had enough. He was going for a walk. He did, of course, possess the strength to undertake such a venture by himself; however, his "lingering weakness" was a perfect excuse to ask Juliet to accompany him, just in case he suddenly grew light-headed and needed her assistance. When she brought their lunches up to him that afternoon, they ate together — and then he asked her to walk with him to the top of Sparsholt Down.
He thought she would protest; instead, she surprised him by saying the fresh air would probably do him good. And so it was that an hour later the two of them, Charlotte safe in the care of Nerissa, set off across the front lawn, heads together and laughing.
As they passed the library, the drapes at the window moved slightly — but neither noticed. The Duke of Blackheath watched them go, his expression unreadable. He was, of course, very much aware of Juliet's frequent sojourns to his brother's room. He was also very much aware of the attraction between the two, a fact that did not annoy him half as much as he wanted Gareth to believe; in fact, it was quite the opposite.
Quite the opposite indeed.
The faintest of smiles crossed his face, and he let the drape fall shut.
Gareth was purposely defying him.
Things were going precisely according to plan.
And when, a few hours later, he saw them racing a spring thunderstorm home, the two of them laughing like children — he was smiling even more.