Page 11 of A Mismatch Made in London

“So suspicious.” Juliet clicked her tongue at him. “Jeremy, you are being ungenerous, and I will not allow you to speak ill of Amelia Moore. She is a dear, sweet girl, and she is my friend. In fact, she is so artless and so good, I believe she will even win you over. But either way, I will not have you saying anything bad about her.”

She crossed her arms in that stubborn way of hers and stared out the window at the dark London streets.

Why couldn’t she see that he only said these things out of concern for her? After all, he wasn’t hurt by what Miss Scofield did,but Juliet was. Her “dear friend” Miss Scofield had left their home after he convinced her he wanted nothing whatever to do with her, but not before taking her revenge against him and Juliet both.

He’d heard Fortescue and his friends talking about Miss Moore’s unsophisticated “country manners,” as well as her eleven brothers and sisters. That was before he’d realized that she was Juliet’s new friend, and he had walked away, refusing to listen or be a part of their petty, unkind conversation. But it made her seem even more similar to Miss Scofield, who was also a country girl with a bevy of siblings.

He could not allow Miss Amelia Moore to hurt his sister. Juliet had been through enough in the last few years, with both their parents dying in close succession. She might not always be the most prudent girl, but she had a good heart, and she was one of his closest friends, when she wasn’t being his annoying younger sister. He would not let anyone hurt her or take advantage of her good nature.

Even if his father had not asked him with his dying last words to protect Juliet and ensure her happiness, he would have wanted to do so, as her only brother. Their older sister, with whom he’d never been very close, had been married for years and rarely visited, so he was glad to be the one to watch over Juliet and shield her from the mercenaries of the world, like Miss Scofield, who only wanted to use her.

The day was cloudy and a bit windy, but when Juliet arrived, she looked as excited as I felt that it wasn’t raining.

Her brother stood just behind her, not openly scowling but not smiling either, and I quickly put on my bonnet. I took up my parasol, and we were off.

Juliet walked close beside me, telling me stories about growing up with her sister and brother in Bedfordshire and being taughtby a governess. Her brother had gone away to school, so most of her stories were not about him, but even the ones that were, he added nothing to the conversation, only walked stoically beside his sister.

Could he not be the least bit cordial? People like him—too haughty to even make conversation—were my least favorite. But perhaps he was unwell, or he simply didn’t care to talk. I should not judge him without knowing him better.

When we entered the park, there were many others taking the air, and Juliet whispered in my ear their names and what she knew of them.

At one point she whispered, “I’m sorry my brother is so rude and isn’t speaking. It is his way, I’m afraid.” She sighed.

“Please do not worry on my account,” I whispered back. “I enjoy spending time with you, and I’m grateful he’s willing to allow us this time.” I said this mostly for Juliet’s sake. Truly, he should not put her in a position to have to make apologies for him.

“You are very gracious, Amelia. I wish I could be good like you.”

“What do you mean? You are very good, Juliet. You were so kind to me at the ball, when I was embarrassing myself with my tears.”

“You were not embarrassing yourself. And if I am good, it is only in the common way. I’m often selfish, thinking of my own pleasure, but I suppose I shall be uncommonly good when I am old.” Juliet grinned as if she’d made a good joke.

Some swans near the lake caught her eye. She grabbed my hand and started running toward them.

I was fairly certain that it was not considered ladylike behavior to run in public, even in a park, but I had little choice but to keep up with her. Jeremy Beaumont followed behind us, completely devoid of his sister’s gaiety.

“Brother, dear,” Juliet said in a voice of fake sweetness, “did you bring the food for the swans?”

He raised a single brow at her, then dug in his pocket. Juliet held out her cupped palms and he poured into them what looked to be a handful of seeds and ground-up bits of grain.

“Give Amelia some swan food too.” Juliet stepped back and nudged me forward.

I was obliged to hold out my hands as he, no doubt reluctantly, dug into his pocket and retrieved another small handful and poured it into my hands. He was careful not to touch me, and some of the bird food overflowed onto the ground.

“Forgive me,” I mumbled without thinking. It was a habit of mine, apologizing when I’d done nothing wrong.

He grunted in a rather rude way.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Nothing at all, Miss Moore,” he said in a sarcastic tone.

I gave him a look of disgust that I only hoped he understood correctly, then quickly turned and walked after Juliet, holding my head high.

We sprinkled our offerings at the edge of the grassy bank, and the swans came swimming toward us. They waddled up onto the bank and began eating. It was the closest I’d ever been to a swan.

“They’re so beautiful,” I said.

“Don’t try to feed them from your hand. It can be a bit painful, the way they attack the food.” Juliet poured out the rest of her grain on the ground and turned to find her brother, who was standing just behind her.