Page 52 of A Mismatch Made in London

Jeremy’s presence seemed to put a bit of a damper on our party. Only Mrs. Wilson was as lively as the day before.

“It isn’t often one gets such good weather in England,” she was saying. “I can remember a summer when it rained every day. One had to watch out the window, and when the rain stopped, run outside and try to walk back and forth in front of your door before the next rainfall came.”

“Yes, it is a lovely day for a walk,” Mr. Harper said, looking at me, “and even lovelier company with whom to walk.”

I could have sworn I saw Jeremy roll his eyes heavenward, but I only caught a glimpse, and only from the side. Certainly, he looked grumpy, but he often looked grumpy. What was wrong with him? Why could he not be glad that he was alive and healthy? Some people weren’t grateful for anything.

At the park we walked among the trees and watched all the other people taking their exercise and enjoying the weather.

One young lady after another, three in a row, approached Jeremy with their mother or chaperone and greeted him, smiling and trying to make conversation. He was civil but a bit short with them, saying he couldn’t pause to talk because he was with his sister.

I tried to read his expression. Was he embarrassed? A little, and a little annoyed, I guessed. It was almost humorous, but also obnoxious. Why could he not enjoy the attention, or at least be more civil? And why should he get so much attention from young ladies when he didn’t even want it? But I knew the answer; he was wealthy and handsome.

And then we saw him. Mr. Fairweather.

He was walking with a gentleman, not Mr. Wallcroft, but a man with a V between his eyes, as if his brow lines were in a permanent downturn. But Mr. Fairweather looked the same as he had before, except for a faint scar across his cheek, and less handsome in my mind, the scoundrel.

Juliet made a tiny gasp, then turned around, letting go of Mr. Shelley’s arm.

I drew close to her.

“Is he going?” she whispered to me.

“No, he’s coming this way.” I turned to the others. “Shall we go? I believe it is becoming a bit too warm for me.”

Jeremy had seen him too and narrowed his eyes at him, looking quite prone to violence.

Mr. Fairweather’s eyes met Jeremy’s, and his step faltered. Then he turned and went in a different direction without acknowledging that he’d seen us.

“Is everything all right?” Mr. Shelley was looking at Juliet.

“Oh, yes, all is well.” She smiled and took his arm again. “But Miss Moore is correct. We must go home now, I think.”

Our companions did not question us, thankfully, and we walked home, still talking about how fine the weather was, although a bit warm.

When we reached home, Mr. Shelley and Mr. Harper went on their way.

Later, when Juliet and I were alone in our bedroom, after changing our clothes, she became still, quiet, and serious and told me in a confidential tone, “I didn’t tell you everything that happened when I went with Mr. Fairweather.”

I turned to face her, as we were sitting on her small sofa, and waited for her to go on.

“He drove down a small alley. I told him to take me back, but he refused. Then he kissed me. I told him to stop and pushed him away. But then he put his hands on me, on my ... chest. I’ve never been so afraid in my whole life. I screamed and scratched his face. Then he slapped me—not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough ... enough to frighten me.”

“Oh, Juliet. How horrible. That horrible man!” My face burned and I felt sick.

“I was screaming, and he put his hand over my mouth and squeezed my face so hard it hurt. But then he just drove out of the alley and drove me home. And I was actually thankful he hadn’tdone anything worse, although that makes me furious now, to think of it. When we were almost here, he said if I ever told anyone what he did he would deny it, and he would kill Jeremy. He said he had friends, bad men. I was so afraid and so ashamed.”

“Oh, Juliet.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “You aren’t the one who should feel ashamed. That horrid man should feel shame. He should feel afraid, for God will get his revenge on him for what he did to you.” I felt the heat and fury rising inside.

“Thank you. You are a good friend.” Juliet wiped her face with a handkerchief. Until then I hadn’t realized she was crying.

“You should tell Jeremy what happened. Perhaps he—”

“No. Promise me you won’t tell Jeremy.” She turned to me, her eyelids red, tears still puddling under her eyes. “You mustn’t tell him, please. I’m too afraid of what he would do, afraid he would be harmed. And I couldn’t bear for him to know what happened. He’d be so ... upset, and I’d feel even worse than I already do. He’d surely challenge the man to a duel, and then one of them would be killed. I couldn’t bear to have that on my conscience.”

“I won’t tell him. But I hope you know that he is the one who did wrong, not you. You trusted him, and he broke that trust in a terrible, terrible way. I’m so sorry, Juliet, that he did that to you.”

“I’ve never felt so frightened. And when I saw him today ... it was as if it was happening all over again.” Juliet sniffed, then took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore, or ever again. I just won’t think about it, ever.”