In all fairness, she couldn’t accuse Wylde of engineering the disaster, but he’d doubtless been only too happy to play the gallant hero to someone as pretty as Juliet. The gossip mongers would have a marvelous time dissecting this. It was too much to hope that nobody had seen him carting her sister into the house like some medieval groom carrying his bride over the threshold.

“I’ll have Mrs. Potter bring some tea up,” Mother said cheerfully. “And the calamine and compress.” She shot an arch glance at Wylde. “I’m sure you won’t mind keeping Juliet company for a few moments, will you, Mr. Wylde?”

She bustled out of the room without waiting for an answer.

Chapter 14.

As soon as their mother left, Juliet raised herself weakly from the pillows. “Whatever happened to Simeon? Did he see what happened?”

“He saw,” Georgie said. “He seemed rather surprised that you’d swooned into the arms of another man.”

Juliet’s face fell. “Oh dear. I truly didn’t mean to. You don’t think he’ll be jealous, do you? He has no reason to be.” She glanced over at Wylde. “No offense, Mr. Wylde, and I do appreciate your help, but my heart is already taken.”

He smiled. “No offence taken, Miss Juliet.”

“Did he follow us home? Look outside!”

Georgie crossed to the window. Sure enough, standing forlornly behind the iron railings that delineated the small garden in the center of Grosvenor Square, stood Simeon Pettigrew.

“Yes, he’s there.”

Simeon was only a year older than Juliet, nineteen to her eighteen, and was personally responsible for convincing Georgie that love really was blind. And quite possibly deaf and stupid as well. There was no other way to explain Juliet’s inexplicable attraction.

Simeon had a long, thin face with eyes that drooped down at the outer corners and gave him the look of a perpetually disappointed puppy. Round spectacles perched on his long nose. Not because he needed them—the lenses were clear glass—but because he was under the erroneous impression that they made him look more scholarly. Unable to grow a full beard, he maintained the few straggly hairs that sprouted from his chin and a sad attempt at a mustache, which appeared as a shadowy, peach-like fuzz on his upper lip. He kept his wavy black hair deliberately long, chin length, so it was always getting in his mouth; he sucked the end of it absentmindedly when he was concentrating.