Miss Foster’s Folly

  Manhattan, 1886

  Juliet Foster has just become the wealthiest spinster in town. Her domineering and thoroughly unpleasant father has died and left her millions. She’s free to be her own woman and seek a life of adventure.

  David Winslow, Marquess of Derrington, is in search of a wife who can break the Winslow Curse. Every second-generation heir inherits a restless, defiant nature that can only be tamed by a mate as independent and rebellious as himself.

  Miss Juliet Foster is perfect—and eager for seduction. But when he wants more than a few nights of passion, Juliet runs like the devil’s on her heels. Can the marquess convince her that marriage isn’t a trap, but the greatest freedom of all?

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  Miss Foster’s Folly

  Alice Gaines

  DEDICATION

  For the gang at SFA RWA. You make the voyage fun.

  Alice

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Manhattan Island, New York, 1886

  The day Juliet Foster became insanely wealthy broke bright and clear. Juliet stared with longing out the window at the sunlight bringing the first warmth of spring to Central Park. The Almighty might have planned the weather to honor her dear, departed father. More likely, God didn’t think about Gerard Foster one way or the other. No matter. Juliet’s father had never paid much attention to God, either.

  Gerard’s children had assembled in the lavishly appointed office of his lawyer. Juliet’s brother and sister and their spouses perched on their chairs, seeming to hover over Mr. Simms as he put on his reading glasses and opened the will. Juliet braced herself; unlike the others, she knew what was coming.

  Mr. Simms cleared his throat. “I hope I’ve expressed my deep condolences at the loss of your father.”

  “Thank you.” Her sister, Ophelia lifted her handkerchief to her mouth and managed a discreet sob into the linen. Very convincing unless you’d witnessed her make the exact same noise dozens of times over the years.

  “He was a very great man, my dear,” Mr. Simms said. “All of Manhattan admired him.”

  Indeed. They’d all discover how much that very night at the party Gerard’s partners had planned in his honor. Society might think a celebration so soon after the man’s death in poor taste, but Papa had no doubt ordered the thing to demonstrate that even in death, he was still in charge.

  “Not only a titan of industry, but a great philanthropist,” Mr. Simms went on. “The Foster Museum, the Foster Conservatory. The Foster Sanitarium…he even cared for the poor and infirm.”

  As long as he didn’t have to actually meet any of the poor and infirm. Papa had left monuments to his name all over the city the way his prize bulldogs left surprises on the sidewalk outside of their mansion on the park.

  “But I don’t have to sing his praises to you kind people,” Mr. Simms said. “We shall not see his like again for a very long time, if ever.”

  “Mr. Simms,” her brother Richard said. “I hate to seem…”

  The lawyer wrinkled his brow in confusion.

  “We have preparations,” Richard went on. “If you don’t mind…the will?”

  Mr. Simms’ expression cleared. “Ah, yes.”

  The man shuffled the papers for a moment and then began to read. “‘I, Gerard Howard Foster, being of sound mind do here on this twenty-fifth of November, 1885 declare this to be my last will and testament for all matters—’”

  “Yes, of course,” Ophelia said. “I don’t think we need that part.”

  Mr. Simms glanced at Richard. “Should I skip it?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Richard answered.

  The lawyer looked to Juliet.

  “Whatever my brother and sister want,” she said. Nothing either of them could say or do would change the important contents of the will.

  “Very well.” Mr. Simms cleared his throat again. “‘To my son, Richard, I leave my interests in the railroad and steamship lines that bear my name.’”

  Richard smiled broadly and then realized he shouldn’t look so happy this soon after the loss of his father. Instead, he settled his features into the expression of a man overwhelmed with responsibility but willing to soldier on. His figurine of a wife played her part like a professional, resting her tiny fingers on her husband’s sleeve and gazing up at him in admiration.

  “‘Richard’s tried for twenty-three years to wrest control from me,’” Mr. Simms read on. “‘May he now sink or swim on his own. Without my help, the sharks among the partners will eat him alive.’”

  Juliet’s brother’s expression soured. Her father had said nothing but the truth, and they all knew it, but no one had ever dared to say it out loud before. The partners would do their best to make Richard’s life hell, and they’d probably succeed. Richard shared their father’s greed but not his talent at grinding his opponents under his heel.

  Mr. Simms turned to Juliet’s sister. “‘To my elder daughter, Ophelia, I leave the estate in Newport and the country house in Saratoga. No doubt, she and her grasping husband will sell them at their first opportunity.’”

  Ophelia straightened. “Lucas and I would never do such a thing.”

  Her husband, who was every bit as blond and every bit as beautiful as his wife, pretended shock every bit as well as she did. “Of course we wouldn’t.”

  “It continues,” the lawyer said. “‘I believe I’ve thwarted the two of them by hiding her mother’s best jewelry somewhere on one of the properties. If Ophelia wants the emeralds and pearls to drape over her bosom, which she pads with God only knows what, she’ll have to find them.’”

  Ophelia laid her hand over said bosom and turned a violent shade of pink.

  “‘To my
younger daughter, Juliet, I leave all my other assets in cash, bonds, and real estate,’” the lawyer read. “‘She has a headstrong and unfeminine temperament and will never land a husband. But she clings to money with the tenacity of a barnacle. This way, I know she’ll never starve.’”

  Starve? She couldn’t go through that much money if she tried for the rest of her life. Granted, at thirty-two, she’d put her best spending years behind her, but even if she suddenly developed expensive tastes, she’d hardly make a dent in all that wealth. As to the remark about her nature, if marriage required that she act like the other two females in the room, she’d take headstrong over feminine any day.

  What else could one expect? The whole will was another of her father’s little jokes—giving most of his estate to the child least likely to want it. Well, she had a few jokes of her own for her dear, departed papa. Maybe he could watch them from heaven. If he really had ended up there.

  “That’s that, then,” Mr. Simms concluded. “You’re a very rich young lady, Miss Juliet.”

  “Not exactly young,” she corrected.

  “You’ve all done well,” he said. “Mr. Foster was very generous.”

  Ophelia’s blue gaze flitted to Richard’s darker one. He, in turn, leaned forward and rested his hand on the edge of the desk. “Is there more?”

  Mr. Simms’s bushy, gray brows knitted together again. “Some instructions to his partners, a few gifts to the servants that I’ll present later.”

  “About us,” Ophelia said. “That can’t be all Papa said about us.”

  The man picked up the will again. “Oh yes, there is this last message.”

  Ophelia settled back in her chair with the confidence of someone who’d had things made right for her over her entire lifetime.

  “‘Goodbye to all of you,’” the lawyer read. “‘I never would have tolerated any of you except for your mother’s sake. I join her in heaven now, if she’ll have me. The two of us will continue in the bliss we might have shared if the three of you had never been born.’”

  All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, leaving nothing but a cloud of embarrassment behind. Gerard Foster had always had a nasty disposition and a way with words that had made him intolerable to everyone but his wife. He’d just taken his last swipe at them all, and he’d made it a good one.

  “Ah, Father,” Juliet said finally. “As affectionate in death as he was in life.”

  “Oh, do shut up, Juliet,” Richard said.

  His wife, Sarah, gripped his arm and turned toward Mr. Simms. “I wonder if we could be alone for a while.”

  “Of course.” The man looked relieved at the suggestion and rose from behind the desk. “I’ll leave you to discuss, um, matters. Ring for my secretary when you’re done.”

  He left the room as quickly as his bulk allowed, pulling the door closed behind him. Immediately, the others broke into a quartet of protest. Juliet sat silently. After all, she had nothing to complain about.

  “It’s not fair.” Ophelia’s voice penetrated the others. She jumped from her chair and looked as if she’d stamp her tiny foot. “Why did he leave all the money to you?”

  “Why did Papa do anything?” Juliet answered. “To make someone unhappy. In this case, you.”

  “We don’t need houses,” her sister wailed. “We have a perfectly good house on the park.”

  Lucas rose and put his arms around his wife. From the desolate expression on his face, you’d think someone had taken his last dollar instead of leaving him two highly valuable properties, one of which held a hidden treasure of jewelry.

  Richard rubbed his forehead as if Ophelia’s whining had given him a headache. She had that effect on people.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” he said.

  Ophelia turned on him. “That’s easy for you to say. You got what you wanted.”

  “Along with father’s curse,” he said. “He expected me to fail.”

  “He couldn’t,” Ophelia said. “He was your father.”

  “Don’t be a ninny,” Richard grumbled back.

  Dear heaven. One of Gerard’s favorite expressions. Now that Richard had become head of the family would he turn as sour as his father? Maybe Foster men inherited the trait. Juliet had planned her escape from all this familial bliss, and now it appeared she’d better get away fast.

  “The man detested me,” Richard said. “He’s probably set traps everywhere. Poisoned the other partners against me.”

  Richard left his seat, went to the window, and stared out, resting his fist against the frame. “He’d have given the companies to Juliet, too, if she weren’t a woman.”

  “Oh, no,” Juliet said. “I’d have treated his employees decently. He couldn’t risk that.”

  “For heaven’s sake, calm down. None of us will go hungry,” Sarah said. She might have looked like a porcelain doll with her pale skin and green eyes, but she had more sense than the other three put together.

  “It’s not fair,” Ophelia tried one last time before plopping back into her chair.

  “If you’re really that miserable, I could buy one of the estates from you,” Juliet said.

  “Oh, would you?” The storm cloud over Ophelia’s face vanished, and the sun shone in her eyes.

  “Of course,” Juliet answered. “Although I might end up with mother’s jewels.”

  That got her a look from her sister as if she’d smelled something bad. Ophelia hadn’t considered the implications of the offer, but then, she never had been able to see beyond the end of her nose.

  “Never mind, then,” Ophelia said.

  “I guess we’re done.” Juliet got up and straightened her skirts around her. “Ring for the secretary so we can leave.”

  Richard found the bell pull next to the drape and gave it a vicious tug. After no more than a few seconds, the door opened. Mr. Simms’ thoroughly starched and thoroughly efficient assistant stood on the threshold. “May I be of service?”

  “Call us a carriage, will you?” Richard said. “We’re ready to leave.”

  “I think I’ll walk,” Juliet announced. “It’s a lovely day.”

  “I’ll see you out.” The secretary accompanied her to the front of the house and pulled the door open.

  “Thank you.” She took a step and hesitated, turning back to the man. “I’d get that carriage quickly, if I were you. They can all be very unpleasant.”

  “I’ll do as you say, miss.”

  With that, she climbed down the stairs into the sunshine, smiling to herself.

  ***

  Juliet found her friend, Millicent Rhodes, sitting on a bench in the park. When she spotted Juliet, Millie smiled and rose. “That was fast.”

  “The siblings made sure we got to the important things quickly.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Pretty much the way I expected,” Juliet answered. “My father called me unfeminine and compared me to a barnacle.”

  Millie’s jaw dropped. “How cruel.”

  “Papa was a mean, old coot, but he had great insights into people.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Let’s walk home, and I’ll explain it.”

  Juliet found the path, and the two young women went along, side by side. The Foster mansion wasn’t Millie’s actual home, of course. Or it hadn’t been, but she could live there now for as long as she wanted. An orphan with no family, Millie had been a charity case at Miss Sedgewick’s Academy for Young Ladies, which Juliet also attended. Because the two of them stood taller than any of the other girls, they’d become best friends. In fact, they could share each other’s clothes, although Millie filled out the bodice of Juliet’s dresses better than she did.

  “Why would your father call you unfeminine?” Millie asked. “You’re a desirable woman.”

  “I don’t particularly care if I am or I’m not. I have no plans to marry or even to form an attachment with a man.”

  “What about Mr. Carter?” Millie said.


  “Jack’s a sweetheart, but he doesn’t count.”

  They’d approached a bridge that spanned one of the many culverts in the park. Millie stopped and turned to Juliet. “Mr. Carter’s very handsome, and the two of you would make a wonderful match.”

  “He is a good-looking devil, and I adore him,” Juliet said. “But he’s not interested in women.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Do you remember Miss Adams?” Juliet said.

  “The English teacher.”

  “Right. And her friendship with Miss Eustace?”

  “I see.” Understanding flashed in Millie’s eyes. “Mr. Carter’s that way with men.”

  “He’s a lot of fun and a great dancing partner. No more.” Juliet looped her arm through Millie’s and walked with her a bit. They passed granite outcroppings as they went. Small pockets of snow still clustered in the crags, but even those were giving way to crocuses. The tiny yellow, purple, and white flowers were the first promise of spring. Soon, the whole landscape would give way to a riot of color. She planned to be on a steamship toward London before that happened.

  “All right, not Mr. Carter,” Millie said. “But you must have had offers of love and marriage.”

  “Dozens.” Juliet waved dismissively with her free hand. “Undying love, declarations that they must marry me or perish! All of them completely dishonest.”

  “How do you know they were dishonest?”

  “Money, money, money. They had no interest in me,” she said. “None of them would have given me a second look if my name were Juliet Smith.”

  “Surely, one of them must have been sincere,” Millie answered.

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Marriage is a trap. A husband owns you and all your possessions. The man could turn me into a pauper and lock me in the house if he wanted.”

  “I hardly remember my parents,” Millie said. “Were yours like that?”