By Virtue Fall (The Shakespeare Sisters Book 4) Read online

  Carrie Elks lives near London, England and writes contemporary romance with a dash of intrigue. She loves to travel and meet new people, and has lived in the USA and Switzerland as well as the UK. An avid social networker, she tries to limit her Facebook and Twitter time to stolen moments between writing chapters. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can usually be found baking, drinking wine or working out how to combine the two.

  Visit her website at www.carrieelks.com and follow her on Twitter at @CarrieElks

  By Carrie Elks

  The Shakespeare Sisters

  Summer’s Lease

  A Winter’s Tale

  Absent in the Spring

  By Virtue Fall

  Copyright

  Published by Piatkus

  ISBN: 978-0-349-41552-9

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Carrie Elks 2018

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Piatkus

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Elks

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  To Diane. Because you are strong.

  1

  What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

  By any other name would smell as sweet

  – Romeo and Juliet

  ‘But I’ve always dreamed of yellow roses,’ the bride said, leaning forward. ‘Yellow roses mixed with white lilies, hand tied with string.’

  ‘Yellow is very vulgar, Melanie,’ Mrs Carlton, the older woman replied, waving her hand as if to dismiss her future daughter-in-law. ‘At the Smithson wedding they had peach flowers. They were very elegant and tasteful.’ She gave a nod at the end, as if that was her final word.

  Juliet chewed the top of her pen lid, watching the two women debating their wedding flower preferences. Since she’d started her florist business a year before, it had become a familiar scene. Sometimes she felt more like a therapist than anything else.

  Pulling the blue pen lid from her mouth, Juliet scribbled on the pad in front of her. ‘You know, yellow and peach roses can look fantastic together,’ she suggested, quickly sketching out a picture of a bouquet. ‘We did something similar at the Hatherly wedding in the summer, and it looked divine.’ She leaned in towards Mrs Carlton, as if they were bosom buddies. ‘And you know how discerning Eleanor Hatherly is.’

  She was name-dropping but she didn’t care. Though she was an outsider, she’d lived in Maryland long enough to know that in these circles snobbery was still a thing. Hell, she’d been married to one of the biggest snobs in Shaw Haven, after all.

  Was still married to him, she corrected herself. For now, at least. Thanks to Maryland divorce laws, she and Thomas had to live separately for a year before their divorce could be finalised. Six months in, and she was already counting the days.

  Melanie looked up at Juliet, a flash of hope in her eyes. ‘I’d love a peach and yellow bouquet.’

  Patting her on the hand, Mrs Carlton smiled. ‘I knew we’d be able to agree on this. It’s the small details that are so important. You’ll learn that when you’re a Carlton, too.’

  Grabbing her tablet, Juliet scrolled through her catalogue to show them the different arrangements, helping them narrow down the choices until they found the perfect one.

  Welcome to married life. A world where you’ll run yourself ragged pleasing your husband, your in-laws and even your friends, while putting all your hopes and dreams on the backburner.

  Juliet found her thoughts drifting back to her own wedding. She’d met Thomas when she was studying Fine Arts at Oxford Brookes University, and he’d been a Rhodes Scholar, an American studying at the more prestigious Oxford University. It had been a meeting of pure chance – she’d been working in a local florist at the weekends to try and eke out her student loan, in charge of deliveries in the local area. As she was walking up the path to Christ Church College, dodging the students and tourists who were admiring the fountain in the middle of the green, she’d been practically run over by the suave American post-grad who was running late for dinner.

  He’d swept her off her feet both literally and figuratively that day. She’d been as besotted with his intelligence and sophistication as he’d been with her beauty and artistic flair. Their relationship had felt something like a holiday romance – from the moment they met they’d spent every day together – eating picnics in the park, or wandering aimlessly through the arboretum. He’d wanted to know everything about her, from her childhood dreams to her plans for the future.

  And then she’d fallen pregnant.

  That’s not when the cracks started to show, though. They were still desperately in love, and the differences in their backgrounds and experience meant nothing compared to the all-encompassing passion they felt for each other. So when – being the perfect gentleman he was – Thomas had asked her to marry him, she’d said yes without hesitation. After all, they were made for each other, weren’t they?

  They were married in London. His family didn’t attend – she wasn’t even sure if he’d invited them. Instead she was supported by her three sisters. Lucy – her eldest sister – had always been the organiser. Within a few days of Thomas’s proposal she’d secured the town hall location for the ceremony, and arranged for a venue for their wedding party. Even Kitty and Cesca – still young at seventeen and eighteen – had helped, decorating the tables and making the invitations. Heck, they even agreed to wear the bridesmaid dresses that Juliet had made.

  It had been a fairy-tale wedding, in spite of their haste. Twenty-year-old Juliet had never felt more beautiful as she walked up the small aisle on her father’s arm, her baby bump barely visible beneath the layers of white lace she wore. And when Thomas had turned to look at her, his eyes warm with what looked like love, she’d felt as though it was the beginning of a wonderful life together.

  Better not to think about that. Not now.

  ‘Where did you two meet?’ Juliet asked the bride-to-be.

  ‘At Harvard,’ Melanie replied.

  She was about to say more when the ol
der woman spoke over her. ‘David was at law school there. Imagine our surprise when he came back with more than a qualification.’

  Melanie blushed but said nothing.

  Juliet swallowed hard, trying not to remember her own mother-in-law’s reaction when Thomas introduced his new wife. They’d been married for two weeks by that point, moving back to his home town here in Maryland, where he planned to work in the family business. He’d assured her his family would feel the same way he did about her.

  But from the start she’d felt like a disappointment. The differences he’d loved about her back in Oxford somehow morphed into embarrassments that made him shake his head. She didn’t dress in the right way, she was too artistic, she hadn’t even finished her first degree for goodness sake.

  But that was all water under the bridge, wasn’t it? Or it would be, once the divorce was finalised. At least then she’d be able to move forward with her life, even if she would always be tied to Thomas by their six-year-old daughter, Poppy.

  ‘We’ll definitely go with that one,’ Mrs Carlton said, pointing at the photograph on Juliet’s iPad. ‘Now let’s choose the table décor.’

  Juliet looked at Melanie, who nodded again. ‘You’ll look beautiful,’ Juliet told her, and the woman’s smile widened.

  Part of her wanted to warn Melanie that it wouldn’t get any better. Once the wedding was over, that’s when the real power play would begin.

  Stop it.

  Maybe the groom wasn’t as much of an ass as Thomas turned out to be. Or maybe Juliet was too jaded. She’d stayed for seven years, after all, it wasn’t all doom, was it? Anyway, she needed to be positive. Weddings were the most reliable form of income for Shakespeare Flowers. She was still trying to build up the business and her reputation. Her projections showed she should start making a profit some time the following year, but right now, cash flow was king.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, vibrating against her hip. She pulled it out, taking care not to be caught, knowing how bad it would look to this woman who put appearances over everything else. Her heart dropped when she checked the display.

  Surrey Academy.

  The most prestigious educational establishment in Shaw Haven, the five-thousand-dollar a term school ranged from Pre-Kindergarten to High School seniors. Poppy had been attending for a year now, and seemed happy there in spite of the turmoil at home.

  ‘I’m so sorry, it’s my daughter’s school. I need to take this.’ She flashed an apologetic smile at the women in front of her. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Swallowing hard, she walked out into the hallway of the expensive, colonial house. Sliding the screen to accept the call, she braced herself for a telling off. Not that it had been her fault Poppy was late to school that morning. It was her neighbours – the new ones moving into the house next to hers. Their removal truck had blocked her driveway, and by the time the driver had moved it Poppy had been twenty minutes late for school.

  ‘Mrs Marshall? This is Marion Davies.’ The clipped tones of the principal reminded Juliet of her mother-in-law. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past half-hour. We really need our parents to be responsive when we try to contact them.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, I was in a meeting. I didn’t hear the phone.’ She felt like a naughty school child. ‘Is everything okay? Nothing’s happened to Poppy has it?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Unfortunately she’s been involved in an … incident. I need you to come into the school now so we can discuss it face to face.’

  Juliet’s mouth turned dry. ‘Now? Is it serious? Are you sure she’s not hurt?’

  ‘No, she isn’t hurt. She is, however, in a lot of trouble. It’s not something I wish to discuss over the telephone. If you come to my office I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Juliet glanced at her watch, grimacing. ‘Could I come in at the end of school instead?’ She had ten deliveries to make before then. Fitting them in before class finished at three was already going to be a close-run thing.

  Lowering her voice, Principal Davies played her trump card. ‘Of course, I’d be happy to call Mr Marshall if you prefer.’

  ‘Oh no, that won’t be necessary. I’ll get there as soon as I can.’ She really didn’t want Thomas getting involved in this. The more distance she could keep between them the better.

  ‘Very well. I’ll see you imminently.’ With that, Principal Davies rang off, leaving Juliet still holding the phone to her ear.

  Ugh, she was going to have to call Lily and ask her to stay late at the shop, and beg her to do the deliveries. And she hated doing that, even though Lily never complained. Like Juliet, she just gritted her teeth and got on with things.

  And right now it looked like both their days were about to get a heck of a lot worse.

  ‘Mrs Marshall? Please go in.’ The school administrator pointed towards the principal’s office. Juliet stood, her legs feeling suddenly shaky. She smoothed the denim down her thighs, tucking her shirt in to try and regain a semblance of smartness. Being called ‘Mrs Marshall’ sounded alien to her now. Strange how quickly she’d shrugged off that name, in her head at least. Nowadays she thought of herself as Juliet Shakespeare again, the girl who grew up in London. In the years since her shotgun marriage, she’d somehow lost the very joie de vivre Thomas had fallen in love with. A victim of trying to squeeze her square peg self into a perfectly round hole.

  As soon as she walked into the principal’s office, all heads turned to look at her. She sought Poppy out first, seeing her six-year-old girl sitting in the corner, her eyes wide as she stared imploringly at Juliet.

  She flashed her daughter a reassuring smile. Poppy was lively and headstrong, but she was a good kid who’d been through so much.

  ‘Please sit down,’ Principal Davies said, pointing to the only vacant chair.

  Juliet sat next to Poppy. That’s when she noticed the other child – a small blond-haired boy, looking tiny as he sat on the adult-sized chair, his hands clutched around a blue toy train.

  There was a fresh bruise on his cheek.

  As if he’d been slapped.

  Oh no.

  ‘Mrs Marshall, this is Mr Sutherland. His son, Charlie, started here with us at Surrey Academy today.’

  ‘Mrs Marshall?’ a deep, husky voice asked. ‘One of the Shaw Haven Marshalls?’

  Juliet’s heart immediately started to pound. She slowly turned her head to look at the man. Everything about him was breathtaking. From his height – visible in spite of his seated position – to his broad shoulders and chest. But it was his face that made her words stick to her tongue – the sculpted bones of his cheeks and chiselled square jaw making him one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen.

  ‘Um … yes. My husband is Thomas Marshall.’

  The man raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

  ‘Mrs Marshall, let me explain what happened between Poppy and Charlie,’ the principal interjected. ‘During recess, they were playing with the train set.’ The hushed tones of the principal’s voice forced Juliet to lean forward. ‘They had an argument about the blue train, and Poppy slapped Charlie. I’m afraid the force made him fall against the wall and caused a nosebleed.’

  Juliet opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, failing to find the right words. Blood rushed through her ears, drowning all other sound out. Principal Davies and Mr Sutherland were staring at her as if she was the worst parent in the world.

  Maybe they were right.

  ‘Poppy,’ she finally said, the anxiety making her words wobble. ‘You shouldn’t hit anybody, you know it’s wrong.’

  ‘You hit Daddy’s friend when you found them at the house together,’ Poppy said. ‘You said that people shouldn’t take things that belong to other people.’

  Juliet covered her mouth with her hand. How the hell did Poppy know that? For a moment she was back there, finding Thomas and his PA in the most compromising of positions. The image made her want to throw up. Her face flamed as s
he glanced at Principal Davies to see her reaction. The older woman’s face was as impassive as always.

  Mr Sutherland, on the other hand, was trying to bite down a smile. He was looking at her with new interest.

  ‘It’s still wrong to hit people, sweetheart,’ Juliet said again. Her mouth felt drier than the desert. How could she even explain to her six-year-old child the rage she’d felt when she realised she’d been betrayed? That it was the first time she’d ever thrown a punch in her life. ‘I shouldn’t have done it and neither should you.’

  ‘It was my train.’ Poppy’s voice was full of that familiar stubbornness. ‘I told him it was mine and he still tried to take it. It’s always been mine. He can’t just come here and steal it from me.’

  Juliet glanced at the man from the corner of her eye again. For some reason she found it hard not to keep looking at him. His cheeks were high, his jaw firm, but it was the dark shadow of beard growth on his face that surprised her. He had a rough edge to him she rarely saw around here.

  Oops. He was staring straight back at her.

  ‘It’s not your train,’ Juliet pointed out. ‘It belongs to the school, and everybody’s allowed to play with it. You need to apologise to Charlie.’

  ‘No way.’

  The small boy looked up at her, his eyes wider than ever. Juliet realised he hadn’t spoken at all. His sandy hair was falling over his brow, and his clothes were a little too tight for his body.

  ‘It’s Charlie’s first day. You should have been welcoming, shown him around. You can’t just treat people like that. Now say sorry.’ This time she was sharper. Even Poppy looked surprised at her tone.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Now say it and mean it.’

  Poppy’s bottom lip stuck out, and she started to chew it. For a moment she stared at Charlie, her eyes narrowed as if she was weighing up her options. ‘Okay, I’m really sorry. It’s a stupid train anyway. Half the wheels are missing. Next time you should play with the green one, it goes the fastest.’

  Charlie nodded silently, as if she was the fount of all school-based knowledge.

  ‘Well, that’s a start I suppose,’ Principal Davies said. ‘But I’m sure you’ll agree that we can’t just let this go. Poppy hit another child, we need to punish her for it. We have standards we expect all our students to live up to.’