TemptingJuliana (3 page)

“This pink is pretty,” Emily said Monday at Grafton House, a draper’s shop in New Bond Street.

“It is,” Juliana agreed, watching a snooty woman give the girl and her ever-present snake a wide berth. “But silk isn’t sturdy enough for babies. And pink won’t do—the Governors want white, so all the clothes will suit both girls and boys.” She fingered a length of thick white wool.

Emily cocked her golden head. “Will the babies not be overly warm in frocks made of that?”

“I am considering this for the blankets. We’ll buy linsey for the frocks.”

“I’ll look for linsey, then,” Emily said and walked away.

Juliana nodded absently, deciding the wool would do fine. She was about to ask the price when she heard a little shriek, followed by a familiar voice. “Gracious me, Miss Neville! Are you
still
carrying that varmint everywhere?”

Juliana turned, surprised to see another Berkeley Square neighbor, Lady Amanda Wolverston.

Young Emily looked much more affronted than surprised, however. “Herman is not a varmint,” she protested, returning to slip her hand into Juliana’s. “He’s a pet.”

“Not a very proper one,” Lady Amanda said.

Although she agreed, Juliana squeezed Emily’s hand. Amanda could sometimes be a bit
too
proper. Still, since she and Amanda had grown up as neighbors, Juliana considered her a friend.

“I’m so glad you’ve come to town,” she told her with a smile. “I’ve invited my sisters to a little sewing party on Wednesday afternoon, to make some clothing for the Foundling Hospital babies. I do hope you’ll join us.” Her tall blond friend was slouching—a habitual posture for her. But she seemed to be slouching even more than normal, and she looked uncommonly pale. Juliana blinked and peered up at her wan face. “Where have you been hiding all Season?”

“In the countryside. My father is
still
excavating the Roman ruins he found on the estate.” Amanda gestured toward a chair in a corner of the shop, where her aunt sat primly. “Aunt Mabel accompanied me, though she didn’t want to come to town this year at all.”

A slight, pinch-faced woman in a baggy gown, the poor lady was as pink-cheeked as Amanda was pale. She seemed to be wheezing a little. “You know she’s always suffered from asthma,” Juliana said sympathetically, vaguely musing that Amanda must have inherited her fashion sense—or rather, lack thereof—from her aunt. “The London air doesn’t agree with her. However did you convince her to come?”

“Father convinced her. Or rather, he ordered her.” Amanda’s gaze slid to Emily and back, wordlessly telling Juliana she had something to confide.

Dying to hear the news, Juliana squeezed the little girl’s hand again. “Could you do me an important favor, sweetheart, and see if you can find that linsey?”

“All right,” Emily said, happily wandering off.

“Well?” Juliana asked when Emily was out of earshot.

Amanda’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Father has arranged my marriage. He sent me and Aunt Mabel to put together a trousseau, which is why I’m here at Grafton Hou—”

“He’s arranged your marriage?” Juliana interrupted. “To whom?”

Amanda closed her blue-gray eyes for a moment,
releasing a slow breath before she reopened them. “Lord Malmsey,” she said despondently.

“Lord
Malmsey
?”

The man was shorter than Amanda, quiet, mild-mannered, and meek. But the predominant image in Juliana’s mind was that of a creased forehead beneath a receding hairline.

“The man must be forty, at least!”

“Forty-five,” Amanda corrected. Almost twice her age. She was a year older than Juliana, which made her all of twenty-three. “I met with him last evening—not that either of us had much to say to each other. We’re to be married four weeks from Saturday, in a private ceremony by special license.”

The same day as the next Foundling Hospital intake, when Juliana had to have all the baby clothes ready. Amanda looked to be in the dismals, which was no wonder. “Can you not refuse to wed him?”

She shook her head. “Father has made it clear that if I fail to go through with this wedding, he will disinherit me—which would leave me slim chances of ever wedding at all.”

It was on the tip of Juliana’s tongue to argue the point, but she wasn’t one to lie—not outright, anyway—and Amanda was only stating the truth. In five Seasons, no one else had offered for her, and without her substantial inheritance, it was unlikely any man ever would.

“I am miserable,” Amanda added unnecessarily.

One thing Juliana was sure of: Griffin would never expect her to wed other than where her heart led her. For that, she supposed she should be grateful. “Have you told your father how you feel?”

“Countless times. My protests fall on deaf ears. Nothing I can say will make him breach a contract. His honor, apparently, is more important to him than my happiness.”

Lord Wolverston had always been rather emotionless and uncaring, but this went beyond that. It was downright cruel. “There is nothing at all honorable about putting his reputation before his own daughter. He should want to see you in love.”

“He believes that when it comes to marriage, there are much more important matters to consider.”

Juliana couldn’t disagree more—concerning her own marriage, at least. Her parents had wed for practical reasons, and her mother had never known true happiness. She did realize that much of society had other priorities for evaluating matches, but for her, love came first.

Amanda slouched even more. “He’s pleased beyond belief to have an offer for my hand at all, let alone one from a baron. I suppose he’s right when he says I’m lucky Lord Malmsey is willing to marry me.”

“Amanda!”

“I’m a confirmed wallflower, Juliana.”

Amanda
did
look rather plain, but Juliana had always assumed that was because her mother had died giving birth to her. Much like little Emily, she’d grown up without anyone to offer guidance. Her Aunt Mabel was certainly no help. Amanda wore dowdy clothes in all the wrong colors, her brows were too heavy, her blond hair was pulled back into an excruciatingly tight braided bun, and she never met anyone’s eyes—not even Juliana’s now. Her blue-gray gaze was focused in the vicinity of her unfashionably shod feet.

In short, Amanda was a project just waiting to be tackled.

“Who else knows about your engagement?” Juliana asked.

“We arrived only yesterday. You’re the first one I’ve told.”

“Excellent.” Lord Malmsey wasn’t the type to spread news, either. Although the man was a fixture at society gatherings, Juliana couldn’t recall more than a dozen words ever leaving his mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. I shall save you from this dismal fate.”

The older girl glanced up. “How? Do you truly believe it possible?”

“Without a doubt.” Juliana had never been one to disregard anyone in need. “Let me think on the matter.”

“Look here, Lady Juliana!” Emily returned, holding forth Herman coiled upon an armful of white fabric.

“Perfect, sweetheart.” Juliana smiled, hoping the clerk
wouldn’t faint when she asked for a length to be cut. Or maybe hoping the clerk
would
faint, because that might convince the girl, once and for all, that toting a snake about was not a good idea. She looked back to Amanda. “You’ll come to the sewing party Wednesday, will you not? One o’clock. By the time you arrive, I am certain to have a solution.”

“Where is Amanda?” Juliana said Wednesday afternoon in the drawing room.

Rain pattered outside the windows. “You’ve asked that more times than Emily’s pricked herself,” Alexandra observed as she patiently knotted a thread.

Alexandra could afford to be patient, Juliana thought, stitching a tiny frock more frantically than patiently. She wasn’t the one who’d promised to deliver twenty dozen articles of baby clothing in one short month. “Amanda said she’d be here.”

“No, she didn’t,” Emily pointed out, rearranging Herman on her shoulders. Unfortunately, the clerk at Grafton House hadn’t fainted. She’d only glared, which had done nothing toward convincing Emily to part with the dratted snake. “You invited her, but she never actually said she would come.”

“Perhaps not in so many words. But she’ll come.” Amanda
had
to come. Juliana had devised a plan. An excellent plan, which she couldn’t wait to explain—

“Ouch!” Emily exclaimed for the fifth time, sticking her pricked finger in her mouth. She really
wasn’t
very good with a needle. “This blanket is turning out dreadful.”

Juliana leaned over to inspect the girl’s handiwork. “It isn’t that bad.” The hem was rather uneven, but it wasn’t
dreadful
. Babies, after all, weren’t prone to criticize. “The blanket will keep an infant warm no matter what it looks like.”

“But I want it to look
good
.”

“With more practice, it will.” Corinna stopped sewing long enough to gesture toward an easel set up by the large picture window. Even in the dim rainy-day light, the scene on the canvas—a man pushing a laughing lady on a swing by a reflective lake—conveyed movement, vibrancy, a sense of life. “My first painting didn’t look like that.”

Alexandra smiled, still patiently working her own needle into the little cap she was making. “If I recall correctly, your first painting was a willow tree that looked more like a haystack.”

“We’re none of us expert seamstresses, Miss Emily.” Aunt Frances squinted at her own handiwork through her spectacles. “We’ve only ever done samplers and embroidery. After a few more practice blankets—”

“This isn’t practice,” Juliana interrupted. “Every single item will be used.” If she was lucky, today’s efforts would produce five or six finished garments. And she needed two hundred and forty! Although it was a bit early to panic, she realized already, less than an hour into her first sewing party, that she was going to have to host many more of them. “Where is Amanda?”

Just then the knocker sounded in the foyer.

“That must be Amanda,” she said, the frock falling to the floor as she jumped up and rushed from the room.

Though their butler, Adamson, was almost as short as Juliana, he always managed to look dignified nonetheless. “Good afternoon, Lady Amanda,” he intoned as he opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Adamson,” Amanda replied formally.

“Where on earth have you been?” Juliana asked, very informally indeed.

“Playing chess with Aunt Mabel. I couldn’t leave in the middle of such an exciting game.”

“Exciting?” Juliana could think of little less exciting than chess. She preferred games that were light and re
laxing, not so cerebral. Even sewing was more fun. “Come into the library.”

Amanda peeked through the open door across the way. “Isn’t everyone in the drawing room?”

“Yes. That’s the point.” Juliana took her in the opposite direction, closing the door behind them and ushering her friend toward two leather wingback chairs. “We must keep your engagement a secret. I’ve a plan to break it.”

Amanda sat and clasped her hands in her lap, suddenly looking nervous. “What is the plan?”

Picturing her sisters with their ears to the door—after all, she’d often done so along with them—Juliana lowered her voice. “We shall arrange to get you compromised by—and therefore betrothed to—a man closer to your age than Lord Malmsey. Your father will be forced to agree once the public has seen you and this other man in a compromising position.”

“A compromising position?” Amanda’s sudden laugh was shrill enough to make Juliana wince. “Gracious me, I’ve never even been kissed!”

“I haven’t been kissed, either,” Juliana said. “Not that men haven’t tried.” To the contrary, men tried all the time. But she always managed to duck them, because as much as she wanted to experience her first kiss, she wished for it to be with someone she cared for, at least a little.

“Well, no one’s tried with me,” Amanda said dourly. “And it will take more than a kiss to force my father’s hand. There’s not a chance a young, eligible man is going to compromise me. Not willingly, anyway.”

“I didn’t mean
un
willingly.” Juliana would never be party to such a devious plot, and furthermore, such a thing wouldn’t be necessary. When she was finished with Amanda, men would be falling over themselves trying to compromise her. “Not to worry, my dear.” She leaned closer to pat her hand. “Are you free tomorrow and the day after?”

“To be compromised?”

“To be fitted for a few ball gowns. You’ll require a new wardrobe, among other things. We’ll need to visit a seamstress as well as comb all the shops.”

Amanda appeared both dubious and hopeful, if such an expression were possible. “My father did give me leave to assemble a trousseau.”

“Excellent.” There was little Juliana enjoyed more than transforming an ugly duckling into a lovely swan. “We have a lot of work to do before Lady Hammersmithe’s ball on Saturday.”

“I cannot attend Lady Hammersmithe’s ball.”

“Of course you can. I shall summon Madame Bellefleur to trim your hair—”

“My hair has never been cut.” Amanda’s hands went protectively to her head. “And I cannot attend—”

“Ouuuccch!” The howl was so piercing, it shot from the drawing room, across the foyer, and through the library’s closed door.

“That’s Emily!” Juliana exclaimed, bolting from her chair. Lifting her skirts, she dashed out the door. “Emily!” she shouted, running through the foyer and bursting into the drawing room. “Emily, what’s happened?”

And there she stopped, a sudden sickness in her middle, a disturbing lightness in her head.

Emily was
bleeding
.

“It
hurts
,” the girl wailed, bent over her hand. Tiny red spots dotted her pink skirts. Although clearly the injury wasn’t serious—they were
tiny
spots, not a stream—Juliana knew she should hurry to help. To comfort. To make everything all better.

But she couldn’t. Because the sight of those red spots seemed to make it hard to breathe.

Everyone
else
was helping. Well, maybe not helping, precisely, but at least they weren’t riveted in place. In the scant seconds Juliana stood there—because that’s all the time it was, really—her sisters and Aunt Frances leapt up and surrounded Emily, making all sorts of clucking, compassionate noises.

At least that hid the sight of Emily’s wound. But all that sympathy seemed to do little but make the girl sob harder. “M-my needle s-slipped. It—it didn’t just poke me this time, it ripped—”

“Gracious me,” Amanda said in a rather disgusted tone, pushing past Juliana and into the little cluster of
females. “It’s just a little blood. For goodness’ sake. Someone take the snake.” While Corinna moved to do so, Amanda reached for some linsey and tore off a strip, then drew Emily to her feet. “Let’s clean it up and bandage it, shall we?” she said, leading her from the room.

Juliana walked to her chair, her knees feeling shaky. Which was ridiculous, and she knew it. As Corinna seemed to delight in pointing out to her, it was absurd for any female past puberty to find the sight of blood distressing. But her own monthlies never bothered her. A woman’s periodic blood was natural; other bleeding was not.

Thankfully, Corinna hadn’t seemed to notice her abysmal lack of action, and neither had anyone else.

“Emily will be fine.” Corinna held Herman at arm’s length, looking almost as ridiculous as Juliana felt. “Why didn’t you bring Amanda straight in here?”

“I wanted to talk to her regarding Lady Hammersmithe’s ball on Saturday. Talk her into attending, I mean.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Alexandra asked.

Juliana shrugged—casually, she hoped. “She’s rather shy around eligible gentlemen. I’ve offered to help her with a new wardrobe, which I’m hoping will boost her confidence.”

“That’s kind of you,” Alexandra said.

Corinna looked suspicious. Or maybe just wary of the snake. “Whyever did you feel the need to talk privately? We could have helped you convince her—”

“Here she is, all repaired,” Amanda announced, walking back in with Emily.

Emily sported a neat little linsey bandage wrapped around her finger. When she reached for Herman, Corinna didn’t hesitate to hand him over. Juliana’s sister still looked wary, though. Or suspicious.

Drat.

“Shall we get back to work?” Juliana asked cheerfully.

Emily shook her head. “I’m not sewing anymore.”

“You can start cutting the clouts,” Juliana suggested, handing her a bundle of cotton fabric, a pair of scissors, and a simple pattern. She hoped that when the cut rectangles were folded and sewn, they would turn out the
right size to cover a baby’s bottom. Refusing to even
think
about doing that a hundred times, she gave Emily’s half-finished blanket to Amanda. “Here. This is almost done.”

It wasn’t, of course, and Amanda proved to be no handier with a needle than the rest of them. Not only was Juliana going to have to host more sewing parties, she was also going to have to invite more women—hopefully including some who had sewn more than samplers. “I hope you’ll all help me recruit more ladies at Almack’s tonight.”

“I’m not attending,” Alexandra said, a sparkle in her brandy-brown eyes. “Since Parliament isn’t sitting, Tristan wants to stay home, just the two of us.”

It wouldn’t be
just
the two of them, of course—a marquess had a bevy of household help. But still, Juliana envied her sister’s settled life. Since Almack’s was foremost a matrimonial bazaar, Alexandra could afford to skip going and spend a relaxing evening at home instead. At the rate Juliana
wasn’t
finding a husband, she wondered if she’d ever have that luxury for herself.

Corinna looked up from the petticoat she was stitching. Suspiciously. “Amanda, you’ll be attending Almack’s, will you not?”

“No,” Amanda said. Juliana held her breath, half expecting her to blurt out that she had no need to attend given that she was already engaged. To her great relief, Amanda added instead, “Aunt Mabel isn’t feeling up to chaperoning me these days.”

“Is it the asthma again?” Aunt Frances sighed. “Poor Lady Mabel. I shall have to pay her a call.”

“She’d appreciate that very much,” Amanda said, hemming the blanket almost as crookedly as Emily.

If anything, Corinna looked even more suspicious. “But Juliana said you’re going to Lady Hammersmithe’s ball.”

“As I tried to explain to her, I don’t expect Aunt Mabel will be well enough by Saturday, either. The London air—”

“Aunt Frances can chaperone you along with us,” Juliana said.

Amanda’s needle slowed, not that she’d been plying
it with masterful speed in the first place. “No one will ask me to dance, anyway.”

“Oh, yes, they will.” Alexandra smiled down at her handiwork. “Juliana will teach you
the look
.”

Now Amanda’s needle stopped. “What look?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Juliana looked up from her little frock. “First you choose a man you wish to entice—”

“Entice?”

“Enticement is the objective of
the look
. Trust me, should you do it properly, men are guaranteed to fall at your feet.”

“Are they?”

“Positively,” Alexandra declared, making Juliana speculate on her sister’s life with her new husband.

Jealously speculate.

Amanda looked from one sister to the other. “I’m listening.”

“Excellent. First you choose a man and command his gaze.” Juliana focused on Amanda, making her eyes blatantly sensuous.

The older girl swallowed hard. “And then?”

“Glance down, bowing your head a little to display your lashes against your cheeks. Then sweep your eyelids up, gaze at the man full on again, and slowly—very slowly—curve your lips in a seductive smile.”

Amanda’s forehead wrinkled. “Show me again.”

“Watch closely.” Taking her time, Juliana silently repeated the demonstration.

Corinna snickered, but both Amanda and Emily sighed. “Can I learn, too?” Emily asked.

“It’s never too early to begin practicing. Amanda, give it a try.”

Amanda stared hard at Juliana, closed her eyes, popped them open, and stretched her mouth into a wide grin.

It was Juliana’s turn to sigh. She had her work cut out for her.