It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  “I knew it!” Corinna exclaimed at the same time Alexandra said, “That’s dreadful.”

  “Quite. Amanda is understandably upset, but Lord Wolverston will hear nothing of it. He’s told her that if she refuses to go through with the wedding, he’ll disinherit her.”

  Corinna gasped. “Then no one else will ever offer for her.”

  Of the three of them, she always had been the most blunt.

  “Precisely,” Juliana said. “Which is why I’m engaged in helping Amanda entice a younger man, in the hopes that he’ll offer for her before it’s too late.” While that wasn’t the complete plan, it was close enough. She wasn’t about to admit that they’d also have to persuade the man to publicly compromise her friend in order to force Lord Wolverston’s hand. “But I cannot find love for Amanda at Lord Malmsey’s expense. That would be terribly unfair.”

  “Juliana always wants to see everyone happy,” Alexandra reminded their sister.

  “In all his many years,” Corinna pointed out, “Lord Malmsey has never proposed to anyone before Amanda. He’s too shy to approach another woman.”

  “Then a shy spinster will be a perfect match.” Juliana’s gaze wandered the ballroom. Miss Hartshorn was too old; Lady Sarah Ballister was too young; Miss Ashton was entirely too outgoing. She scanned past her chaperone, then back. “Aunt Frances,” she said, nodding to herself with more than a little satisfaction.

  “Aunt Frances?” Corinna’s brilliant blue eyes widened. “You’re thinking to match Aunt Frances with Lord Malmsey?”

  Alexandra frowned toward their aunt, no doubt considering her spectacles and unstylish gray hair. “I’ve never seen Aunt Frances show romantic interest in a man.”

  “That’s only because no man has ever shown an interest in her,” Juliana said. “And that will all change when she receives Lord Malmsey’s love letter.”

  “What love letter?” Alexandra and Corinna asked in unison.

  Juliana shook her head. “The one I’m going to write, of course.”

  Her sisters had no imagination.

  She spotted one of their cousins, looking lost. “Rachael!” she called with a wave, starting toward her.

  Corinna grabbed her arm. “Are you plotting something else now?”

  “Of course not,” Juliana said, although she hoped to get her brother to dance with her cousin.

  Rachael and Griffin belonged together, but Rachael had seemed a bit down lately and hadn’t attended many events, which had hampered Juliana’s efforts to match them.

  “I just want to invite Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth to my next sewing party,” she explained with an innocent smile.

  Chapter Ten

  WARY OF Juliana’s grin, Griffin watched her heading his way with their cousin. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “Rachael would love to dance with you.”

  Rachael’s gorgeous sky blue eyes narrowed, making Griffin suspect she found Juliana’s statement as preposterous as he did. An awkward moment passed while he shifted uncomfortably. But there was nothing for it—no way to duck out of this situation gracefully.

  Sometime in the years he’d spent in the military, Juliana had completely mastered the art of meddling.

  “I would be honored, Lady Rachael,” he said at last, “if you would join me for the next dance.”

  “Splendid,” Juliana said as the musicians struck up a waltz. “Please excuse me.” She waved them toward the dance floor. “I must speak with Alexandra.”

  “She was just speaking with Alexandra,” Rachael informed him as they began waltzing. “Do you always allow your sisters to run roughshod over you?”

  Griffin refused to take offense at her question. For one thing, she felt entirely too good in his arms—which was completely inappropriate—and for another, the remark was made with good humor. “Only Juliana,” he told her lightly.

  “Like hell,” she said. Rachael could curse like a sailor, but he considered that part of her charm. “Alexandra and Corinna know how to play you just as well.”

  Since he couldn’t really argue, he twirled her and changed the subject. “You’ve been hiding this season.”

  The good humor vanished, replaced by a melancholy air. Even the chestnut tendrils around her face seemed to droop. “I haven’t felt much like mingling.”

  She didn’t have to say why. Griffin knew—although his sisters didn’t—that Rachael had been dealt a blow several months earlier when she’d learned the man she’d called “Papa” since birth hadn’t actually been her father.

  “It doesn’t signify,” he said quietly.

  “It signifies to me. I feel like my life has been a lie.”

  “Has something changed at home? Is Noah treating you differently? Or Claire or Elizabeth?”

  “No. Not at all. But I feel as though they should.”

  “You all shared a mother. They’re still your brother and sisters.”

  She sighed, obviously shaken. “I know.” Her eyes grew suspiciously moist, making him fear that her chin—her adorable, dented chin—might begin to wobble next.

  And Griffin found himself wanting to help her.

  The entire affair was none of his business. Between running a marquessate and marrying off his sisters, God knew he already had enough on his plate. But Rachael was young and beautiful. She should be enjoying herself, searching for a husband, falling in love. She was his cousin—in name, if not by blood—and he wanted to see her happy.

  The haunted look in her cerulean eyes caused a tightness in his chest.

  “Do you want me to help you find your father?” he asked.

  “No,” she said unequivocally. “He’s dead.”

  He thought about pointing out that, whether her father was dead or not, learning his identity might afford her some peace. But the music ended, and she drew back and dipped into a curtsy.

  “Thank you, Lord Cainewood,” she said without meeting his eyes. And then she walked away.

  Given their shared childhood, her curtsy had been way too formal. But Griffin decided it was for the best. He shouldn’t have offered to help her anyway—he always found himself clenching his teeth when she was around. The last thing he needed was a woman like Rachael complicating his life.

  As he made his way from the dance floor, the Duke of Castleton walked up. “When are you going to sell me Velocity?”

  Grateful for the distraction, Griffin laughed. “Never. When are you going to give up asking?”

  “Never.” Although Castleton gave a determined nod, not a hair on his carefully coiffed blond head moved. “I heard he made a good showing at Ascot.”

  “A pity you missed the meet,” Griffin said, remembering Juliana preferred fair men. “You’ve a fine stable, Castleton.”

  “It would be finer with Velocity.”

  “Velocity—as I’ve told you at least a dozen times—isn’t for sale.” Considering the subject closed, Griffin gestured across the room. “I say, would you care to meet my sister Juliana?”

  Chapter Eleven

  EVERYONE WHO was anyone was at Lady Hammersmithe’s ball. Including James’s mother, Cornelia—the Dowager Countess of Stafford—and her older sisters, Aurelia and Bedelia.

  In the refreshment room, James handed them all glasses of champagne. “How is your throat, Aunt Bedelia?”

  “Better. But my chest has been paining me.” She put a narrow hand to her flat bosom—Bedelia was as skinny as a rail. “Perhaps you should stop by Monday morning and have a listen to my heart with your new stethoscope.”

  Doing his best to appear concerned, James sipped champagne. “Perhaps I’ll do that.”

  “Certainly you will,” his mother said, but she softened that with a smile that reached her brown eyes.

  Besides sharing James’s eyes, she had the same dark hair, and he thought, not for the first time, that she was quite attractive for a woman of her years. Aurelia might be a mite plump, and Bedelia a bit too thin, but Cornelia was perfectly in between.

  “Have y
ou enjoyed the dancing this evening?” she asked him.

  “Am I supposed to?” he responded dryly. “I thought marriage was the object, not enjoyment.”

  “Grandchildren are the object,” Aurelia put in. “And grandnephews and grandnieces.”

  He’d thought as much. But he couldn’t imagine marrying any of the women he’d danced with tonight, let alone siring offspring with any of them. Try as he might—and he was trying, for his mother’s sake if not his own—he feared he couldn’t imagine marrying again at all.

  The problem was, he’d had love and marriage once. So now one without the other—marriage without the love—just seemed plain…impossible. But a loveless marriage was all he could ever have, because loving a woman besides Anne was unthinkable. Even considering it felt disrespectful, as though he would be desecrating Anne’s memory.

  Not that she’d have objected, mind you. Anne had been generous and giving. She wouldn’t have wanted him to be unhappy or lonely all his life. If he’d asked her permission—which he hadn’t, of course—she would certainly have said he could fall in love with someone else after she was gone.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. Whenever he’d danced with a lady tonight, Anne’s serious, loyal face had seemed to shimmer before his eyes.

  “I only want you to be happy,” his mother said.

  “I know.” He knew, too, that she understood how he felt. Or at least she should. She’d also loved and lost a spouse. “Why aren’t you dancing, Mother?”

  “Me?”

  Perhaps if he turned the tables, she might realize she was pushing too hard. That he wasn’t yet ready. “Yes, you. “

  Aurelia and Bedelia tittered. Maybe it was the champagne, but he thought not.

  “What?” he said, turning to confront them. “Father has been gone longer than Anne. And your husbands have been gone even longer. All three of you should be dancing.”

  The sisters exchanged startled glances. “We’re too old,” Aurelia said for all of them.

  “Nonsense.” Aurelia and Bedelia were well into their sixties, but his mother was only fifty-six. He put down his champagne, then took their three glasses and set them down, too. “You’re not going to find new husbands while standing around the refreshment table. Come along.”

  Grabbing his mother’s hand, he drew her toward the ballroom, trusting her sisters to follow. After all, the three of them stuck together as tightly as a bandage to a wound.

  His profession required prescribing medicine…perhaps it was time they got a taste of their own.

  Chapter Twelve

  WHILE AMANDA was off dancing with her fourth or fifth potential suitor, and Juliana was inviting—well, perhaps begging—Rachael’s two sisters to attend her little sewing party tomorrow, Griffin brought a strange man to meet her.

  Not that he was actually strange, mind you. But he was definitely a stranger. Which Juliana found intriguing, because, honestly, she’d thought she’d already met every eligible man who’d bothered to come to town this season.

  “My sister,” Griffin said by way of introduction. “Lady Juliana.”

  The man was handsome, fair-haired, and not too tall. Juliana smiled and curtsied.

  “Juliana, I’d be pleased for you to meet the Duke of Castleton.”

  A duke! Handsome, fair-haired, not too tall, and wealthy and well connected. Juliana’s heart fluttered with excitement as the duke bowed over her hand. “Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Juliana?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said and let him lead her onto the floor.

  The duke’s dress and bearing were both impeccable, and he proved to be a fine dancer. “Where have you been all season?” she asked.

  “Abroad, seeing to some of my interests now that the war with France has come to an end.”

  “Ah.” Though he wasn’t holding her very closely, she could smell his costly eau de cologne. “All your many interests keep you busy, then?”

  “Not usually.” He had calm, pale blue eyes. “It’s been years since I’ve been overseas. I much prefer to stay here in town and fill my life with amusements.”

  No profession, nothing to keep him from spending lots of time with her. His blond hair was neatly groomed—unlike tousled Lord Stafford, he obviously had time to tend to it. He was sounding better and better. Perfect, as a matter of fact.

  “I adore being amused,” she told him and gave him the look.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t fall at her feet. In fact, he appeared rather discomfited. “It was cold on the Continent,” he said, as though she hadn’t just tried to attract him.

  So he was proper and reserved. She supposed she could deal with that. “As cold as it’s been here?”

  “Not quite. And certainly not as rainy.”

  “It snowed this month. In June!”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, amazing.”

  Not exactly scintillating conversation, but then, they didn’t know each other yet. There would be plenty of time later to speak of deeper things, Juliana told herself.

  When the dance ended, the duke quite properly delivered her back to her brother.

  “Well?” Griffin asked after the man had bowed and walked away. “I suppose you want me to keep looking?”

  “To the contrary,” she said. “I expect it’s likely no more introductions will be necessary. How old is the duke? Do you know?” He didn’t look terribly ancient, but most of the dukes she knew were in their dotage.

  “You’re not dismissing him out of hand?” Griffin looked vastly surprised—and pleased, not to mention relieved. “I believe he’s thirty-two.”

  While she’d prefer a man in his twenties—she was searching for love, not early widowhood—thirty-two wasn’t so very old. “You didn’t mention his given name.”

  “It’s David. And his family name is Harcourt.”

  Harcourt—a nice, simple surname for her children. And his title, Castleton, sounded rather romantic, didn’t it? And he was a duke.

  The man seemed more ideal by the moment.

  A deep voice interrupted her musings. “Good evening, Lady Juliana.”

  She glanced over to see Lord Stafford. “Good evening,” she returned.

  “Cainewood,” he said, addressing Griffin, “you wouldn’t happen to know any aging widowers, would you?”

  “Looking for more patients, Stafford? Old ones, with many ailments?”

  “No.” He gestured toward three mature women standing in a tight cluster. “I’m looking for dance partners for my mother and her sisters, Lady Avonleigh and Lady Balmforth.”

  “Dance partners?” Juliana asked, her interest piqued. “Or possible suitors?”

  “My sister fancies herself a matchmaker,” Griffin explained.

  “I do not,” she retorted. “I simply try to help people. I endeavor to make people happy.”

  “A noble undertaking,” Lord Stafford assured her. “However, I’m not looking for husbands for my mother and aunts. Dance partners will do.”

  Lord Malmsey came to mind, but although he was too old for Amanda, he was too young for Lord Stafford’s mother. And besides, she’d already decided he belonged with Aunt Frances.

  “May I borrow your quizzing glass?” she asked.

  Instead of taking it off, Lord Stafford handed it to her with the long chain still around his neck. She leaned closer to raise it to her left eye. He smelled not of costly eau de cologne but of something closer to soap.

  Very male soap.

  A quick scan of the room through the quizzing glass revealed a few likely dance partners for his relations, and she wasted no time corralling them and introducing them to the three women. Not five minutes later, she stood hip to hip with Lord Stafford, the two of them watching his mother and aunts perform a quadrille.

  Or at least they would have been hip to hip had he not been so overly tall.

  “That,” Lord Stafford said, looking a little stunned, “was impressive.”

  Ju
liana shrugged, much the same as he had when she’d remarked that he’d saved Lord Neville’s life. “I’m good at what I do.”

  “You certainly are.” The musicians finished the quadrille and struck up a lilting waltz. “May I have this dance?” he suddenly asked.

  Although she would rather have danced again with the duke, it wouldn’t be seemly to refuse. So she said, “It would be my pleasure.”

  When he took her hand, a peculiar flutter erupted in her middle. That had nothing to do with him, of course. It was just because everything was going so well. She’d found the duke, and Amanda had her pick of young suitors, and Lord Malmsey was going to fall head over heels for Aunt Frances. She might even be able to match Lord Stafford’s mother and aunts with eligible widowers this season, no matter that he only wanted them to dance. All of her projects were beginning to work.

  No, that flutter had nothing to do with Lord Stafford. She had no interest in him whatsoever. In fact, he might well be the ideal man for Amanda. He was a doctor, after all, and Amanda wasn’t sickened by blood. She would make him a good wife. And Amanda was tall, so the two of them would look excellent together.

  And perhaps she, Juliana, would be a duchess! She could already picture herself walking down the aisle with the duke.

  She glanced up to find Lord Stafford staring at her again, like he had last week when they’d danced. And again she found that unnerving. He seemed a very intense sort of man.

  She wracked her brain for something to say that would get him talking instead of staring. “I missed you at Almack’s last Wednesday.”

  His chocolate eyes widened. “You missed me?”

  She hadn’t meant it like that. “You weren’t there. Do you not like Almack’s?”

  James abhorred the very idea of the place—it was a veritable marriage mart, the men in attendance little more than targets for young girls and their scheming mamas—but he wouldn’t say that to Juliana. “My mother obtained a voucher for me,” he said instead, which was nothing less than the truth, “but there was trouble at the Institute that night, so I was unable to attend.”