It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  But before Amanda could answer, Lady Stafford waltzed up. “Good evening, Lady Juliana!” All smiles in contrast to everyone else, James’s mother was accompanied by Lord Cavanaugh, who, while older than Lord Malmsey, at least wasn’t in his dotage. “It’s a pleasure to see you here.”

  “I adore music,” Juliana said. “I was pleased to receive an invitation to Lady Pevensey’s musical evening.”

  “This is your first season, isn’t it?” Lord Cavanaugh asked dryly.

  “Oh, hush,” Lady Stafford said. “Lady Pevensey’s musical evenings are always enchanting.” She turned back to Juliana. “Are you attending Lady Hartley’s breakfast on Sunday?”

  “I haven’t decided. I’m supposed to have a sewing party.”

  “Oh, you must attend—it’s the event of the season. Everyone will be there.”

  “Including your sisters?”

  “Without a doubt. I must tell you, my sisters are thoroughly enjoying your sewing parties. They haven’t called on my son for an examination in two entire days.”

  “I have only four sewing parties left before the baby clothes are due.” Three if she went to Lady Hartley’s breakfast, which she might as well do if no one would be available to attend her sewing party anyway. “I told Lord Stafford his aunts would have less time to ponder their health if gentlemen were courting them, but he said they wouldn’t be interested.”

  Lady Stafford flashed Lord Cavanaugh, who was courting her, a fond smile. “My sisters are older and set in their ways.”

  “I believe they’re bored and need something to do. Something to get them out of their house after my sewing project is complete.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, dear. They’ve been helping me renovate one of Stafford House’s bedrooms, but that will be finished soon, too. I cannot imagine what else to suggest to occupy them after that. I’ve tried to talk them into redecorating their own house, but they won’t hear of it.”

  Standing on the temporary stage she’d had erected in her drawing room, Lady Pevensey clapped her hands. “If you’ll all take your seats, we’re ready to begin!”

  “I shall think about your sisters,” Juliana promised Lady Stafford before turning to find a seat. “There must be something they would find diverting.”

  Frances and Lord Malmsey had seated themselves in the last row, so she headed toward the front in order to give them some privacy. After this afternoon’s party, she had a hundred and fifty-seven baby items completed, which meant she needed eighty-three more. That hadn’t seemed an impossible task, with four parties remaining—slightly more than twenty items per party. Perfectly reasonable, especially if she made a few by herself in between. But with only three parties…

  “We need to talk.” As she slid onto a first-row chair, Amanda grabbed her arm. “We cannot talk in the front, right in the faces of the musicians.”

  Juliana didn’t want to talk; she wanted to listen. Though she normally spent hours playing the harp, all her projects had left her scant time for any music of late. But her friend looked panicked. “Very well,” she said, walking around to take a chair in a middle row. “What do you need to tell me about your father?”

  Amanda took the chair beside her. “I’ve received word that he’ll be arriving in three days. Early Sunday evening.” She clutched her hands together in her lap, perhaps to keep them from trembling. “He’s coming to see to the final details of my wedding.”

  Juliana patted her on the arm. “We still have time—”

  “No, we don’t! It’s scheduled for a week from Saturday, and—”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Lady Pevensey announced, “I’m honored to introduce our first guest musicians. Miss Harriet Kent will perform Mozart’s Sonata in C Major on the pianoforte, accompanied by her sister, Miss Hillary Kent, on the violin.”

  The room fell silent while the Kent sisters minced their way to the stage.

  “A week from Saturday,” Amanda repeated, “and—”

  “Shh!” someone hissed behind them.

  Juliana laid a hand over Amanda’s clenched ones. “Wait,” she whispered.

  Her friend waited, tense as the younger Miss Kent’s bowstrings. When the lively notes of the first movement filled the air, she wasted no time before resuming their conversation in a lower tone. “My wedding is a week from Saturday. My time is running out. I need James to compromise me—I must try again to trick him.”

  “You must not!”

  “Shh!” someone else hissed.

  “You must not,” Juliana repeated in a whisper. “That would be unethical and dishonest. We shouldn’t have tried it the first time, and I won’t try it again.”

  “We have no choice!”

  “Shh!”

  “Shh!”

  “Shh!”

  Juliana twisted in her chair to glance behind her. Several people were glaring. All women. A couple of the aging men were already nodding off. “Hush,” she murmured, turning back to Amanda. “Of course you have a choice. You can choose to act warmly towards James. Once you become friends, he’ll propose to you and agree to the compromise.”

  She was beginning to think it would never happen. Or maybe she was beginning to hope it would never happen. Because James would have to kiss Amanda before he proposed to her, and even though Juliana couldn’t marry him, the thought of James kissing anyone but herself—let alone touching anyone the way he’d touched her—made her stomach hurt.

  She leaned closer. “I have an idea,” she whispered in desperation. She knew her friend would refuse. But she’d feel much better about abandoning the duke if she could offer a replacement, and Amanda didn’t seem to want to kiss James anyway. “Would you like to marry the duke?”

  “No!” Amanda looked horrified. “I told you I would never marry a by-blow!”

  Whispers broke out behind them, and a few more people hissed “Shh!”

  Juliana wished Amanda hadn’t said by-blow quite so loud. “Whyever do you keep going off with the duke, then?” she pressed. “Why have you begun calling him David?”

  “Well, he’s very nice. I think we’re becoming friends. But there’s a big difference between a friend and a husband.”

  Juliana was disappointed but not surprised. She’d known all along that Amanda was going off with the duke only to avoid kissing James. “Maybe you should choose another man,” she suggested. Plenty of gentlemen were still asking Amanda to dance at every ball. “At the Teddington ball on Saturday—”

  “I want Lord Stafford. Besides, there isn’t enough time to choose another man and expect him to propose.”

  “We have a little more than a week—”

  “No, we don’t. My father will be here Sunday, and for all I know he may not let me out of the house after that.”

  Drat. Her friend was right. Lord Malmsey could marry Aunt Frances only if Juliana saw to it that James kissed Amanda—and not as part of a plot.

  That wouldn’t be easy, because Amanda feared kissing. Her reserved nature caused her to cling to people she felt safe with, allowing her to avoid intimacy. If James was to have a prayer of kissing Amanda, Juliana would have to make sure there was no one besides him for her to cling to. Not herself, not Frances, and not the duke.

  Especially not the duke.

  Amanda gravitated toward him, knowing instinctively he would never try to kiss her, thereby averting the closeness she feared. If James managed to kiss Amanda even once, however, all of that would change. His kisses were so wonderful, Amanda would surely want more. Then one thing would lead to another, and before Juliana knew it, James would unbutton and propose.

  Her stomach hurt like the very dickens.

  She would have to get Amanda alone with James. It was the only solution. Exactly how she would accomplish this, she couldn’t imagine. Amanda wouldn’t agree to see a man without a chaperone, but perhaps Juliana could plan another group outing and then claim Aunt Frances felt ill. And she felt ill. And the duke felt ill.

  Oh, bother. That wou
ld never work. It felt like there was a dagger lodged in her stomach. She’d figure out something tomorrow. Right after she figured out how she would finish eighty-three more items of baby clothes with only three sewing parties instead of four.

  “Are you all right?” Amanda asked.

  “Shh!”

  Amanda lowered her voice. “Why are you clutching your middle?”

  Juliana unfolded her arms and tried to draw a calming breath. Another moment and she’d have found herself curled up on Lady Pevensey’s exquisite Turkey carpet.

  “I’m fine,” she gritted out, ignoring another chorus of Shh! “Just fine.”

  But although she normally loved music and the Misses Kent were more than proficient performers, Mozart didn’t prove enjoyable tonight. And neither did the Handel or Beethoven that came after. She almost envied all the men who had gone to Parliament instead of to the Pevenseys’.

  She should have stayed home. She needed to sew; she should have spent these hours stitching rather than listening to music. Even more important, she needed to discourage James’s attentions so he’d turn to Amanda instead. And for that, she needed a few hours in the kitchen.

  It was time to bring out her secret weapon: Miss Rebecca Chase’s lemon slices.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  LEMON SLICES

  Take a measure of Butter and one of Sugar and mixe them together with the grated rinde of two Lemons. Put in two Eggs and then Flower, a spoon of leavening, and a little Milk. Put in a loaf tin and Bake until it rises and turns golde. Make holes with a skewer and pour in the juice of two Lemons. Leave the cake until colde and then turn from the tin and cut it into slices.

  The sour lemons will turn a man sour to your charms. I thwarted my grandmother’s matchmaking scheme twice by serving these slices to the dratted suitors.

  —Miss Rebecca Chase, 1695

  FOR FIVE DAYS—ever since she’d come to his house and offered to volunteer—James had been thinking about getting Juliana alone in one of his treatment rooms.

  One would have expected the interludes at the Panorama and the Physic Garden to have slaked his passions, but the opposite was true. He’d spent yesterday’s session in Parliament woolgathering instead of listening. Overnight, he’d dreamed impossible dreams. This morning, as he’d shaved and dressed, he’d concocted a fantasy so lurid he knew it would never happen. But he’d been looking forward to trying.

  Unfortunately, life was conspiring against him.

  Juliana rushed in as the clock struck one. Juggling two baskets while she folded her umbrella, she made her way through his crowded reception room. “I’m sorry, but I cannot stay long. I’ve instructed the driver to come back in three hours. I’ve too much sewing to do.” She paused and blinked. “What are you doing behind the counter?”

  “Playing assistant while I interview for a new one,” he said, frowning at the front of her dress. For the first time ever—in his experience, anyway—she’d filled in her low neckline with some sort of froufrou scarf, which was hardly conducive to his fantasies.

  “Another assistant has left?” She came around to join him and set down her baskets. “Again?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Another one found herself with child.” He shook his head. “It’s an epidemic.”

  “I suppose you gave her fifty pounds?”

  “Yes. She was much relieved, but now I need to find someone new. What did you bring me?” he asked, lifting the doily that covered one of the baskets.

  “Fabric.” Laughing at the look on his face, she pulled out a handful of white material and waved it under his nose. “Would you care for some? Appetizing, isn’t it?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I thought maybe you’d made some sweets.”

  “I don’t have time to bake. I barely have time to breathe.” She sighed and delved into the second basket. “But I baked anyway. Have a lemon slice.” After he took one, she shooed him toward the back. “Go vaccinate some of these people before even more show up, or else they’ll have to stand out in the rain. I’ll take over here, and I’ll let you know if anyone promising comes in to apply for the position.”

  James went, finding the lemon slice delicious but grumbling all the way nonetheless. He’d never resented having too many patients before—the more people who agreed to be immunized, after all, the sooner smallpox would become a thing of the past. But he hadn’t been picturing sniffling children in his treatment rooms all week, damn it…Juliana was supposed to have been there.

  Without a stupid scarf hiding her charms.

  Between sewing baby clothes, Juliana proved a model of efficiency, but he and the other physician could vaccinate only so fast. Nearly three hours passed before the number of patients dwindled to the point where everyone waiting had a seat. When Dr. Payton left and two more doctors arrived for the second shift, James heaved a sigh of relief and joined Juliana behind the counter.

  A frown creased the area between her brows, and though her gaze flicked to meet his for a moment, it was soon back on the task in her hands. Her shoulders looked stiff and hunched. He stepped behind her to rub them, finding her muscles tense and knotted.

  “Come into the back with me,” he murmured. “I’ll make you feel better.”

  “I cannot. The carriage will be here any minute, and until then I must keep sewing.” Though her needle stabs seemed frantic and rather random, she was getting the job done. “Besides, we really shouldn’t be alone, James. You know what will happen.”

  Of course he knew what would happen. He would tempt her, and it would work, which would eventually lead to better things. Though he knew it was only a matter of time before she realized that she, not Lady Amanda, belonged with him, he was beginning to get impatient.

  He kept massaging her, firmly but tenderly, wondering why her taut muscles weren’t relaxing with his ministrations. “Just for a minute,” he coaxed. “Nothing will happen in just a minute.”

  In two or three minutes, however…

  “Your afternoon assistant has yet to arrive,” she said toward her handiwork. “We cannot leave all these people out here unsupervised.”

  She was right about that. He kissed the top of her head and sighed. “No luck finding a new assistant?”

  “Have another lemon slice, will you?”

  He didn’t take one, because he didn’t want to let go of her to do so. Touching her was much more appealing than sweets. And her tenseness wasn’t easing, which was worrisome. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

  Now she sighed. “Your last assistant sent in a friend, but I didn’t think you should hire her.”

  “Why not? Could the woman not read?”

  She bit off the end of a thread and leaned away from him to reach into her basket for a spool, sighing again when he leaned with her. “Yes, she could read. But I feared she’d find herself with child before long.”

  His fingers stilled. “What?”

  “You heard me.” She pulled off a length of thread. “You’ve lost two assistants due to pregnancy already. Why do you think that is?”

  Actually, he’d lost four assistants, not two—but he wasn’t about to admit that now. “The water?” he speculated.

  “Your generosity,” she declared. “You’re too nice, James.”

  “Pardon?” He relinquished her shoulders and walked around to face her. “How the devil can a person be too nice?”

  “These girls are taking advantage of your generosity,” she said, sticking the end of the thread in her mouth to wet it. He wanted that mouth on him. “They’re getting pregnant on purpose. I’d lay odds that last girl sent her friend here with a promise of fifty pounds. You need to find someone older, someone more responsible.”

  “Older women aren’t seeking work. They’re busy raising children.”

  “I mean much older women.” Having threaded the needle, she looked up, and he found himself lost in her greenish eyes. “Like your aunts.”

  He blinked. “My aunts?”

  “Excuse me,”
she said, turning away to hand a number to a woman waiting by the counter with two children.

  He hadn’t even noticed they were there.

  “You’re number forty-two,” she told the woman. “I’ll call you when it’s your turn.”

  She looked back to him, meeting his gaze again, making him think she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. Her eyes went even greener. She swallowed slowly and then gradually seemed to go limp, like a marionette whose strings had gone loose.

  The chatter of the waiting patients grew louder in their personal silence.

  He whipped out a hand and pulled the scarf from her dress.

  “Hey!” She snatched it back. “Whyever did you do that?”

  “You’re not acting like Juliana. And you don’t look like Juliana—not with that silly scarf or whatever it’s called.”

  “It’s a fichu,” she informed him primly, stuffing it back into place.

  Juliana was never prim. Or so tense and emotionally distant. Wondering what could be ailing her, he skimmed his knuckles along her chin. “What’s wrong, Juliana?”

  Her jaw set. “Nothing.”

  “You’re working too hard. You’re exhausted.”

  She reached into one of the baskets and handed him a lemon slice. “Eat this, please.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Eat it,” she demanded in a most un-Juliana-like way. Her gaze flicked to the door, where a footman in Chase livery had just entered. She waved to him, looking relieved. “My carriage is here. But your aunts are bored. They need something to do.”

  “They’re both countesses, in case you’ve forgotten. They’re not looking for employment.”

  “I’m not suggesting you pay them. Your mother told me they’re enjoying my sewing parties, and even more significant, they’ve stopped calling on you to examine them. But I’ve only three more parties, and then they’ll be bored again and back to their tricks. Unless they help you instead.” She shoved the fabric, needle, and thread into the other basket. “Don’t you see, James? They won’t consider helping you to be employment or work; they’ll see it as charity, an act of goodwill. And if they’re busy helping here, they won’t have time to fret about their health. They’ll stop asking you to come examine them for one imagined ailment or another.”