It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  It was a wail James feared he would hear the rest of his life.

  Literally.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  AS LADY Hartley’s guests followed the Wolverstons from the room like rats mesmerized by a piper—except in this case they were riveted by Amanda’s dramatic pleadings—Juliana watched Lady Stafford push through them in the other direction.

  “James!” she cried, throwing her arms around him.

  He held her for a few seconds, but then extricated himself. “Please go, Mother. Take Aunt Aurelia and Aunt Bedelia back to the tent. I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.”

  She looked to her sisters, who were standing there with their mouths open, and back to him. “But, James—”

  “Go. Please. I need to talk to Lady Juliana.”

  As they departed, leaving the two of them alone, he turned to her.

  She felt like she hadn’t breathed in the last five minutes.

  And like she might never breathe again.

  She thought she should cry, but she felt numb. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she could say. All the words seemed to have been sucked right out of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was all she could manage.

  James only nodded.

  She’d never seen him look so pale, so lifeless. Not even when he’d been deathly afraid of Emily’s snake. The very sight of him in that state made anger rise in her, which finally loosened her tongue.

  “Lord Occlestone should be shot.”

  “I may not like the man,” he said wearily, “but others followed us in here as well. Lady Amanda’s father would have found out one way or another. Occlestone isn’t to blame for this.”

  “I know. I’m to blame. But I’ll fix it.”

  She had to fix it.

  James’s lips quirked to form something that might have been a sad smile. “You cannot fix everything, Juliana. But the fact that you never stop trying…well…it’s one of the many things that made me fall in love with you.”

  There was no way she could live with herself if he had to marry Amanda. “I can fix this, and I will,” she reiterated. “I have to.” And then she froze. “One of the many things that made you…what?” She held her breath again, but for an entirely different reason, and then her gaze dropped to his hand. And her breath went out in a rush. “You brought roses.”

  He glanced down, as though he’d forgotten he was holding them. “They’re a bit worse for the wear.”

  They did look a tad bedraggled. “But they’re red roses.”

  “There aren’t many of them. I couldn’t easily carry more than a dozen. Not two dozen like we ordered for Lady Amanda, and compared to what Lord Malmsey sent to your aunt—”

  “They’re red roses.” He wasn’t handing them to her. “Are they for me?”

  Abruptly, he held them out. “Who else could they possibly be for? For what other woman in all of London—nay, in all of the world—would I buy and dethorn red roses? Bloody hell, I must’ve nicked myself twenty times.”

  “You said you would never fall in love again.” She grabbed the flowers and held them tight to her chest, the paper crinkling, their sweet scent wafting to her nose. “Oh, James, I love you, too.”

  He held out his arms, and she bolted into them, and he held her close, the bouquet crushed between them. And then the tears that wouldn’t fall finally did, because really, it was just too much.

  And too late.

  He’d brought her red roses. She’d been hoping he loved her, but now that she knew he did, her meddling had ruined everything.

  She was going to fix it, but for now she couldn’t stop weeping. Couldn’t stop sobbing. Couldn’t stop.

  “Hush,” he murmured while her tears wet his waistcoat. And, “hush,” while they soaked through to his shirt. And finally, “Do you know what I hate even more than snakes?”

  She shook her head, rubbing her nose in the damp warmth.

  He put a finger under her chin and lifted it, until her eyes were forced to meet his. “A woman’s tears,” he said. “I swear to God, sweetheart, they make me feel more helpless than anything.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and she was. Sorry for crying, and sorry that made him uncomfortable. But mostly sorry James loved her and she loved him and everything was such a mess.

  “Hush,” he said one last time, and then he lowered his head and kissed her, a little soft kiss. And another one. And yet another, but it wasn’t soft, it was devouring instead.

  Juliana stopped crying, because she didn’t want to upset James anymore. Or maybe it was because his kisses were such a distraction. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned into him, and threaded her fingers into the dark curls that spilled over his collar. Everything was wrong, but this—this one thing—was heartbreakingly right.

  She was in love.

  She couldn’t remember ever being so happy and so sad all at once.

  “I’ll fix this,” she said when he finally allowed her to draw breath. “We have five days before Saturday.”

  He smoothed her hair back from her face, her dratted, slippery hair. “Five short days.”

  “Five and a half,” she whispered, inhaling his scent, starch and soap mixed with roses. She wanted to hold that scent inside her. She hugged him tighter, wishing she didn’t have to let go.

  But she did have to. At least for now.

  “Five and a half,” she repeated.

  It would have to be enough.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  THE NEXT DAY, Juliana paced around the drawing room while she waited for her guests to arrive for her one o’clock sewing party.

  “I cannot concentrate.” Seated at her easel, Corinna dabbed a bit of gray on the underside of a cloud. “I know you’re going to make me sew all afternoon, so for now, will you please sit down?”

  Juliana sat and stabbed her needle in and out of a little white nightshirt. For about a minute. Then she rose and began moving again, the nightshirt dangling from her clenched fingers. “There must be some way to fix this. It’s disastrous for everyone involved.”

  “Aunt Frances doesn’t think it’s a disaster,” Corinna pointed out.

  That much was true. Although Frances had been shocked to learn Lord Malmsey was engaged, he’d managed to talk his way back into her good graces before Juliana even had a chance to help. In fact, last evening she’d returned to the tent in Lady Hartley’s garden to find him proposing on bended knee—a proposal Aunt Frances had joyfully accepted.

  But the fact that the two of them were thrilled hardly mitigated the disaster that had come of all her plotting.

  She and James were devastated. The duke was devastated. No doubt Amanda was devastated, too, although Juliana hadn’t seen her since last night. Lord Wolverston had taken his daughter straight home—proclaiming loudly, according to several eyewitnesses, that she wouldn’t be seen again in public before she was a wife. Juliana had received an apologetic note from Amanda this morning, explaining that she wouldn’t be able to attend any more of her sewing parties and her Aunt Mabel wouldn’t be there, either.

  Apparently, Lord Wolverston, having been less than impressed with his sister’s chaperoning proficiency—or rather, her lack thereof—had given her such a lecture that she’d gone straight to bed with the asthma and expected to remain there for the week.

  Out in the foyer, the knocker banged on the door. A few moments later, Adamson came into the drawing room with two letters for Juliana.

  “Thank you,” she said, breaking the seal on the first one and scanning the short message. “Drat!”

  “What is it?” Corinna asked.

  “Rachael cannot come today. She has a cold.” She opened the second letter, her eyes widening as she read the words. “Double drat!”

  “What now?”

  “James’s aunts are ill, too. And his mother. How in heaven’s name am I going to make twenty-five items of baby clothes today with only you and Alexandra, Claire an
d Elizabeth, and Aunt Frances?”

  Working feverishly in every free moment, Juliana had managed to complete seven garments on her own between her last sewing party and today, but she still needed to collect seventy-six pieces of baby clothes during just three more parties. That was more than twenty-five per party, and today she would have six fewer women contributing.

  “In the scheme of things,” Corinna said, “I should think those baby clothes are the least of your troubles.”

  “You’re right.” Ordering herself to stay composed and keep things in perspective, Juliana plopped down on the sofa and resumed sewing. Her gaze went to the bedraggled red roses sitting in a vase on the mantel. They looked nearly as droopy as she felt. “James’s forced betrothal to Amanda is much more distressing.”

  “Perhaps Lord Wolverston has calmed down by now,” Corinna suggested. “Maybe if Amanda explains that it was all a misunderstanding, he’ll reconsider.”

  “I don’t think so. For all his bluster, it was clear he was well satisfied to see her catch an earl in place of a lowly baron.” Juliana’s needle dropped from her fingers. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Corinna tilted her head, perusing her work in progress.

  “If the Duke of Castleton offers to marry Amanda instead of James—”

  “Her father would refuse, wouldn’t he?” She dabbed at the cloud some more. “Isn’t that why you plotted her compromise in the first place?”

  “But everything’s different now. Lord Wolverston wouldn’t be breaking his word or breaching a contract. At this point, he only wants to see his ruined daughter wed and off his hands, and after all, if an earl is better than a baron, surely a duke is better still.” It was so simple, Juliana wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it on the spot. All this worry could have been avoided. “Why on earth would he refuse?”

  Corinna shrugged and dipped her brush. “Your logic seems sound, but Amanda thinks her father is unreasonable.”

  “I’ll bake some wafers, then, just in case.” According to the recipe in the family cookbook, wafers were reputed to have a calming effect and help make one reasonable. “But I cannot imagine why he would refuse.”

  “Well, then, I’m certain he won’t. You always know best, after all.”

  Since Juliana obviously didn’t always know best—as proven by last night’s disaster—she found her sister’s sarcasm somewhat annoying. But she was sure Lord Wolverston wouldn’t refuse. The man would have to be an idiot to reject a duke as a son-in-law.

  Five minutes later, Juliana was on Amanda’s doorstep, explaining her new plan. “Why on earth would your father refuse?” she concluded.

  “I cannot imagine.” Amanda’s eyes had been dull with despair, but now they shone with hope. “I wish he were home so we could ask him right now.”

  “The duke must be with us, in any case. Your father is a stickler, after all, so the duke will need to formally request your hand. And Lord Stafford should be in attendance as well, to confirm he agrees with the proposed solution. When will Lord Wolverston be home?”

  “I’m not privy to his schedule. But I heard him instruct the cook to prepare roasted duck for his dinner, and he always insists on dining at precisely six o’clock.”

  “Perfect. I’ll send a footman with notes to summon Lord Stafford and the duke, and we’ll all be here at half past six.”

  “He won’t take callers in the middle of dinner.”

  “Do you know for certain he’ll stay home afterwards?”

  Amanda shook her head.

  “Then inform your butler beforehand that we’re expected. That way he won’t go to your father to ask his permission.” Juliana started down the steps, then turned. “Oh, bother. I’m sure Lord Stafford is at the Institute, but I have no idea where to send a note that will reach the duke.”

  “He’ll be at his club,” Amanda said, “playing cards.”

  “Which club?”

  “White’s, of course.”

  “Of course,” Juliana echoed. She wasn’t surprised to learn the duke belonged to a Tory establishment—he was the embodiment of the word conservative. What was surprising, however, was that Amanda knew where to find the man, while she didn’t.

  Despite expecting to marry him, it seemed she’d never really known him at all.

  “Are you sure you’re not upset that David loves me?” Amanda asked suddenly and rather warily. “I know you wanted to be the duchess.”

  While she wasn’t sure the duke actually loved Amanda, Juliana shrugged. “No, I’m not upset. I believe the two of you belong together.” Truer words were never spoken. “Um…if I told you I’m the woman Lord Stafford loves, would you be upset about that?”

  “Gracious me,” Amanda said, “you can have him. The man’s chilly as a Gunter’s ice.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  WAFERS

  Rub Butter into Flour with some small amount of Salt. To this put Cream and Honey and roll out until very thin. Cut into small rounds and put them in your oven and eat them hot or cold.

  A very simple treat, these have a calming effect. My grandmother used to serve them to my grandfather to make him reasonable.

  —Anne, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1764

  EVEN WITH A flurry of activity, Juliana’s afternoon had passed excruciatingly slowly. Despite the heroic efforts of her five guests, her sewing party had added only eight items to her stockpile, well short of the twenty-five she’d been hoping for. But she hadn’t been able to prolong the gathering past her usual four o’clock stopping time, knowing the men would be arriving at quarter past six.

  She’d shooed everyone out of the house and hurried to the kitchen to make the wafers. When the sweets came out of the oven, she donned her most modest dress—a white one—and applied just enough cosmetics to look fresh and innocent. Then she paced around the drawing room until Corinna grew irritated enough to set down her paintbrush and summon her maid to accompany her for a walk.

  She hadn’t meant to drive her sister away from the house. But all the same, she couldn’t help but be a little pleased that she’d be able to explain her plan to James and the duke without enduring Corinna’s usual caustic asides.

  James arrived first. She hurried him into the drawing room, giving him the details as they went.

  “Then Lady Amanda can marry the duke,” she concluded, “which will leave you free to—” She clamped her lips shut. While James had proclaimed his love, he hadn’t made an offer of marriage. “Why on earth would Lady Amanda’s father refuse?” she added instead.

  “I don’t know.” Sounding hopeful but maybe also a bit hesitant, he glanced toward the open door, then shrugged and drew her into his arms. “But I pray he won’t, because Lady Amanda isn’t the woman I wish to wed.”

  She laid her head against his chest, savoring his warmth, hoping she was the woman he wished to wed instead. Wishing he could be hers forever.

  He would be hers forever. “Lord Wolverston won’t refuse,” she said firmly. “He’d be an idiot to reject a duke as a son-in-law.”

  “My confident Juliana.” James tilted her chin up, and she found herself captured in his intense chocolate gaze. Something fluttered in her middle as he lowered his lips to meet hers.

  He brushed her mouth with aching tenderness, then settled there, deepening the kiss. His hands skimmed down her sides and found hers, lacing their fingers together, squeezing tight. There was something different about their kisses now that they’d admitted their love, something possessive, something more meaningful.

  Something she knew she’d never find with any other man.

  “Ahem.” They broke apart to find the duke standing in the doorway. “Your note said you have a plan?”

  Though she blushed wildly, she kept one of James’s hands in hers. “Yes,” she said and quickly explained, finishing with “Why on earth would Lady Amanda’s father refuse?”

  “He shouldn’t,” the duke said stiffly, his disapproving gaze on their clasped hands.
“He won’t reject me as a son-in-law. He’d have to be dumber than a box of hair to do that.”

  Chapter Fifty

  JULIANA AND Castleton were both sure Lord Wolverston wasn’t stupid enough to reject a duke. And James had silently agreed with them—until they arrived in the man’s dining room and he greeted them with all the warmth of an icicle.

  “I don’t recall issuing dinner invitations.”

  Lady Amanda set down her fork. “They’re not here for dinner, Father.”

  “Excellent. Then I’m certain they’ll have the good manners to leave.”

  “No, they won’t.” In all the weeks James had spent in Lady Amanda’s company, he’d never seen her look so resolute. “The Duke of Castleton has something to ask you, Father.”

  “I don’t choose to listen.” Lord Wolverston leisurely drained his wineglass before setting it down. “Hastings, see these people to the door,” he said and began to rise.

  “No!” Amanda jumped from her chair and pushed him back down. “You will sit here and listen.”

  He gazed at his suddenly assertive daughter as though she’d grown an extra head. “Since when—”

  “Lord Wolverston,” Juliana interrupted, holding forth her basket. “If you’re finished with your dinner, would you care for a sweet? I baked wafers this afternoon.”

  He stared at her as though she had three heads. “Ladies don’t stoop to the level of kitchen maids.”

  An awkward silence filled the room. Even stuffy Castleton seemed discomfited by the man’s attitude. But he stepped forward. “My lord,” he said formally, “I assure you that my wife—my duchess—will never step foot in a kitchen. I would like to request the honor of your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  “My daughter is marrying Lord Stafford,” Wolverston replied stiffly. “This Saturday.” He rose again. “Now I expect you all to leave before I have to see that you’re thrown out.”

  “Father!” Tears sprang to Lady Amanda’s blue-gray eyes. “The Duke of Castleton is proposing marriage. A duke, Father! Surely you cannot refuse him!”