Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2)

by Royal, Lauren

  "A sad truth," Juliana said, her heart hurting at the thought of women being forced to give up their babies.

  Miss Strickland opened a door. "The Committee Room," she whispered.

  And Juliana's hurting heart broke clear in two.

  Inside the elegant chamber, a queue of young mothers clutched their infants tightly, the expressions on their faces a mixture of anguish and hope. Their simple cloaks and aprons were a poignant contrast to the silk gowns of a few fashionable lady patronesses who'd come to observe the spectacle.

  And what a spectacle it was.

  As Juliana watched, a young woman was invited to the front, where a well-dressed man held out a cloth bag. Shifting her whimpering baby, the woman reached a trembling hand into the bag and pulled out a little red ball. She swallowed hard and, gripping the ball in her white-knuckled fist, stepped off to join a small group of mothers and babies huddled at one side.

  Abandoning the battle-axe, Juliana walked over to join the other spectators. "What does the ball mean?" she asked in a whisper.

  A tall, middle-aged woman answered in kindly tones. "The system is called balloting. These mothers have already been screened and deemed acceptable. But the Governors can accept only ten infants at a time, and many more qualified mothers wish placement for their children. Balloting is the fairest method of allocating places."

  As she finished her explanation, another young woman drew a ball—a black one—and dropped it to the floor, sudden tears spilling down her cheeks as she ran from the room, taking her baby with her.

  "Black is bad?" Juliana asked.

  "Mothers who draw black balls are immediately turned out of the Hospital. A white ball means the baby will be examined and admitted if it is healthy. Mothers who draw red balls are invited to wait to see whether any babies are refused admittance, in which case they are given a second chance to enter the lottery."

  An agonizing lottery. Juliana watched as two more mothers drew black balls and one lucky woman nabbed a white one. "How many mothers are hoping for placement today?"

  "About a hundred, which is typical."

  And only ten would see their babies admitted. The fortunate woman with the white ball was ushered toward a corner, where a doctor waited to evaluate her child—a girl, if Juliana could judge by the scrap of ribbon crookedly tied in the baby's sparse, downy hair.

  During the short examination, a dozen more mothers drew balls—nine chose black, one red, and two jubilant women got white. When the first baby was declared healthy, the mothers waiting with red balls visibly drooped, gripping their infants more tightly. The lucky mother—if one could call her that—was given a numbered document that certified the Hospital's acceptance of her baby, and a lead tag with a corresponding number was threaded on a necklace and placed around the child's neck.

  A tightness squeezed Juliana's chest as she watched the tearful parting, the mother kissing her baby girl over and over before regretfully surrendering her to a Hospital employee. "Is she given that paper so she can reclaim her child?"

  "Partly. The babies are baptized with Hospital names—the child is never told the identity of the mother, and the mother won't know her child's new name. But if at a later date she can convince the Governors of her reformed character and improved circumstances, the paper and matching necklace number will prove they restore the right child to her."

  "But you said partly," Juliana prompted.

  The woman sighed. "Truthfully, that seldom happens. She's more likely to use the paper for her own defense; if she's accused of having disposed of her baby by murder, the certificate might save her from the gallows."

  "Dear heavens." None of the mothers looked like criminals—they were just women in tragic circumstances. "I saw no infants in either the girls' building or the boys'. Have the babies lodgings of their own?"

  "The babies aren't kept at the Hospital. They'll be baptized with their new names at Sunday services tomorrow and then placed with wet nurses in the countryside on Monday. The nurses receive a monthly wage and keep the children until they are five years or thereabouts, at which time they return to live here."

  Juliana watched as the infant was carried off. "Does anyone make sure the babies are treated well?"

  "Oh, yes. Inspectors visit regularly. They're responsible for the nurse's pay and the child's medical fees, and for purchasing clothes for the infants—"

  "Purchasing clothes?"

  "Baby clothes. Babies are sent to their new 'mothers' with frocks and caps and clouts and coats and blankets—"

  "Don't the girls make these in their sewing lessons?"

  "The baby clothes aren't uniforms—"

  "Then I can provide them, then!"

  "Pardon?"

  "I can make them. I can make baby clothes and donate them to the Hospital."

  The kindly woman blinked at her. "I don't know about that. I don't believe anyone donates anything besides money."

  Juliana watched another mother draw a red ball and, trembling, take her baby to join the small group of hopefuls. She imagined having to wish someone else's child proved ill so her own child could have a chance at a decent life. Or at least she tried to imagine it. The very thought was heartrending.

  She turned back to the lady patroness beside her. "The fact that the Hospital hasn't accepted nonmonetary donations in the past doesn't mean it cannot do so in future." Maybe providing baby clothing would free enough funds for the Governors to accept another child or two. She wouldn't allow them to refuse her. "There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

  TWO

  SPICE CAKES

  Take three scoops of Flower and put into it a Spoon of ale-barm, crushed cloves, mace, and a goode deal of cinnamon. To a halfe Pound of sweet Butter add a goode deal of Sugar and mixe together. Stir in three Eggs and work until good and stiff, then add a little cold Rosewater and knead well. Knead again, pull it all in Pieces and bake your Cakes in a warm oven.

  I've heard tell that should you eat one of these before a gathering where you are likely to meet available men, their spiciness will clear your head and allow you to choose wisely. This did not, however, work when I baked them for my daughter. In any case, they are delicious.

  —Amethyst, Countess of Greystone, 1690

  "HOW MANY BABY clothes do you need to make?"

  "A lot." In her bedroom at the Chase town house in Berkeley Square early that evening, Juliana set down her little pot of lip pomade and picked up the list the Governors had given her. "Three frocks, three caps, three nightshirts, one mantle, one coat, one petticoat, two blankets, and ten clouts. And that's per child. There will be ten babies."

  Emily bit into one of the spice cakes she and Juliana had baked after returning from the Foundling Hospital. "So you need to make thirty frocks?"

  "Yes." The girl was articulate and good with arithmetic. "And thirty caps, thirty nightshirts, ten mantles, ten coats, ten petticoats, twenty blankets, and a hundred clouts. All within a month, before the next reception day."

  Juliana set the list on her dressing table. Upside down, so it would stop taunting her. Whatever had she got herself into? She'd been thrilled when the Governors accepted her offer to provide clothing for the next intake of infants—until she'd realized just how many clothes she'd need.

  She wasn't worried about the cost of the materials, because she was certain she could cajole Griffin into paying for whatever her allowance wouldn't cover. But the mere thought of making so many items was daunting. "You'll help me, won't you?"

  Emily frowned. "I'm not very good with a needle."

  "You can hem blankets and sew clouts. That's not very difficult, and it will be good practice." Reaching over the girl's snake, Juliana wiped a few spice cake crumbs off her mouth. "I'm going to invite my sisters to help, too. We'll have a sewing party. It will be fun to work together." She dipped a finger into the lip pomade. "But I think you'll need to leave Herman home."

  "I told you, he's not dangerous."

  "His d
anger, or lack thereof," she told the child, watching her in the dressing table's mirror as she slicked pomade on her lips, "is not the point. Little ladies do not carry snakes."

  Emily's delicate chin went into the air. "I do." She adjusted the long, olive green reptile where it was wound around her neck, the better to eat another spice cake. "What are these cakes supposed to do again?"

  "Help me choose a husband wisely."

  "All the gentlemen will want you. You look beautiful tonight, Lady Juliana. Of course, you always look beautiful," Emily added with a wistful sigh.

  Juliana lifted a pot of rouge. "You'll look beautiful when you're my age."

  It was true. Other than her unfortunate attachment to the reptile, the child was a model of femininity. She always wore pink. Emily's blond hair and large, luminous gray eyes held much promise, and she was tall for her age. Since Juliana was slightly built, the girl was nearly her height already.

  "I'm certain you'll be wildly popular," she assured the child, "if only you'll get rid of the snake."

  "Mama and I found baby Herman in our garden," Emily told Juliana for perhaps the hundredth time. "She said we could keep him and watch him grow."

  Emily's mother had been dead some four years. Having lost her own mother three years prior—although, thankfully, at age nineteen, not age four—Juliana felt for the young girl.

  "Your mother would understand," she told her gently. "Surely she didn't intend to keep Herman long. I'd wager she hadn't an inkling that little baby snake would grow to be five feet long, and I'm certain she didn't make a habit of carrying him around. Why, I'd warrant she's looking down on you right now, waiting for you to grow up and stop toting that horror-inducing creature everywhere."

  "Herman isn't a creature. He's a pet."

  "A cuddly kitten is a pet. A rambunctious dog is a pet. A snake isn't—"

  "Are you ready yet?" Corinna arrived in the doorway and frowned. "A Lady of Distinction doesn't hold with wearing rouge."

  Juliana's gaze flicked involuntarily to a book on her bedside table, The Mirror of the Graces by A Lady of Distinction. Their brother had given them both copies, hoping that learning deportment would help them find husbands more quickly.

  "A Lady of Distinction is a twit," Juliana said. To emphasize her point, she brushed more color on her cheeks before rising. "Yes, I'm ready. Have a spice cake while I deliver Emily home."

  Corinna took one. "Aunt Frances is already waiting in the carriage. You know she abhors being late to balls."

  "Aunt Frances abhors being late to anything." Aunt Frances liked everything just so. But she was an endearing lady nonetheless, and it was quite kind of her to act as their sponsor and chaperone for the season, so Juliana didn't grumble. She took Emily by the hand and led her downstairs, Corinna following in their wake.

  It was raining—it seemed to rain every day this summer—but a quick walk next door brought Emily safely to the house she usually shared with only her father and a gaggle of aging servants. Emily had two older brothers, products of two earlier marriages, but one was married and the other was away at Cambridge most of the year.

  Their gaunt butler, a man who must have been eighty if he were a day, swung the door open as they arrived.

  Emily stepped inside. "When shall I see you again, Lady Juliana?"

  Who could deny that adorable, pleading face, even if it was framed by a snake? "Monday," she promised the girl. Rain pattered onto her parasol and puddled at her feet. "I'm sure your father is looking forward to being with you tomorrow, but on Monday the two of us shall visit the shops and choose fabric for the baby clothes."

  "Will Lady Corinna wish to come, too?"

  "I believe she'll prefer to paint." Corinna always preferred to paint; she was happiest when filling her days with color, oils, and turpentine. "I shall see you Monday," Juliana promised softly and headed through the drizzle to the carriage.

  Inside, Corinna waited with Aunt Frances, their matching deep-blue eyes impatient. The women's eyes, however, were their only similarity. Aunt Frances's peered from behind round spectacles in a face surrounded by clouds of soft gray hair—prematurely gray hair, considering she was still in her forties. Corinna's hair was a swing of wavy brown, her face as fresh as only a twenty-one-year-old woman's could be. She had no need of cosmetics.

  Juliana, on the other hand, figured she needed all the help she could get. Due to circumstances beyond her control—namely, several successive deaths in the family, which had kept her in mourning for many years—this was her first season. At twenty-two! And the season was more than halfway over already, yet she'd failed to find a man to catch her interest.

  Not that her brother hadn't been trying his damnedest to locate one.

  He was waiting at the ball when they arrived, looking over the crop of men. Unfortunately, this far into the season, Juliana had already met nearly everyone there was to meet. The ton comprised all the people who mattered in society, but that was a limited social group, after all. Yet he'd managed to line up candidates for her first three dances and was keeping an eye out for more.

  Griffin was leaving no stone unturned in his quest to marry her off. She wasn't sure whether she appreciated her brother's efforts. But she knew his heart was in the right place, and she did enjoy dancing, so she dutifully danced with the three men, smiling and chatting pleasantly, even though none of them was even remotely what she was looking for.

  Lord Henderson was too tall. Lord Barkely was too dark. And Mr. Farringdon was kind but a mite dim, not to mention he had a most unfortunate, distracting tic. She could hardly keep her eyes off his twitching cheek.

  The spice cakes weren't going to help her choose wisely, she thought with a sigh, if no acceptable men bothered to attend this ball.

  THREE

  JAMES TREVOR, the Earl of Stafford, hadn't been to a ball in years. And he hadn't particularly wanted to come to this one. However, being a man who liked to look for the good in things, he'd decided to regard tonight as an opportunity to renew a few acquaintances. Griffin Chase, the Marquess of Cainewood, was one of them.

  But his old chum didn't look very happy.

  "Whom are you glaring at, Cainewood?"

  "My sister." Cainewood's frown deepened. "She's not dancing."

  James's gaze followed the marquess's across the ballroom, landing on what looked like a dainty sprite. He lifted his quizzing glass and squinted through it. "That wheaten-haired little thing?"

  "Wearing yellow? Yes, that would be Juliana, wasting precious time."

  "She's conversing with another woman—"

  "Another sister. But Juliana is supposed to be meeting men. I despair of ever finding her a husband."

  "Ah." Dropping the quizzing glass, James let it dangle on its long silver chain and focused on Cainewood, who'd been a boon companion in their days at Oxford. He hadn't seen the man in years, and he'd never met his family, but in an odd way he felt he still knew him. He couldn't help but smile at his old friend's consternation.

  "Juliana is twenty-two," Cainewood added as though that explained everything.

  "That doesn't sound particularly old." James himself was twenty-nine.

  "I'll have to marry Corinna off after her." Cainewood gestured toward his other sister, a pretty girl with long, wavy brown hair. "I'd hoped to get them both settled this season, but Juliana isn't cooperating. And unfortunately, I believe she's already met everyone here, except…" His green gaze narrowed on James. "Perhaps you."

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you," Cainewood said with the easy smile that had won him so many women in their university years. "Will you at least suffer an introduction to Juliana? You're an earl now, aren't you? An earl needing a wife."

  An earl needing a wife—the exact same words James's mother had used to describe him earlier this evening as she'd all but dragged him from the carriage into this house.

  But although James had inherited the title nearly three years ago, he still had a hard time thinking of himself as a
n earl, let alone an earl needing a wife.

  A second son raised in a close family, James had never thought he'd become the Earl of Stafford. That had been his older brother's future, not his. Following university, James's father had bought him a commission in the army. He hadn't ever minded being an officer. It was expected. He wasn't drawn toward the clergy, and many of his friends—Cainewood included—had embraced the military life. After less than two years, though, James had been wounded and sent home.

  Thinking back to those days now, he shifted and flexed his left knee, which always ached in the sort of cold, wet weather London had seen this summer. On days like this he still walked with a slight limp, but he was profoundly grateful the army surgeons had managed to save his leg rather than amputating it. So grateful that, needing another profession after his recovery, he'd become a physician. He hadn't been long out of medical school before he'd realized he'd found his true calling. In the years following his return to England, James had been a man completely happy with his choice of work and his life, especially after he fell in love and married.

  Then everything had fallen apart.

  His brother had died first, leaving James reeling with the realization that he'd someday be the earl. He didn't want to be an earl—he liked being a physician. He liked helping people, and he liked feeling that he made a difference. Every day was unique and challenging, and there were always successes to balance the disappointments. Managing an earldom seemed such a tedious, thankless task in comparison.

  Then, while he was still coping with the loss of his brother, his father's heart had stopped, and suddenly James was the earl, like it or not.

  The first months after that had passed in a dark, painful blur, but his young wife had helped him through those days and weeks, until one morning James had awakened and realized he was happy. Perhaps a bit guiltily happy—he still mourned his brother and father, after all—but happy nonetheless. He'd found he quite liked sitting in the House of Lords—it was another chance to make a difference—and managing the earldom wasn't as thankless a task as he'd believed. And, in addition, his wife had convinced him that he could be a physician as well as an earl, regardless of the narrow views of society, and help more people than ever, now that he had no need of the income.