He found a box of sugar sticks and sent the girl and her mother on their way, then settled the next patients in the two vacant treatment rooms. Once he ascertained that Dr. Hanley had a quantity of vaccine, sugar sticks, and other necessary supplies, he knocked on the door to the third room. "Miss Chumford?"
A prolonged sniffle was the only answer.
"Miss Chumford, may I come in?"
"It's your Institute," the young woman pointed out in a tiny voice.
Yes, it was. He opened the door. Then almost closed it at the sight of Miss Chumford's red, splotchy face.
There were few things James avoided more than a female's tears. Emotional tears, in any case. As a physician, he'd learned to endure tears caused by pain, but the other sort was another matter altogether.
With a sigh, he stepped into the room. "There's a queue outside, and if it grows any longer it's likely to reach all the way to Surrey."
"I'm sorry," she whimpered.
"Whatever could be amiss?"
Both of her hands pressed to her middle, she raised flooded eyes to meet his. A lone tear trickled down her cheek. She said nothing.
He shifted uncomfortably, torn between heartrending sympathy and heart-hardening annoyance. He had the Institute to run. People in need. He'd employed her to keep the physicians well supplied and make sure the patients were seen as quickly and efficiently as possible. A simple job, really, and necessary to the smooth operation of the facility. And she was the second assistant within a month to…
He looked back to her hands, which were rubbing her middle now. "You're with child, aren't you?" he suddenly realized, even though her belly looked flat.
After all, that was the reason his last assistant had left.
She nodded miserably, with the longest, most pathetic sniffle yet.
"And you're not wed, of course," he surmised less than brilliantly. After all, she was Miss Chumford.
This time she nodded and words tumbled out of her mouth. "Papa will k-kill me, or at least throw me out of the house. Harry, my…the f-father of my child, cannot afford a home of his own. We shall have to live with his p-parents, and his mother hates me, and his father—"
"Your Harry is willing to marry you?" James interrupted. "To take responsibility for his offspring?"
She nodded again, still blubbering. "H-Harry is a good man, m-my lord, and a hard worker. B-but—"
"Wait here, Miss Chumford." He could take no more of her tears. There were plenty of things to be miserable about that couldn't be fixed. Fixing this would be a simple enough matter.
He had a small safe in his private office, from which he withdrew fifty pounds. A pittance to him, but enough to cover a small family's rent and food for two years or more. It would provide Miss Chumford and her baby's father with a start, and should Harry be as good a man and hardworking as she claimed, he and his new wife and child would weather this disaster quite well.
After Miss Chumford left—tearfully blubbering her thanks—James sighed and lettered a HELP WANTED sign, propped it in the Institute's front window, and settled down behind the counter for what he knew from experience was likely to be many hours spent interviewing candidates.
Well, at least his mother wouldn't be able to drag him to Almack's tonight.
SEVEN
TRIFLE
Take yokes of four egges and a pinte of thicke Creame, and season it with Sugar and Ginger and Rosewater, so stirre it as you would then have it and make it warme on a chafing dishe and coales, and after put it into a Silver piece or a Bowle, and so serve it to the board.
Extra-strong Rosewater will put Roses into your cheeks.
—Lady Jewel Chase, 1687
OVER THE NEXT two days, Juliana helped Amanda order an entire new wardrobe. They shopped for cosmetics, hats, shoes, hosiery, and other assorted fripperies. They practiced posture and walking, devised new alluring smiles, and perfected the look. Juliana taught Amanda how to apply the cosmetics so skillfully that no one would notice she was wearing any. She plucked Amanda's heavy brows, hardening her heart to the older girl's squeals of pain and protest—after all, all but the luckiest of women suffered for their beauty.
With each hour, Amanda's confidence grew, as did Juliana's certainty that her plan was going to work.
At last, Saturday dawned.
Juliana dragged Corinna out of bed early—at noon—to help her make trifle before Amanda arrived to dress for Lady Hammersmithe's ball. Unfortunately, Corinna was hopeless in the kitchen on the best of days. And considering she'd stayed up until seven o'clock in the morning to finish a painting, this day wasn't her best.
"My arm hurts," she complained. "And I'm tired."
"Just keep beating those eggs until they're creamy, please." Juliana added two more handfuls of rose petals to the water she had boiled. She was determined to make sure Amanda's cheeks would be nice and rosy. "I cannot understand why you won't go to bed at a reasonable hour."
"I'm not a reasonable person—I'm an artist," Corinna reminded her. "I cannot understand why you won't ask a kitchen maid to beat these eggs."
Juliana consulted their family's heirloom cookbook, an ancient volume to which each lady in the family had traditionally added a recipe every Christmas since the seventeenth century. Many of the sweets were thought to be magic charms. She poured the rosewater into a pot of cream and sprinkled it with a bit of ginger. "How many times must I tell you that the Chase family recipes must be made by Chase family members if they're to work?"
Corinna rolled her eyes. "You and your traditions. I cannot countenance why you and Alexandra believe such nonsense."
"It hurts no one to try. Besides, the trifle will be delicious—you'll have some, won't you? If you and I and Amanda all have rosy cheeks tonight, perhaps we'll all find husbands."
"A rouge pot would be a more efficient method of obtaining rosy cheeks, regardless of A Lady of Distinction's opinions on the matter." Corinna began grating sugar into the eggs. "Although I suppose poor Amanda can use all the help she can get."
"I've worked wonders with her," Juliana said, giving her mixture a vigorous stir. "Wait until you see. Her gown will be exquisite, her complexion flawless. I've summoned a hairdresser—"
"Just don't make Amanda so beautiful she steals your own suitors."
"That's an unkind thought." Juliana snatched the sugar loaf from her sister before she could add too much as usual; Corinna's sweet tooth was legendary even among the sweets-loving Chases, and she had no concept of the proper amount of any ingredient. "I've no suitors I wish to marry anyway," she added with a sigh.
"You're trying too hard," Corinna said. "Just relax and enjoy all the attention."
But how could Juliana relax? Next year she'd be twenty-three. Twenty-three and unmarried. At what age did one become a spinster, and how did one know when one reached it? Had Aunt Frances simply awakened one morning and decided to put on a spinster's cap?
"There, it's creamy." Corinna banged the bowl onto the big wooden table and rubbed her arm. "Am I finished? Assuming I can still hold a brush, I'd like to varnish my painting."
"Varnish away," Juliana said and watched her sister leave the kitchen.
Even without the security of a happy marriage like Alexandra's, Corinna seemed content with her life.
She wished she could say the same for herself.
The trifle was chilled in its silver bowl by the time Amanda arrived with two footmen carrying boxes. The French hairdresser was waiting, and less than an hour later, Amanda's once knee-length hair reached only the middle of her back. She watched in Juliana's dressing table mirror as her golden tresses fluttered to the floor, her face white as linsey, her eyes wide and apprehensive.
Juliana scooped trifle into a cup, thinking it might distract her friend. "Eat this. It will make your cheeks rosy."
"What is it?" Emily asked, adjusting Herman on her shoulder. "May I have some?"
"It's trifle, and yes, you may."
The girl cocked her blond
head. "Our cook's trifle has cake and fruit."
"This is a very old recipe."
"Our cook is probably older," Emily said, then spooned the sweet into her mouth and smiled. "It's good. Your hair looks pretty, Lady Amanda."
Amanda drew a sharp breath. "Do you truly think so, Miss Neville?"
"Absolutely," Juliana answered for the girl. "Shorter hair is the thing. I cannot imagine why you hid those gorgeous curls in that plait." Juliana had always despaired of her own stick-straight hair, but at least she knew better than to scrape it all back into a braid so tight it looked plastered to her head.
Amanda grimaced at another snip.
"Hold your head still, if you will." Madame Bellefleur clipped off a final inch. "Parfait."
"It's trifle," Emily corrected. "Not a parfait."
"In French," Juliana told her, "parfait means 'perfect.' That length will be so much lighter and easier to put up."
Madame smiled and nodded. "Now, some shorter tendrils around the face, oui?"
"Brilliant." Juliana resumed unpacking the boxes, admiring all the dresses they'd ordered. The seamstress had sent only one of the ball gowns, but promised the rest would be ready next week. "Your hair will be stunning," she assured Amanda.
Amanda responded with a rather maniacal laugh.
Juliana winced. "You must practice a new laugh. An alluring laugh, like tinkling bells."
"Like this?" Amanda attempted a girlish giggle—and even Herman recoiled.
By the time they'd perfected the new laugh, Madame Bellefleur had experimented with different hairstyles, ultimately choosing one in which Amanda's blond mane was loosely gathered, twisted up, and pinned, with the remaining curls arranged artistically on top of her head. The hairdresser left, and Juliana swept the ball gown off her bed.
Amanda looked from the lavender silk dress, to Emily and Herman, and back to Juliana. "I'd prefer not to disrobe in front of a snake," she said stiffly.
"So that's why you refused to strip to your chemise in order to be measured." Juliana saw a chance to use this as an example. "The seamstress, Mrs. Huntley, also wasn't very keen on working with Herman in attendance. People don't wish to be in the company of your snake," she pointed out to Emily.
"I don't care," Emily said.
Juliana called her maid and asked her to walk Emily and the creature home. But after Juliana and Amanda were alone, it turned out Amanda didn't want to undress in front of her, either.
"Turn around," the older girl instructed.
"It's just me."
"Turn around."
Sighing, Juliana did so, hoping this didn't mean Amanda would be unwilling to bare a little skin in front of the man she chose to compromise her.
Much rustling followed, evidence of Amanda's struggles dealing with garments that weren't meant to be donned without help. "Gracious me!" she finally exclaimed, sounding anything but gracious. "I cannot wear this."
Juliana spun around to find her friend staring down at her chest in dismay. "Of course you can. You look beautiful." She could hardly wait to see society's reaction to the new Amanda. "Turn around and let me button you up in back. Once you see the dress properly fastened, you're going to love it."
Unfortunately, turning around brought Amanda face-to-face with the looking glass. Her hands flew up to cover her cleavage. "This is entirely too low," she complained. "I'll have to wear a different gown."
"You have no other suitable gowns. Besides this, Mrs. Huntley sent only a few day dresses. The rest of your order won't be ready until next week."
Frowning, Amanda yanked up on the bodice. "I'm certain the example Mrs. Huntley showed me had a much more modest neckline."
Of course it had, else Amanda would never have approved it. But that was before Juliana gave Mrs. Huntley her instructions, which, thankfully, the seamstress had followed to the letter.
Although Juliana had always considered her friend a bit chubby, Amanda had a surprisingly lovely shape once she was rid of her baggy clothes. And Juliana intended to show that off, the better to snag a young husband. "It's not too low," she said, reaching around to tug the bodice back down.
"It is so." Amanda pulled it higher.
Watching her friend in the mirror, Juliana could only laugh. "Look at yourself!"
Amanda's neckline was indeed very near her neck—which meant the ribbon sash that was supposed to ride beneath her breasts was perched absurdly on top of them. Her mouth quirked, then spread into a reluctant smile, followed by a nervous titter.
"Tinkling bells," Juliana reminded her, and Amanda responded with her new, practiced laugh.
"Much better." Juliana reached once more to pull the bodice into place, dragging it a bit too low in the process. When an unusual fleur-de-lis shaped birthmark was revealed on Amanda's left breast, a delighted smile curved Juliana's lips. "Quite seductive," she murmured, raising a brow.
"Pardon?" Amanda looked down, then tugged the lace-trimmed bodice up to cover it. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"Whyever not? It's a delicate, pretty thing. I'm sure a man would find it enticing."
"Enticing?" Clearly scandalized, Amanda blushed. "It's private."
Tying the sash, Juliana sighed, wondering again if—in spite of her newfound beauty—Amanda might be rather too reserved to attract men. But at least the blush brought out the roses in her cheeks.
She gave her more trifle, just in case. And brushed on a little extra rouge, as Corinna had suggested. As she applied the rest of her friend's cosmetics—as artfully as her sister painted—she drilled Amanda over and over. "Let me see your smiles one more time. And you must practice the look again before we leave."
All of this preparation was not going to be for nothing.
EIGHT
"THERE HE IS," Amanda said dourly as they stepped into Lady Hammersmithe's ballroom.
"There's who?" Juliana asked.
"Lord Malmsey." A frown marred Amanda's newly flawless complexion. Apparently questioning Juliana's plan, she turned to her surrogate chaperone. "Should I dance with him, Lady Frances?"
Unaware that Amanda was engaged to him, Aunt Frances patted her hand. "I expect someone younger would suit you better, my dear. But if you've already been introduced, of course you should dance with him if he asks."
Juliana doubted Lord Malmsey would ask—although if she could judge by the man's pained expression, he was attempting to screw up his courage. Figuring ten seconds in his arms would cure Amanda's second thoughts, she laid a gentle hand on her friend's back. "You definitely should dance with him," she declared, subtly steering her protégé toward her ill-chosen fiancé. "It would be the polite thing, after all. And after that, we'll see about having Aunt Frances introduce you to some more-promising men."
Lord Malmsey's eyes widened as they approached, and Juliana saw him swallow hard. Taking pity on the poor man, she smiled when they drew near. "Good evening, Lord Malmsey. Lady Amanda was just telling me she hoped you'd ask her to dance."
"Very well," he said.
Amanda said nothing.
The strains of a waltz rose into the air, and the two of them walked off.
Or rather, they shuffled off.
Frances joined Juliana and watched them face each other and begin dancing. "They don't seem a proper match."
"No, they don't," Juliana agreed. She'd never seen a more awkward couple. Due to Amanda's height, she and Lord Malmsey danced eye to eye. But beneath his high, creased forehead, Lord Malmsey's gaze looked shy and hooded, flicking only briefly toward his fiancée. Amanda looked utterly despondent.
On the other side of the ballroom, Juliana spotted Lord Neville ambling out of the refreshment room. "Wait here," she told Frances. "I see Emily's father, and he rarely stays long at any ball." Since the man had two heirs and no plans to take a fourth wife, he spent his evenings with various mistresses or gambling at his club. "I simply must speak to him about that snake before he leaves. It will take but a moment, and then as soon as Amanda is finish
ed dancing, we'll find some men who are more suitable."
What a lucky thing Aunt Frances had her head perpetually in the clouds. Amanda's own aunt would have been unlikely to cooperate with undermining her father's plans, Juliana thought as she made a beeline for Viscount Neville.
"Lord Neville, if I may speak with you for a moment?"
"Ah, yes, my dear, of course." Emily's father was blond and gray-eyed like his daughter, tall and a bit hefty—not fat, but a big man. As he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn't surprised to see a plate in his hand, filled with a variety of morsels from the refreshment room. He took a hearty bite of a biscuit. "What can I do to help you?"
"It's about Emily—"
"Ah, yes. I do appreciate the interest you've taken in my girl."
"She's a delight." Juliana smiled as he swallowed the biscuit and followed it with a grape. "But I'm wondering if I can prevail on you to discourage her from taking Herman out in public. It's not the thing for a young lady to carry a snake."
"Ah, yes," he repeated. "But my Emily is very attached to Herman. She and her mother found him in the garden the very day before my wife died." He plucked three more grapes off the bunch and popped them into his mouth.
"I'm aware of that, sir. But earlier this week when we visited the shops, a patron at Grafton House fainted dead away at the sight of Emily's snake." While that wasn't precisely true, it could have been true. A number of customers at Grafton House had been horrified, not to mention the poor seamstress, Mrs. Huntley. "If only you'd heard the shrieks of dismay, Lord Neville. It wasn't the sort of scene a young lady should inspire."
Apparently the viscount found that more amusing than distressing, because he laughed.
And then he stopped.
In fact, not only had he stopped laughing, it looked as though he'd stopped breathing. The plate dropped from his hands, shattering on the parquet floor as he clutched at his throat and chest. His mouth was open, but he seemed unable to speak. His skin was turning blue.
Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2) Page 5