by Lauren Royal
Apparently the viscount found that more amusing than distressing, because he guffawed.
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 hand, 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.
“Faith!” Juliana exclaimed loudly enough to make the people nearby look over. “Lord Neville, are you all right?”
Clearly he wasn’t.
“Help!” she yelled, moving to thump him on the back, the way people did when someone swallowed the wrong way and went into a coughing fit. But it seemed he couldn’t even cough. His eyes bugged out in his blue face, panicked.
Just then, Griffin ran up with his friend Lord Stafford in tow. “A chair,” Lord Stafford instructed. “Now.”
Griffin rushed to do his bidding. In the meantime, Lord Stafford very quickly—and very calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount’s cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in his smooth, chocolatey voice.
But Lord Neville didn’t look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he was running out of time. Lord Stafford didn’t seem to think so, though. Decidedly unpanicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to return.
She couldn’t imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a moment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man’s big body to lean over the back. Forcefully, again and again. After several thrusts, an intact red grape shot out of Lord Neville’s mouth and landed at Juliana’s feet.
The viscount took several gasping, gulping breaths while Lord Stafford moved the chair around and helped the man lower himself onto it. Lord Neville slumped there, the color returning to his face while he breathed deeply, as though the simple act of drawing air was the most satisfying thing he’d ever done.
Juliana released a long sigh of relief, as did the audience that had gathered to view the drama.
“You saved his life,” she marveled, watching Lord Stafford in awe. After all, she tried to help people as best she could, but she’d never done something like that.
Lord Stafford merely shrugged. Turning his back on Juliana, he crouched down by his patient and asked to have a look in the man’s throat.
The audience began to disperse.
Since her discussion with Emily’s father was obviously over for now, Juliana turned to see how Amanda was faring on the dance floor. But apparently the waltz had ended sometime during the commotion. A quadrille was playing instead, and Amanda was nowhere to be seen.
“I told you Lord Stafford was a good man,” Griffin said beside her.
Juliana glanced back at the man in question, who was now examining Lord Neville’s throat through a silver quizzing glass attached to a chain around his neck. His dark hair was as tousled as ever.
“He saved the viscount’s life,” Griffin added.
“That’s his job,” she retorted. Lord Stafford’s heroism didn’t erase his shortcomings. He still was not what she wanted in a husband. “Where in heaven’s name is Amanda?”
“Right there,” Griffin said, gesturing toward a cluster of gentlemen across the room.
If Juliana hadn’t recognized the blond curls piled atop her friend’s head, she’d never have believed it was Amanda at the center of the cluster. Why, she was literally surrounded by suitors!
The trifle was clearly doing its job.
Juliana swooped in for a closer look. Maddeningly, she was too short to see around the crowd of black-clad shoulders. Would it be unladylike to worm her way in amongst the gentlemen? While trying to decide, she noticed Lord Malmsey hovering nearby, looking more than a little perturbed.
A delicate laugh like tinkling bells carried over the crowd.
Her mind made up, Juliana charged into the clutch of admirers. Many of whom, she noted, were quite young and handsome. Never mind that she’d already met and rejected every one of them—Amanda was sure to have different tastes and requirements. Juliana’s heart swelled as she realized her friend might fall in love with someone this very night! And when she finally reached her protégé, statuesque and radiant and smiling one of the smiles Juliana had made her practice over and over, she thought her heart might burst with pride.
She touched Amanda on the arm and whispered, “The look.” Amanda startled and gazed down at her in confusion. Then her expression cleared, and she quickly chose a young man and took aim, lowering her newly darkened lashes.
“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asked immediately.
“With pleasure, my lord,” Amanda said, just as Juliana had taught her. As she went off on the gentleman’s arm, she cast her friend a look of wonder. “It works!“ she mouthed silently.
Of course it did. Hadn’t Juliana told her so?
Without Amanda at the center of it, the group slowly dispersed. But Lord Malmsey remained in place, gazing toward the dance floor dejectedly. Although Juliana didn’t know him well, he seemed a kindly man. And aside from his small stature and vast forehead, he was pleasant-looking for an older fellow. But his pale green eyes seemed troubled.
Quite suddenly, Juliana realized there was a flaw in her perfect plan. In seeing to Amanda’s happiness, she was making Lord Malmsey unhappy. And that would never do.
“What are you plotting now, Juliana?”
She looked over to see Corinna and Alexandra approaching. “Nothing,” she told them both.
“I recognize that look on your face,” Alexandra said.
Juliana never had been able to fool her older sister. “Oh, very well,” she admitted, and led them a safe distance from her target. “I’m trying to find a match for Lord Malmsey.”
“Holy Hannah,” Corinna groaned, “whatever put that thought into your head?”
Juliana pressed her lips together, maintaining her silence.
“Something is going on.” Corinna narrowed her eyes. “Something to do with Amanda.”
Juliana sighed. She should have known Corinna would weasel the truth out of her one way or another. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course we can,” Alexandra said, looking a little hurt. “Have we broken a confidence ever?”
Well, no, neither of them had. Not to Juliana’s knowledge, anyway. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Amanda’s father has betrothed her against her will to Lord Malmsey.”
“I knew it!” Corinna exclaimed at the same time Alexandra said, “That’s dreadful!”
“Quite. Lord Wolverston is deaf to her protests. 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 working to help Amanda charm a more suitable man, in the hopes that he’ll offer for her before it’s too late.” While that wasn’t exactly the plan, it was close enough. She dared not mention the compromising position in front of her sisters, who rarely approved of her schemes. “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 teased affectionately.
“In all his many years,” Corinna pointed out, “Lord Malmsey has never proposed to anyone before Amanda. He’s too shy to approach another lady.”
“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 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 gentleman.”
“That’s only because no one has 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 aimless. “Rachael!” she called with a merry wave, starting toward her.
Corinna grabbed her arm. “Are you plotting something else now?”
“Of course not,” Juliana said, although she was indeed plotting to get her brother to dance with her cousin. Lately, Rachael seemed withdrawn or absent from most events, which had hampered Juliana’s ongoing efforts to match her with Griffin.
She put on her most innocent smile and added, ”I intend to invite Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth to my next sewing party.” Which, in point of fact, was precisely true.
It just wasn’t her only intention.
TEN
WARY OF Juliana’s grin, Griffin watched her heading his way with their cousin in tow. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “Rachael would love to dance with you.”
Rachael’s gorgeous sky blue eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. An awkward moment passed while Griffin shifted uncomfortably. But there was nothing for it—no way to duck out of this situation gracefully.
“I would be honored, Lady Rachael,” he said at last, “if you would join me for the next dance.”
“Splendid,” Juliana said, beaming as the musicians struck up a waltz. “Please excuse me.” She waved them toward the dance floor. “I must speak with Alexandra.”
Griffin was already concocting his revenge. See if Juliana still thought this a fun game after being forced to dance with—
“Griffin!”
“Pardon?” Blinking at Rachael, he realized they were waltzing. She felt so natural in his arms that he hadn’t noticed she was there—except now that he’d noticed, he couldn’t stop noticing.
She looked amused. “Do you always allow your sisters to run roughshod over you?” she asked in a conversational tone.
“Only Juliana,” he told her lightly.
“Balderdash,” 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.”
Her good humor suddenly vanished. 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. He was dismayed, though not surprised, to find her still brooding on the subject.
“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.”
“I know.” Her eyes grew suspiciously damp, and her chin—her adorable, dented chin—began to tremble. He could see her straining to maintain composure. She was too dignified to fall to pieces in a crowded ballroom.
And Griffin cared about her too much to just stand by and watch—yet what could he do? In truth, the matter was none of his concern. Besides which, he had plenty of his own concerns to be getting on with.
But he couldn’t bear to see Rachael like this. She was young, lovely, intelligent, strong. And she’d already endured more than enough grief. She should be trying new things, enjoying herself, falling in love. Instead, she was hiding.
“Have you considered searching for your true father?” he asked.
“Of course not. He’s dead.”
Dead or not, he wanted to say, learning her father’s identity might help. But the music ended, and she drew back and dipped a curtsy.
“Thank you, Lord Cainewood,” she said without meeting his eyes. And then she walked away.
Given their shared childhood, her curtsy and address had both been too formal. But Griffin decided it was for the best. He shouldn’t be getting involved—spending more time with Rachael would only complicate 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?”
Revenge against Juliana might have to wait until after he found her a decent husband.
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 chest—Aunt Bedelia was as skinny as a rail. “Perhaps you should stop by Monday morning and have a listen.”
Doing his best to appear concerned, James sipped champagne. “Perhaps I’ll do that.”
“Certainly you will,” his mother said, but she softened the rebuke with a smile that reached her brown eyes.
Besides sharing James’s eyes, she had the same dark hair, and a trim figure 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 you enjoyed the dancing this evening?” she asked her son pointedly.
“Am I supposed to?” he retorted. “I thought marriage was the object, not enjoyment.”
“Grandchildren are the object,” Aunt Aurelia put in. “And grandnephews and grandnieces.”
“Aha, the truth emerges,” James said dryly.
He wondered if his older brother had had to endure this sort of pressure. Probably not, else he would have taken a wife long before he passed away. Mother was a master of killing with kindness—she always got what she wanted in the end. She would get the grandchildren she wanted, too.
Eventually.
But for now, James would continue to sidestep her pointed questions, because the answers would only disappoint her. Of the handful of girls he’d danced with this night—and the dozens of girls he’d met this last year—he couldn’t imagine marrying a single one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to 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 the best he could do, because loving a girl who wasn’t Anne was unthinkable. Even the idea of it felt wrong, as though he was desecrating her memory.
Not that she would have objected. She was a generous and understanding person, and she wouldn’t have wanted him to be unhappy or lonely. If he’d asked her permission—which he hadn’t, of course—she would definitely have said he could fall in love with someone else after she was gone.
But that wasn’t going to happen. No matter which girls he danced with, all he could see was Anne’s pretty, loyal face shimmering before his eyes.
“I only want you to be happy,” his mother said.
“I know.” He also knew that she understood how he felt. Or at least she should. She’d also lost her life’s love, after all. “Why aren’t you dancing, Mother?”
“Me?”
Perhaps if he turned the tables, she’d realize she was pushing too hard. That he wasn’t ready. “Yes, you. “
Aunts Aurelia and Bedelia both tittered into their champagne.
“What?” he said, turning to challenge 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,” Aunt Aurelia said for all of them.
“Nonsense.” His aunts were not yet sixty, and his mother was only fifty-two. He put down his champagne, then took their three glasses and set them down, too. “Come along,” he said, taking Mother’s elbow and trusting her sisters to follow.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“To the ballroom, of course.” He grinned at her obvious dismay. “You’re not going to find a new husband while standing around the refreshment table.”
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. But he was definitely a stranger. Which Juliana found intriguing, because, honestly, she’d thought she’d already met every eligible young 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.