Juliana

by Lauren Royal

  “Oh, I do. I’ve decided you’re right. My wedding is drawing ever closer, and Lord Stafford and I suit well. We’re compatible. He likes chess, and he’s clearly interested in all things Roman. Maybe my father was right—maybe there are more important considerations than love. Besides, you said I will learn to love Lord Stafford, and I believe you.”

  Amanda sounded sincere, Juliana thought. Perhaps she should put aside her fears and just be relieved her friend was finally choosing an appropriate gentleman. They did share common interests, and they looked excellent together, and Amanda would make a good doctor’s wife. It was unfortunate they hadn’t the luxury to get to know each other leisurely, but the two of them had been destined to fall in love from the first. She’d said so all along, hadn’t she?

  She was relieved, she decided.

  In fact, she was thrilled. How could she not be thrilled? With the possible exception of civilizing young Emily, all of her projects were progressing perfectly!

  Lord Malmsey and Aunt Frances were getting along swimmingly. Indeed, at the ball last night, Juliana would swear she’d seen their aging eyes glittering with the fire of new love. Now that Lord Malmsey would no longer be obligated to wed Amanda, they would surely live happily ever after.

  The duke seemed to be getting on with James and Amanda, which meant that after Juliana married him, she could remain friends with James. She and the duke would have to fall in love before marrying, of course—but maybe they were in love already! After all, how was a girl with her lack of experience supposed to know? And in any case, love was bound to happen soon. The duke cared for her, and he needed her. On the surface, he was perfect—everything she’d been looking for in a young man—but inside, he was hurt. With her help, he was going to learn to be affectionate and more charitable. And she was going to be a duchess! Her grace, Juliana, the Duchess of Castleton.

  The name had a lovely ring to it, did it not?

  And on top of all of that good news, it looked as though she’d managed to match Lady Stafford with Lord Cavanaugh, even though she’d only meant for them to enjoy a dance.

  Clearly she wasn’t losing her touch, after all.

  Lady Stafford came into the alcove and handed Juliana and Amanda each a crested plate with a slice of the tart and a gold fork. “Your great-grandmother’s recipe is delicious,” she gushed. “Thank you so much for making and bringing it.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Juliana said, following her back to the main part of the room. Plate in hand, the duke wandered into the alcove and began chatting with Amanda. The tart was promoting new friendships already!

  Lady Stafford seated herself on a chair covered in pale green satin with a palm tree design worked into the fabric. Lord Cavanaugh took the chair nearest hers. James was already sitting on the love seat, attacking a slice of tart. There were six more palm tree-decorated chairs and four matching stools, but Juliana sat on the love seat by James, even though she knew that place should be reserved for Amanda.

  It would be for but a moment. She had something very important to discuss.

  James didn’t seem to find anything amiss with her sitting beside him. In fact, he shifted to face her, which put him rather too close. “This tart is excellent,” he said. “Did you make it?”

  “Of course,” she said, trying to scoot a little to the side. Apparently the love seat was too small to share with a person of his size. “Your mother is getting along very well with Lord Cavanaugh, isn’t she?”

  “She seems to be, yes.”

  “They seem perfect for each other. His title even begins with C.”

  “C?”

  “Like her sisters, don’t you see? Aurelia is Lady Avonleigh, Bedelia is Lady Balmforth, and your mother would be—“

  “Cornelia, Lady Cavanaugh. Yes, I see.” Looking amused, he swallowed another bite. “But I should think there are more important things for a couple to share than matching names.”

  “Of course there are,” she said, pleased to hear he agreed that couples should have things in common. “They should share interests—for example, chess and antiquities. And in your case especially, I should think you would want a wife who isn’t disturbed by the presence of blood.”

  “I’m not a surgeon,” he said patiently, “and I don’t believe in bleeding patients. Nor would I expect a wife to assist me with my practice. So there’s virtually no chance she would have to deal with blood.”

  That was a relief. For Amanda, of course—no lady should have to endure the sight of gore. “James…”

  “You mentioned chess,” he said. “Would you care for a game?”

  “Lady Amanda adores chess.” She really had something she needed to discuss. “I prefer playing cards, especially casino.”

  “I enjoy whist,” he said. “Perhaps someday you can teach me casino. When is our next outing?” He reached for his glass of port, his arm brushing up against her in the process.

  He should be touching Amanda instead. He should be making her shiver. Juliana leaned closer and lowered her voice. “You don’t need any more lessons.” She could smell his spicy scent.

  “Oh.” He took a sip and set down the glass, looking relieved. Or maybe disappointed.

  No, relieved. For what reason could he be disappointed?

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Quite. I’ve been thinking…”

  “Yes?” Grazing her again, he forked up another bite.

  Juliana lowered her voice. “We need to plan a way for you to publicly compromise Lady Amanda.”

  The fork clattered back to the plate. “Compromise Lady Amanda? Whyever would I do that?”

  “In order to get her father to agree to your marrying her.”

  “What could make you think I’d do something so underhanded?” he hissed. Juliana couldn’t tell whether he was more shocked or affronted. “And besides, why should her father reject me? It’s not as though I’m a pauper.”

  That much was clear—a pauper didn’t set his table with gold spoons. But if James reacted this way to the very idea of compromising Amanda, what would he do if he found out she was already engaged? What would he do if he realized that in order to marry her, he’d have to trick Lord Wolverston into breaking a contract with another man?

  He’d refuse to marry her, that was what.

  He was apparently too honorable to have anything to do with something as underhanded as what Juliana and Amanda had planned. But their plan wasn’t underhanded—it was necessary. And under the circumstances, it was justified.

  Lord Wolverston wasn’t honorable—he was treating his daughter hideously—which meant dishonorable means were entirely justifiable to stop him.

  But she knew James wouldn’t see it that way. He was too good. Too good for his own good.

  As Amanda and the duke stepped into the room from the alcove, Juliana sighed and moved to a chair so Amanda could sit beside James. But Amanda didn’t, choosing another chair to sit upon instead, because, after all, she was a reserved sort of girl, and James’s tall frame didn’t leave very much room on the cozy love seat.

  Heaven forbid Amanda should sit too close to a young man—even one she was planning on marrying.

  Juliana rolled her eyes and took a bite of her tart, thinking that if James and Amanda weren’t going to share the love seat, she should share it herself with the duke so she could start teaching him to be more affectionate. He’d chosen the chair beside her, unsurprisingly, but that wasn’t close enough. Of course, before she could share the love seat with the duke, she’d have to get James to move off of it.

  “Lord Stafford would like to pass some time playing chess,” she told Amanda.

  “Another time,” James disagreed. “An evening is never long in good company.”

  “An ancient proverb,” Amanda said with a small smile.

  Whether it was a proverb or not, Juliana had failed to get James off the love seat. Oh, well, she thought with an internal sigh, she’d have to sit closer to the duke next
time. And so she spent the evening being good company…all the while wracking her brains for a way to help a too-good person like James win the happiness he deserved.

  And failing utterly to come up with anything.

  “WHAT A LOVELY girl,” Cornelia said after closing the door behind their guests.

  James turned to her wearily. Spending time with Juliana—without being able to touch her—seemed to have worn him out. “Yes, Mother,” he said. “Lady Amanda is quite lovely.”

  “Well, yes, she is, but I was speaking of Lady Juliana.” She started up the wide, cantilevered stone staircase that led to the upper floors. “Lady Juliana is lovely on the inside, don’t you think? Not that she isn’t pretty, mind you—she’s a darling little thing—but I think the way she tries so hard to help is lovely in itself. She really cares about people. She brought us all a sweet she made from her great-grandmother’s recipe. She makes clothing for the Foundling Hospital. And she even volunteered to help at the New Hope Institute.” Halfway up, she paused and turned to look back at him, her hand on the trompe l’oeil-painted metal balustrade. “A lady of the ton, helping at your Institute!”

  James was quite aware that Juliana had mistakenly manipulated herself into that position, but he wouldn’t say so to his mother. Because Cornelia was right. Juliana was lovely inside. She wasn’t nearly as frivolous as he’d once thought. In fact, she wasn’t frivolous at all.

  “She’s a treasure,” his mother declared. “I think you should marry her instead of Lady Amanda.”

  “I never said I was marrying anyone!” James burst out in shock. The second time he’d been shocked this evening. Or rather, the third. The first had been when Juliana suggested he deliberately compromise Lady Amanda. The second had been when he nearly turned to her and replied, What if I want to marry you instead?

  But he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to marry anyone. He wasn’t yet ready to face a loveless marriage. Least of all to a treasure like Juliana.

  “Good night, Mother,” he said, suddenly even wearier than before. But he took the steps two at a time so he could escape before his mother said anything more. “Sleep well,” he called on the landing. Then he made his way down the corridor, ducked into the study, closed the door behind him, and dropped to the long leather sofa that sat before his father’s big oak desk.

  And there, without undressing—without even a thought of moving to his bedroom—he slept.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “I CANNOT believe you didn’t tell me you’d talked to Lord Stafford,” Amanda said the next afternoon. “What did he say, then?”

  The day had dawned bright and sunny for a change, and if it wasn’t exactly warm, at least it wasn’t freezing. Following Juliana’s rescheduled sewing party—after which, despite everyone’s help, Emily had calculated that Juliana still needed a hundred and seventy-eight items of baby clothes—she’d taken Amanda across the street into Berkeley Square, where they sat on a bench beneath a plane tree, eating ices from Gunter’s Tea Shop.

  Or at least Juliana was eating hers.

  “Do you know,” she said, “this is the first ice I’ve had all summer.” She scooped up the last spoonful and let it melt on her tongue. “Delicious. White currant is the best.”

  Amanda’s strawberry ice sat in her dish untouched. “What did he say?” she repeated. “When does he think we should carry out our plan?”

  Juliana sighed and licked her spoon. “He doesn’t think we should carry out our plan at all. He called it underhanded.”

  “Underhanded?”

  “Yes. He wants to ask for your hand outright. He says there’s no reason your father shouldn’t agree.”

  “He doesn’t know my father, then,” Amanda said dejectedly. She poked her spoon at her melty pink ice, staring at the statue of King George in the middle of the square. “What did he say when you told him Father is too stubborn to break the agreement with Lord Malmsey?”

  “I didn’t tell him that. James—I mean, Lord Stafford—would never pursue you if he knew you’re already engaged. He’s too honorable.” She spit out the last word.

  “Like my father, putting his honor before my happiness.”

  “Lord Stafford isn’t selfish, just principled. It’s not the same.”

  “I don’t see how it’s different.” Amanda slowly stirred what was now strawberry soup. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night? On the way home in Lord Stafford’s carriage?”

  “I don’t know,” Juliana admitted. She shifted her gaze from Amanda’s mopey face to the statue of their monarch. His Majesty was mounted on a horse, wearing some sort of draped garment she supposed was intended to be Greek or Roman. “I guess I was trying to figure out how to fix this.”

  “And what did you come up with?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Amanda set the dish on the bench beside her. “You always have a plan.”

  “No, I don’t.” Juliana sighed. “I don’t have a plan this time.”

  “Well, I do,” Amanda declared.

  Juliana couldn’t have been more surprised if King George had suddenly come to life and danced a jig atop the horse. “You have a plan?”

  “Yes. We shall trick Lord Stafford into compromising me.”

  “We shall do no such thing.” Juliana wasn’t sure which shocked her more: prissy Amanda suggesting such a plan or the thought of tricking someone who’d become her friend. “That would be reprehensible. Unethical. Completely disgraceful.”

  “Why? You said he wanted to marry me. If his supposed honor is standing in the way, we’d be doing him a favor, wouldn’t we?”

  “No,” Juliana said, and then, “Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

  Amanda had a point. James did want to marry her. He’d said as much, hadn’t he? He’d said Amanda was lovely—many times—and he’d said her father should accept his suit. He wouldn’t have a suit if he wasn’t wanting to marry her. Why else would he have bought her gifts and asked her to dance? More than once. At every ball, as a matter of fact. And he’d invited Amanda to his home.

  Well, technically his mother had done the inviting. But it was his home, and surely she’d had his approval. “Do you enjoy playing whist?” she suddenly asked.

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  Amanda liked whist, as did James. And chess. And she wasn’t sickened by blood. No wonder James loved her and wished to marry her. And the only way to make his wish come true was to…

  Wasn’t it?

  “I think we should do it this Saturday,” Amanda said, interrupting Juliana’s line of reasoning. “At the Billingsgate ball.”

  Apparently Amanda had destroyed Juliana's line of reasoning, not just interrupted it. Because suddenly she wasn't sure everything quite made sense. “I don’t know,” she said again. “It just seems wrong somehow to plot behind Lord Stafford’s back. It makes me feel guilty.”

  “Guilty? I think not.” Juliana couldn’t remember Amanda ever sounding so sure of herself. “I told you, we’ll be doing him a favor.”

  There it was, that we again. That guilty-making we. “Maybe you should do this alone, Amanda.”

  “Why?” Amanda shifted to face her on the bench, her eyes not sparkling but pleading. “I cannot plan this alone. I need your help, Juliana—you’re the bright one of us, after all.”

  Well, Amanda had that right. Bookish was not the same as bright.

  “You cannot really feel guilty,” Amanda added.

  “Maybe just a bit.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t.”

  Perhaps Amanda’s arguments were valid. After all, James wanted to marry her. And Lord Malmsey certainly didn’t. And Aunt Frances—dear, myopic Aunt Frances—would be devastated if Lord Malmsey left her for Amanda. The only person who would be happy if Amanda didn’t trick James was her dratted, conniving father. Surely that would be the greater wrong.

  That all sounded well justified, did it not?

  Juliana’s s
isters often said that justification was one of her many talents.

  “Well?” Amanda asked.

  “All right. We’ll make a plan.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  ORANGE JUMBLES

  Mixe a cup of Flower with Almonds ground fine and Sugar, then add two spoones of grated rinde of Oranges and Salt. Rub in some Butter and binde with beaten whites of two Egges. When smooth, make into pieces and roll each out in the shape of an S. Bake on a greased tin until browne and golden.

  This receipt has been in our family for a very long time. They are a homely sort of biscuit, good for taking to ailing villagers or anyone you like to make comfortable.

  —Lady Diana Caldwell, 1689

  JAMES HANDED the hopeful young woman a pencil and slid a piece of paper across the counter. “Write your name here, please, on line fourteen.”

  She squinted at the page.

  “There,” he elaborated, indicating the number 14.

  She bit her lip and wrote an awkward X beside it.

  The eleventh X on the page.

  “Thank you,” he said, suppressing a sigh, “but I don’t believe you will find this position suitable.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she turned, and he wished he could help. The introduction of new machinery was causing massive unemployment all over England, but his sympathy didn’t change the fact that he required an assistant who could read and write.

  As she plodded out of the New Hope Institute, Juliana danced in, gave a jaunty wave toward the Chase carriage outside, and stuck her umbrella in the stand by the door.

  It was Wednesday, and—James checked his pocket watch—precisely one o’clock. Having not seen Juliana since the dinner at Stafford House on Sunday, he’d been wondering if she would actually show up. As she walked toward him, her smile seemed to brighten the whole reception room.

  Though it was raining outside—of course—she was wearing a sunny yellow dress. A thin, sunny yellow dress.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “No Lady Frances?”