by Lauren Royal
But he was still shocked to realize he’d fallen in love.
Until the kiss, he hadn’t been able to admit that, not even to himself, because it would be a betrayal of Anne.
Except…it wasn’t.
He’d fallen in love with Juliana, and it wasn’t a betrayal at all.
He’d expected to feel appalled. Or guilty. Or disbelieving.
But he wasn’t any of those things. He was in love. And he couldn’t disbelieve it any more than he could disbelieve he had two hands and two feet.
Juliana smoothed her yellow dress. “We were only watching the fireworks, Auntie. Besides, you know I’m going to marry the Duke of Castleton.”
On hearing that, irritation nearly punctured James’s fine mood—but not quite, because he was in love!
He’d never thought this could happen.
Or maybe he’d been in too much denial to allow himself to think it could happen.
Maybe.
It was a possibility.
He was willing to admit to that.
But if he had thought such a thing—if he’d considered that someday, somehow he could fall in love with another girl without desecrating Anne’s memory—he’d thought it could only happen after Anne somehow granted him permission.
Exactly how he could receive permission from a dead girl wasn’t something he’d really considered. Maybe he could have gone to her grave and talked to her—he’d read such scenarios in books. Or maybe she could have come to him in a dream—he’d read that in books, too. Or maybe she could have sent him a sign; maybe he could have just seen something—something seemingly insignificant—and somehow known what it meant.
But none of that had happened. Because he didn’t need Anne’s permission. Because his love for Juliana had nothing to do with Anne.
Nothing.
Loving Juliana didn’t diminish the love he’d had for Anne. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t always cherish the memories of their time together. He didn’t love Juliana more than he’d loved Anne or less than he’d loved Anne.
He loved her differently.
She was a different girl, and he loved her for different reasons. Which made sense, because he was different now, too. This new love wasn’t better or worse, or deeper or shallower. It was just different.
And it was exactly what he needed to make him feel whole again.
Unfortunately, it seemed Juliana’s evening hadn’t been quite as revelatory as James’s. She still seemed bent on marrying that turd Castleton. The one who wanted her only because she came with a horse.
But James knew she’d felt something when he’d kissed her. He’d seen it written all over her face.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Cainewood’s town house.
“Thank you,” Lord Malmsey said as he stepped out.
“It was a lovely evening,” Lady Frances said and stepped out, too.
Juliana didn’t say anything as she stepped out to follow them. But before the footman could close the carriage door, she turned back to face James. “When are you going to take Lady Amanda to Vauxhall Gardens?”
He didn’t want to take Lady Amanda to Vauxhall Gardens. He didn’t want to take her anywhere. He’d never wanted to take her anywhere.
But he especially didn’t want to take her to Vauxhall Gardens, the place where he’d had his first kiss with Juliana.
“Never,” he said. “I didn’t enjoy Vauxhall Gardens much.”
“Didn’t you?” She narrowed her eyes as though she didn’t believe him. Which was hardly surprising, since in reality he’d enjoyed himself immensely. “Well,” she said, “then where shall you take her?”
He wanted to say nowhere, but he couldn’t. Because then he’d have no excuse to see Juliana. She was involved with the stuffy duke, which meant she wouldn’t accept an invitation from James unless it was for the sake of Lady Amanda.
That wasn’t such a terrible thing, he consoled himself. He and Juliana were becoming friends, and he liked the idea of getting to know her as a friend first. There was plenty of time to make her fall in love with him. If he continued feigning interest in Lady Amanda, he could keep up the “lessons” with Juliana, find occasional opportunities to touch her or kiss her, and slowly ease into their courtship.
He could afford to be patient. He was just getting used to the fact that he was in love with her. There was no reason to rush right into things.
“I’ll take Lady Amanda wherever you’d like,” he said. “Except Vauxhall Gardens. As long as you come along, too.”
“I cannot come along!”
“You can if you’re with Castleton.” It galled him to say that, but he saw no other choice. No other way to get Juliana to spend time with him.
Well, he’d see her on Friday at the Institute. But that was four days away. Entirely too long.
“If we go somewhere I’ve never been,” he told her, “I’ll need you there to provide guidance.”
She mulled that over for a moment, and then she said, “Very well,” just as he’d expected. He’d known he could appeal to her meddling nature. She’d probably never in her life come to believe he was capable of fending for himself, but he could live with that.
In fact, he looked forward to living with that. He liked having her look after him. It was both touching and a never-ending source of amusement, one of her most endearing quirks.
“I think we should go see the new Battle of Waterloo panorama in Leicester Square tomorrow,” she said. “I’ve heard it’s very romantic.”
Having witnessed war himself—albeit briefly—James didn’t think it was very romantic, and he had never heard the term romantic attached to the Leicester Square Panorama building, either. But he had heard it was dark, and he supposed darkness could lead to romance, and while he was well aware that Juliana expected him to find romance with Lady Amanda while she found romance with that turd Castleton, he knew that wouldn’t happen, so her false expectations didn’t dampen his spirits in the slightest.
“I believe it closes at four,” he said, “so I shall return to fetch you and Lady Amanda at one o’clock.”
“And Aunt Frances,” she reminded him.
“And Lady Frances. Invite Lord Malmsey, too, will you?” he said, reaching into his pocket for her gloves. “Here you are, l—lady.“ He cleared his throat. “That is, Lady Juliana.”
He’d almost called her love.
He’d best be more careful; he wanted to get closer to Juliana, not scare her away.
“Thank you,” she said, taking them and going into the house.
James was still in a fine mood as his carriage continued on to Stafford House. Once there, he remained in a fine mood as he searched the morning room and the music room and the Palm Room for his mother. He took the stairs two at a time, still in a fine mood when he finally found her in her sitting room, reading a Minerva Press novel.
He’d never seen his mother read a Minerva Press novel. They were torrid romances, and he was startled to see her reading such a thing, but that didn’t affect his fine mood.
“Yes, James?” she said, shutting it quickly and setting it upside down on the table beside her. “How was your evening?”
“It was pleasant,” he said, perhaps the greatest understatement of his life. “I want to renovate my bedroom.”
“You cannot change that room. It was designed by Henry Holland!”
“I don’t care who designed it. Brown and plum are too somber.”
Mother loved redecorating, but James’s father had never let her touch Stafford House, so she’d had to content herself with overhauling their manor house in the countryside. James had known she wouldn’t argue long. Clearly excited, she rose, belted her dressing gown more tightly, and walked over to sit at her feminine writing desk.
“What colors would you like, then?” she asked, dipping her quill in the inkwell.
“Red,” he decided.
“Your favorite color. I should have guessed.” She scribbled. “Any other r
equests?”
“And yellow. Red and yellow.” He’d noticed Juliana often wore yellow, but he wouldn’t explain that to his mother. The last thing he needed was her figuring out he’d finally decided to remarry.
“We’ll do stripes,” she said, still scribbling. “Wide red and yellow stripes on the walls above the wainscoting.”
“I want the wainscoting gone. It’s dark wood, and I don’t want anything dark in the room.”
She frowned, then brightened. “We’ll paint the wainscoting white, then. Bright white enamel. And use narrower stripes on the upholstery. But solid red bedclothing, I think. Perhaps with yellow pillows.”
“Fine.” Henry Holland’s design had used floral fabrics, so stripes sounded perfect. As different as could be. “And get rid of that monstrous old-fashioned bed, will you?”
“It’s been in the family since the sixteenth century.”
“It looks it.”
“Nine Stafford earls were born in that bed—”
“I want something modern. Without a canopy or stifling curtains.”
She looked up. And then she gazed at him for a very long moment. He wondered if she’d made the connection, if she’d realized that the bed, the curtains—all of it—held too many memories.
“Very well,” she finally said. “If you insist, we’ll move it to a guest room.”
THIRTY-FIVE
“IT’S THE rheumatism, I fear,” Lady Avonleigh said the next afternoon.
“It’s dreadful,” Lady Balmforth added. “The two of us ache every morning.”
When James had fetched Juliana and the others for their outing, he’d explained that he needed to stop by his aunts’ house on their way to Leicester Square. Seated in his aunts’ drawing room on a peach sofa, Juliana watched him walk them toward a large picture window.
“I’m afraid some morning stiffness is to be expected at your age,” he said sympathetically. He lifted Lady Balmforth’s narrow hand and examined it in the window’s light.
“Don’t you need to use your quizzing glass?” she asked.
“Not for this. I see no evidence of swelling, and your joints don’t look reddened or feel overly warm. If the achiness wears off before noon, that’s a good sign.” He flexed her elbow. “Does this hurt?”
“He’s patient,” Amanda said quietly, sitting beside Juliana.
“Yes, he is,” she whispered back, lifting an embroidery hoop one of James’s aunts had left on the table. It wasn’t a simple sampler but an amazingly detailed scene—a cottage in the woods with animals among the trees. “Isn’t this exquisite?” It had a faint smell she couldn’t quite identify. She sniffed curiously, then coughed and quickly lowered the hoop. Gardenias and camphor. Ick.
“I wish he’d be a little more impatient,” Amanda whined. “We’re going to be late.”
“There’s no need to worry. The rotunda doesn’t close until four.”
“But the duke will be waiting.”
“Not for so very long.” Juliana raised a half-finished crewelwork seat cover and ran her fingers over the pattern, a veritable field of flowers. This one was mercifully unscented. “Lord Stafford’s aunts are very talented.”
“Lord Stafford is on his knees,” Amanda said. “That cannot be good for his injury.”
James was crouched on the floor, obligingly examining Lady Avonleigh’s plump ankles. Juliana didn’t think about his injury much—it didn’t seem to stop him from doing anything, so she couldn’t see where it mattered. But apparently it mattered to Amanda.
“There’s nothing Lord Stafford won’t do for someone he cares for,” Juliana told her, returning the crewelwork to the table. “You’re lucky to have someone so wonderful courting you.” Honestly, it was a bit annoying that Amanda didn’t seem to realize how truly lucky she was. “It’s nice of you to be concerned for him, though. Just remember to let him kiss you.”
“What if he doesn’t try?”
“He’ll try. I’ve heard parts of the rotunda are quite dark.” James would take advantage of the darkness—Juliana knew this from experience.
“What if I don’t like kissing him?”
Poor Amanda seemed even more afraid of kissing than before. The failed trick must have traumatized her. "You'll love kissing him,” Juliana assured her. Another thing she knew from experience. In fact, just thinking about that particular experience made her stomach feel all queer again.
Why was that?
Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, because the next thing she knew, James was standing over her, looking concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all,” she assured him—and herself. “Are you finished?”
“I’ve prescribed hot, damp towels for my aunts’ aches. I’m certain they shall be fine.”
She rose and walked over to where his aunts sat while their maids obligingly applied the towels. “I hope you’ll both be feeling better soon.”
“Oh, we shall,” Lady Balmforth said as her maid wrapped one of her wrists. “Our James always knows what to do. I’m sure we’ll feel better by the time Cornelia comes to fetch us in an hour. We’re going to Gillow’s to look at some new furniture for her house.”
“Your needlework is lovely. I’m having a little sewing party tomorrow afternoon, to make some baby clothes for the Foundling Hospital. Would either of you be interested in joining me?”
“Cornelia told us about your sewing parties,” Lady Avonleigh exclaimed, appearing better already. The odd gardenias-and-camphor scent was hers. “They sound delightful, my dear. I should love to attend.”
Lady Balmforth clasped her hands together so enthusiastically she lost a towel in the process. “I should love to attend, too.”
“Thank you so much. Shall I send my brother’s carriage at one o’clock?”
“Oh, no,” Lady Avonleigh said. “We have our own carriage, and John Coachman has much too much time on his hands.”
“He naps,” Lady Balmforth added. “Even more often than we do.”
Juliana noticed James and Amanda both inching toward the door. “Excellent,” she said before going after them. “I live at forty-four Berkeley Square, and I very much look forward to seeing you.”
“That was rather presumptuous,” Amanda said as they walked out to James’s carriage where Aunt Frances and Lord Malmsey were waiting.
“I disagree,” James said. “I think it was kind. My aunts were thrilled to be invited.”
Juliana smiled. “They’re very sweet.”
“And very healthy,” he said dryly. “Such a pity they don’t know it.”
“They just need something else to occupy their minds. That’s why I invited them to my party—well, besides the fact that I do need their help. And I’m thinking I should introduce them to a few more charming gentlemen.”
“I don’t believe either of them is interested in gentlemen, charming or not.”
“Have they never been wed?”
“Oh, yes. Aunt Bedelia was married four times.”
“Four!” Amanda exclaimed.
“A baron, two viscounts, and an earl. They all died,” he added, shaking his head as a footman opened the carriage door. “Poor, sweet lady.”
Juliana made a concerned noise that turned into a gasp. Inside James’s opulent carriage, her aunt was kissing Lord Malmsey!
“Gracious me!” Amanda cried, clearly scandalized. Not because she cared that Lord Malmsey was courting Aunt Frances, Juliana thought—after all, Amanda had given him permission to court other women. No, Amanda would have been scandalized to see any two people kissing. She was scared to death of kissing.
The couple jerked apart. A flush rushed up Aunt Frances’s neck and spread to her cheeks. Not a delicate flush, either—it was more like a bright red flood.
But she kept her composure. “Are your aunts feeling better?” she asked James, folding her hands in her lap.
“Remarkably.” He handed Amanda in first, then Juliana before himself. She left space for him
in the middle, but it seemed there wasn’t enough, because he ended up squished against her. “To the Leicester Square Panorama,” he instructed and settled back.
They all rode in silence for a few awkward moments. James felt very warm against Juliana. Her stomach was feeling even more queer. “Lord Stafford was telling us his aunt Bedelia has been married four times,” she told her aunt.
“Oh, my,” Aunt Frances said.
After a few more awkward moments, Juliana looked up to James. “Were there no children?”
“None that lived. And Aunt Aurelia’s life has been even more tragic.”
“How many husbands did she have?” Amanda asked in a tone that Juliana found rather judgmental.
James didn’t seem to notice, however. “Only one, the Earl of Avonleigh. But their children failed to bring her happiness. Her eldest daughter eloped with a cousin, prompting her husband to disown the girl. Aurelia never heard from her again and learned she’d died a number of years later. Her middle child, a son, drank too much and accidentally drowned. And her youngest, another daughter, ended her own life soon after marrying. She jumped off the London Bridge, taking her unborn child with her.”
“Oh, my,” Aunt Frances said again.
“Aunt Aurelia’s husband died soon thereafter. A ‘visitation from God’ was the coroner’s official verdict, but I expect his spirit was broken.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Lord Malmsey said.
Juliana nodded, her heart twisting in sympathy. “It’s a wonder your poor aunt survived. She must be a strong lady.”
“She is. They both are. But it’s a shame they have no children or grandchildren to dote upon.”
“They have you,” she pointed out.
“I know, and I adore them. I admire their pluck.” The carriage came to a halt. “I just wish they had someone else to pluck at once in a while.”
The door opened to Leicester Square and a huge round building. Over a rather nondescript entrance, a fancy marquee said PANORAMA. Before it stood the duke.