by Lauren Royal
“Purgative,” James supplied.
“Lovely,” Juliana muttered. “Do you think it’s been less than three days since she was exposed? Since the Lambourne girls became contagious?”
“We don’t know,” he said. “It would be better if Emily’s friends hadn’t developed spots. But then I suppose we wouldn’t be certain it was smallpox, so…” He shrugged and lifted the quizzing glass that dangled from the chain around his neck. “Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he said, bending closer to Emily.
He held his breath as he examined her, his jaw clenched tight. Knowing Herman must be scaring him to death, Juliana held her breath, too. Maybe it was a bit silly to be afraid of a harmless snake, but not any sillier than to feel ill at the sight of blood. She marveled at his self-control, his determination, his bravery. His knowledge. His skill. His perfectly formed lips…
She gave her head a little shake to clear it.
Amanda had better appreciate having such a wonderful husband, she thought fiercely.
When he straightened, they both blew out a breath. “What were you looking for?” she asked.
“Small red spots on her tongue and in her mouth. Pocks usually show up there first, although I wouldn’t expect to see any this early, before the fever. In any case, she has none.”
“That’s good, right?”
He nodded and visibly steeled himself before leaning close again to unfasten the buttons that went down the front of Emily’s nightgown. Herman was draped on either side of the placket, and his fingers trembled a little. Regardless, Juliana had never seen anyone unbutton anything so quickly.
“I want to check the rest of her body. Spots most likely wouldn’t appear there yet if she’s contracted smallpox, but we can hope her friends actually have some other disease that presents differently—”
He snatched his hands back and froze, staring.
At first Juliana thought he’d been bitten by the snake. Then she realized he wasn’t staring at Herman, but at Emily’s chest.
Or, to be more precise, at an odd, fleur-de-lis shaped birthmark on Emily’s chest.
He frowned and murmured, “I think I’ve seen a birthmark like this before.”
Emily nodded. “My father has one, too. All the Nevilles have one. In exactly the same place.”
“Oh,” James said. Still staring down at the fleur-de-lis, he frowned again. “But I’ve never seen your father’s chest.”
“Yes, you did,” Juliana reminded him. “At Lady Hammersmithe’s ball, remember? Lord Neville was choking, and you saved his life.”
“I removed his neckcloth but not his shirt. I only loosened a couple of buttons. I never saw—”
He blinked. And gasped.
“What?” Juliana asked.
His gaze flew to meet hers. “I never saw Lord Neville’s birthmark, but the day I was caught with Lady Am—” He broke off, glancing toward Emily and back again. “With your unbuttoned friend,” he revised.
Then he paused before concluding, very slowly, “I saw that birthmark on her.”
Faith, he was right! Juliana suddenly remembered it herself—a fleur-de-lis revealed by Amanda’s drooping neckline. She must have seen it from her hiding place behind the curtain that day.
No, she couldn’t have seen it. She’d been at entirely the wrong angle.
But she had seen that birthmark on Amanda. Hadn’t she?
Her brain felt fuzzy, but she knew she’d seen it. She closed her eyes and pictured it…in her very own bedroom, the night she’d presented the “new” Amanda to society, when she was dressing for Lady Hammersmithe’s ball.
And that meant…
Something hovered in the back of Juliana’s mind. Something significant. Across the bed from James, she followed his gaze down to Emily. If all the Nevilles had that birthmark, and Amanda had that birthmark…
Then Amanda was Lord Neville’s daughter, not Lord Wolverston’s.
And that meant…
“Oh, faith,” she breathed.
FIFTY-THREE
JAMES’S EYES met Juliana’s, and they both sucked in their breaths. She was obviously struggling just as hard as James to keep her mouth shut, to keep from blurting out everything in front of little Emily.
The girl’s father arrived, purgative in hand—muttering about hiring some servants young enough to run errands—and James asked him if his daughter had ever been vaccinated. Neville looked confused by his presence, but he answered readily enough.
The answer was no, which James found rather irksome.
To everyone’s relief, the purgative was put aside. Emily whimpered while James explained the vaccination procedure, but in the end she bore it well. A tiny incision, a little dip into the wound using an ivory lancet tipped with cowpox virus, and a swiftly applied bandage. It all went very quickly, even though James didn’t have a sugar stick. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever vaccinating anyone faster.
Herman might have had something to do with that.
Now they could only wait. The incubation period for smallpox generally ran seven to fourteen days, but occasionally went as long as seventeen. Emily had most likely been exposed two or three days earlier, which meant it would be at least two weeks before they knew for certain whether she was out of the woods.
But the odds were well in her favor. And for now Emily was healthy and happily spooning up chocolate cream.
It was nearly seven o’clock by the time all was said and done and James and Juliana left the Neville house. As soon as the door closed behind them, she turned to him on the doorstep. “Will she really be all right?”
“I cannot make any promises, but I think so. She may not get smallpox at all, and if she does, it should be a very light case.”
Even a light case of smallpox could be arduous, but at least it wouldn’t be fatal. And in any event, what would be would be. James had done all he could, and the matter was in God’s hands now.
And he and Juliana had pressing matters of their own to discuss—yes, he was ready to discuss.
He was ready to think.
“Lady Amanda isn’t Castleton’s sister,” he said, taking one of Juliana’s hands.
“I know. I figured that out.” She squeezed his fingers, looking more lively than he’d seen her in days. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
“She might not think so,” he said cautiously. “Such a strait-laced girl might be upset to learn she’s another man’s daughter. Even a much nicer one.”
“She’ll cope with it. She’ll have to. And the best part of it is, you won’t have to marry her when there’s no good reason for her not to marry the duke.” She seemed to be holding her breath. “You won’t, will you?”
Much as he wanted to make her that promise, he couldn’t. Not yet. ”Wolverston may still insist—”
“He can withhold Amanda’s dowry and inheritance, but he cannot make her say ‘I will.’” Sounding very sure of herself—well, she was Juliana—she finally released her breath. “Amanda won’t need her father’s—or rather, Lord Wolverston’s—money if she’s wed to the duke.”
“The duke may not agree.”
“He wants her. I think he’ll agree. Let’s find him and ask him now.” She started down the steps, then stopped and turned back to him. “Oh, drat. We can’t.” Her newly recovered enthusiasm disappeared, replaced by blind panic. “I still have to make thirty-three pieces of baby clothes before tomorrow morning.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do! Perhaps the others made three or four items in the past couple of hours, but that still leaves—”
“You don’t have to make any more baby clothes, Juliana.” He smiled and kissed the puzzled little lines between her brows. Then he tugged on her hand, drawing her down the steps and across the pavement, back to her own house. “Look,” he said, stopping in front of the large window that fronted number forty-four’s drawing room.
On the other side of the glass, Corinna leisurely painted, her face a mask of concentratio
n. Behind her, Lady Frances stood with her back to the window, gesturing or perhaps explaining something. On the far side of her, a dozen young women were perched on the drawing room’s chairs and sofas, hunched over the needlework in their hands.
Juliana turned to him, bewildered. “Who are they?”
“My former assistants and a few neighborhood girls they managed to scare up. Common-born girls may not all learn to read and write, but they do know how to sew.”
She blinked. “How did they get here?”
“Aunt Aurelia gave me the idea. She came into the institute today, telling such stories. Poor Lady Juliana is sewing her fingers to the bone, dear Lady Juliana will never finish in time.” He shrugged. “So I called in a favor.”
“A favor?”
He nodded. “Before you summoned me to Emily’s house. The girls were quite happy to oblige.”
“Faith.” Her eyes shone with disbelief and gratitude and something else that was even better. “Have I told you I love you?” she whispered through an obviously tight throat.
He squeezed her hand. “Yes, but do feel free to tell me again.”
“I love you.” She bit her lip. “And thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” She squeezed his hand back. “I must go help them now, but—”
“No. Oh, no. You’re much too exhausted, and we have much more important things to do.”
“James—”
“Go inside if you must, tell them Emily is all right and you’ve been invited to Stafford House for dinner.”
“Aunt Frances might be oblivious, but she’s not stupid. She knows your mother is too ill to host a dinner party.”
“I’m hosting you. We’ll go to my house for dinner as soon as we’ve talked to Castleton. Your aunt is needed here to supervise, and this is no time to fret about proprieties, Juliana. I’m starved.”
He dropped a soft kiss on her lips and sent her on her way. It started raining while he waited impatiently on the doorstep.
Everything was still up in the air.
When she came back out, they dashed to his carriage together.
“They’ve made twenty-one items of baby clothes already,” she reported. “With only twelve to go, they really don’t need me.” Being Juliana, of course she already had a plan. “The House of Lords is in session. You’ll have to go in alone to fetch the duke, but then you should bring him out to the carriage so we can talk to him together.”
James sent an outrider to Stafford House to get his cook started on dinner, and told his driver to head for Parliament.
Unfortunately, Castleton wasn’t at Parliament.
He wasn’t at his Grosvenor Square town house.
And he wasn’t at White’s, which was the final place Juliana could think to check.
It was rather annoying. Just now—when all their futures were at stake—now the duke had decided to be unpredictable?
They left notes at the last two locations, explaining all they’d learned and requesting that Castleton notify them of his intentions as soon as possible. Then they went to Stafford House to wait, because there was nothing else they could do.
Dinner was ready when they arrived, and the table was set for two, one plate at either end of the oval table that seated six. “I’m not hungry,” Juliana said.
“You’re worn out. We both are. We should try to eat at least a little.”
He moved the dishes at the far end to the spot around the curve from his. And then they sat. Because there was nothing else to do.
James wasn’t hungry anymore, either. He’d lost his appetite. Everything was still so up in the air. They both picked at their food, alternating between silence and spurts of forced conversation through three courses.
There was nothing else to do.
“Maybe we should go look for the duke again,” Juliana suggested when they finished an hour later and James was pouring port.
He set down the bottle and handed her a glass. “Where?” he asked, taking a rather large swallow from his own glass.
“I’m not sure. But there’s nothing else to do.” She looked at the glass in her hand. “I’ve never had port.”
“It’s strong but sweet,” he said. “Try it.”
She took a tiny sip and then another one, hoping it might steady her a little. “I like it.”
Just then, a red-liveried footman walked in. “My lord.” He set a letter on the corner of the table, gave a smart bow, and left.
It was a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper, folded in thirds and secured with a large red seal. James and Juliana stared at it for a moment, as though they were both afraid to touch it.
“The stationery is from White’s,” he finally said, pushing it toward her.
“It’s from the duke.” Her hand shook as she lifted it. “It has to be.”
“Open it.”
She turned it over, her eyes green and apprehensive. “It’s addressed to you.”
Obviously she felt it was his right to read it first, but James suspected she’d snatch it from his hands if he tried. “Open it,” he repeated.
She nodded and broke the seal, slowly unfolding the single page. Before she even finished scanning it, she let out a little shriek and launched herself onto his lap, the letter landing on the floor as she wrapped her arms around him and held tight.
So tight he could barely breathe. “What does it say?” he choked out, unsure whether she was crying from happiness or despair. Her only answer was a sob. He leaned awkwardly with her attached to him and picked up the letter. He turned it over, anxiety impaling his chest.
Lord Stafford,
I wish to wed Lady Amanda Wolverston with or without her dowry. No horse will be necessary, either. I would appreciate the assistance of yourself and Lady Juliana in explaining the matter, which I expect Lady Amanda will wish to verify with Lord Neville. To that end, I shall present myself at Cainewood’s home at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, unless I hear from you otherwise.
Yours sincerely,
Castleton
The pain in James’s chest eased as he dragged in two lungsful of the most delicious air he’d ever breathed.
Perhaps Castleton wasn’t such a turd, after all.
Everything was going to work out.
It was a blasted miracle.
“No horse.” Juliana sniffled into his shoulder. “He said that once before. What on earth could he possibly mean?”
He supposed it couldn’t hurt to tell her now. “Your brother promised the duke a horse named Velocity as part of your dowry if he’d marry you.”
She raised her head. “You’ve got to be jesting. A horse?”
James shrugged. ”I believe Griffin was rather foxed when he made the offer.”
“That idiot.”
“Griffin? Or the horse?”
“Griffin, of course. Velocity is a very intelligent horse.”
He laughed and kissed her. “Do you expect I will get Velocity when I marry you?”
“It would serve Griffin right if you insist on it. Although I didn’t realize you cared for racehorses.”
“I don’t, particularly. But the sale of such a fine animal would pay for a lot of vaccinations. I expect Castleton would bid mightily—what?” Juliana had pulled back enough to stare at him, tears streaming down her cheeks again. “What could be wrong now?”
“Was that a proposal?”
He blinked. “I suppose so. But it wasn’t a very good one, was it?” He rose and set her on the chair, then dropped to one knee. “Ouch.”
“Try your good knee,” she said with a watery laugh.
He did. Carefully. And then he took both her hands in his. “Juliana, my love…would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes!” She launched herself at him again, with such force he fell back onto the floor, which, thankfully, was carpeted, since he banged his head so hard he saw stars. “I’m sorry,” she said, crawling over him. “Are you hurt?”
“Not in t
he least.” His head ached like the dickens, but he didn’t care. “Are you?”
“No. I know you hate it when ladies cry, but I can’t seem to stop.”
“It’s all right,” he assured her, “as long as you’re crying from happiness.” Watching a fat drop fall from her chin to his neckcloth, he added, “You are happy?”
“Oh, yes!“ she bawled and leaned down to kiss him.
It was a very wet kiss.
“Lord Stafford? Is everything all right?”
Juliana jumped up, and James turned his head to the side to see his housekeeper standing over him. “Ah…very much so, Mrs. Hampton.” He pushed himself to sit and ran a hand through his hair. “We were just, um, going upstairs. Yes. We’re going to drink our port in the Painted Room.”
“Very well, my lord. Shall I have something brought to you?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Scrambling to his feet, he collected both their glasses. “We’ll just go up now.”
“Should you need anything, do let me know,” Mrs. Hampton said. And just stood there. Staring.
“Of course. We’re going up now.” Handing Juliana a glass, he gestured with the other in a way he hoped looked suave and dignified. “Shall we?”
FIFTY-FOUR
AT THE TOP of the elegant staircase, James didn’t walk Juliana through the library and into the gorgeous room with the lion head chairs. Instead, he took her the opposite direction.
“Um, James? Isn’t the Painted Room the one with all the marriage scenes? The one where I gave you the Richmond Maids of Honour and…”
She trailed off, thinking it might not be the best idea to remind him why she’d come that day: to apologize for tricking him. Because she’d wanted him to marry her friend, and she hadn’t known he’d lost his wife and child. Her face heated just thinking about that day and the events that had led to her apology. How dreadfully naive and foolish she’d been!
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice the awkward pause. ”I thought I’d show you another room—mine, to be precise—though it will be ours very soon,” he said all in a rush.
She slanted him a curious glance. Was it her imagination, or did he sound a bit nervous?