by Lauren Royal
Finally, James pulled back with a low laugh. “You’re wearing out my lips.”
She pulled his head down and kissed him again, a quick, joyous kiss.
“I’m never going to last until next Saturday,” he said. “I need macaroons for extra energy.”
“Oh,” she said with a sigh, and then, “You know what, James? I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”
“I agree,” he said. “No secrets, and no lies.”
“I never lie,” she said, sounding a little defensive. “Well, I did lie to that dratted doctor, but I never lie unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. I don’t want any lies, either, and no half-truths.” She drew a deep breath. “The macaroons don’t really give one extra energy,” she confessed in a rush.
“Oh, really?” He snickered.
“Did you snicker at me? Me, the girl you want to marry?”
Well, maybe he had, but only because he found her little superstitions so charming. He wasn’t superstitious at all, and he couldn’t quite believe anyone would think macaroons could give one extra energy. Or do anything else, either, other than taste delicious.
“I didn’t snicker,” he said, although that meant he was already telling her a half-truth.
He’d been married before, so he knew some half-truths were part of a harmonious relationship. But he wouldn’t tell her a half-truth unless it was absolutely unavoidable.
“All right,” she said, and then, in a lower tone, “I actually baked them to make you…amorous.”
“Oh, really?” he repeated, but he didn’t snicker. There was no way macaroons could make one amorous, either. But he loved that she thought they did. “You’re a treasure, Juliana,” he told her, hoping she’d bake him macaroons many, many times in the years to come.
Hoping very hard.
And then he kissed her again and left, and went home and spent the rest of the night with his fingers crossed, even though he wasn’t superstitious.
FIFTY-SIX
IN THE END, Amanda was the one who objected.
Shaking like a leaf, she arrived at Juliana’s house at quarter past ten. “What took you so long?” Juliana asked. “You were supposed to be here at ten. You only live down the street.”
“It was this dress.” She brushed at enormous, voluminous white skirts that were at least twenty years out of fashion. Faith, they were so wide there had to be hoops under them. “Have you ever tried to climb down a ladder in a dress this big?”
“Why are you wearing it?”
Amanda looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s my grandmother’s wedding dress. It’s a tradition in my family to wear it.”
Fifty years out of fashion, then. The skirts were actually somewhat yellowed, not pure white. “You’re not getting married today, Amanda. That’s the whole point of going to talk to Lord Neville.”
“After I told my father I was getting dressed for my wedding, I couldn’t very well not do that, could I?” she said primly. She looked to the duke. “Besides, we’re getting married today, aren’t we?”
“Not today,” the duke said in his stiff way. “A ducal wedding generally requires some months of preparation.”
“If you love a girl,” James said scornfully, “I should think you’d want to marry her as soon as possible.”
Juliana thought she heard him mutter “what a turd” under his breath, but surely he wouldn’t say that. Not about a duke. And then she worried for a moment that the duke would blurt out that he didn’t love Amanda, but only held her in some affection, which could ruin everything.
But thankfully that didn’t happen. They all walked next door to Lord Neville’s house, and James banged the knocker.
The gaunt butler answered. “Yes?”
“We’ve come to call on Lord Neville,” Juliana said.
The old fellow’s eyes widened when he spotted Amanda in a wedding dress that his own bride could have worn fifty years ago, assuming he’d ever married, which he probably hadn’t since most people required their butlers to remain bachelors. But he was a mannerly sort of butler, so he didn’t say anything. About that, anyway. “Wait in the drawing room, if you please,” he said instead, “and I shall see if Lord Neville is at home.”
Viscount Neville was at home, of course. He spent his evenings gambling at his club, which meant he was never out and about very early. In fact, he came downstairs looking a bit rumpled, as though perhaps his valet had needed to drag him out of bed.
Juliana could see right off that he was Amanda’s father. Amanda fit in age between Emily’s two brothers, the one who was married and the other one who was away at Cambridge most of the year. Lord Neville was blond and gray-eyed like both of his daughters, and tall like both of his daughters, too. And as he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn’t surprised to learn that he’d had a dalliance with Amanda’s mother.
Or at least not as surprised as she’d have been a few weeks ago. It seemed she lived on a very promiscuous street. Besides Lord Neville’s affair with Amanda’s mother, Lord Wolverston had carried on with the late Duchess of Castleton when she’d lived in Juliana’s house.
It was a good thing she’d be moving to St. James’s Place soon.
Assuming everything worked out, that was. She really couldn’t wait any longer to find out.
No one was saying anything, and, in fact, Viscount Neville seemed a little mystified to find all these people in his house. He seemed especially fascinated by Amanda in her ancient wedding dress. Juliana was dying to resolve everything, so she figured she might as well just spit it out. “Lord Neville, are you Lady Amanda’s father? She has a fleur-de-lis birthmark in the same place as you and Emily.”
Amanda gasped and blushed wildly, and Juliana was sorry to embarrass her, because she knew Amanda considered that private. But she figured it was better to come out and say it than to wait and have Lord Neville ask to see it, which would have been even more embarrassing for Amanda.
“I’ve been wondering about that,” Lord Neville said slowly, “for eighteen years. Please, let me explain.”
Lord Neville had been between wives when Amanda was conceived. He’d been very much in love with Lady Amanda’s mother, but Lord Wolverston had refused her the divorce she wanted. Unfortunately, it had been—and still was—impossible for a woman to divorce a man, although a man could divorce his wife if she’d been unfaithful. Lord Neville and Lady Wolverston weren’t precisely sure that the child she was carrying was the viscount’s, so they’d been planning to wait to see if the baby had the Neville birthmark, and if that proved to be true, they’d planned to use it as leverage to press for the divorce. Wolverston wasn’t the sort of man who could stomach people knowing he’d been cuckolded, especially if they’d had the proof to show all of society. His honor meant everything to him. He put his reputation before everyone else’s happiness.
“Well, that’s certainly the truth,” Juliana muttered.
“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Lord Neville said to Amanda. Her face had gone rather white, and she was looking at him. Just looking at him. He began moving toward her. “I was devastated when your mother died giving birth and Lord Wolverston refused to let me even see you. He wasn’t a very nice man.”
“He still isn’t,” Juliana said.
“I never knew for sure whether you were my daughter,” Lord Neville continued, still inching toward Amanda. Who was still just looking at him. “I hoped you were, but there was no way to find out. As you grew, I would see you sometimes, and I thought more than once about asking you if you had the birthmark. But you seemed a very reserved young lady, and I feared such a question would shock you clear down to your toes.”
“It would have,” Juliana said.
Lord Neville was standing right in front of Amanda now. “I also feared Lord Wolverston might treat you harshly, suspecting you might not carry his blood in your veins—”
“He did,” Juliana interrupted.
Lord Neville hung his head
. “I’m so sorry.”
Amanda suddenly came to life. She was a very reserved young lady, so she didn’t jump into Lord Neville’s arms like Juliana might have done, but she finally opened her mouth.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “I understand. And I’m so glad you’re my father instead of Lord Wolverston.”
Lord Neville did gather her into his arms then, embracing her tightly. Amanda’s arms went around him, too, although they appeared rather reluctant and loose.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” the duke declared. “Now we can start planning our wedding for next summer.”
And that’s when Amanda objected.
She released Lord Neville—heaven forbid she should stay improperly close to a man, even a man she’d just discovered was her father—and turned to the duke. “I object to that plan,” she said, and then she added scornfully, “If you love me, I should think you’d want to marry me as soon as possible.”
Evidently, the duke had no answer to that, since he just stood there with his mouth open.
Amanda lifted her chin. “I’m wearing my grandmother’s wedding dress. I think we should elope right now to Gretna Green.”
“That wouldn’t be very ducal,” he finally said, “or at all proper.”
Amanda raised her chin higher. “I don’t care,” she said. “I’m tired of being proper. I want to marry you now.”
And then she gave him the look. She glanced down, bowing her head a little to display her lashes against her cheeks. Then she swept her eyelids up, gazed at the duke full on again, and slowly—very slowly—curved her lips in an alluring smile.
The duke didn’t fall at her feet. But he did sigh and say, “Very well, then.”
Juliana was shocked. Positively shocked. When she’d tried that on the duke, he hadn’t reacted at all.
Obviously she’d been right that he and Amanda were ideal for each other.
James’s arm stole around Juliana’s waist, in front of everyone. He pulled her against his side, where she fit perfectly. “Everything worked out,” he murmured in her ear, a low, chocolatey murmur that made her shiver.
Though everything had indeed worked out, it was just too sensational for Juliana to quite believe. Wasn’t there someone who could still make an objection? Someone who could still ruin everything? ”What about Lord Wolverston?” she asked Amanda, crossing her fingers.
“He’s not my father,” Amanda reminded her, flashing a smile at Lord Neville. “I have no obligation to obey him. And I couldn’t care a fig about him or my inheritance. David is all I need.”
Juliana was bursting with pride. She’d taught Amanda well.
And Juliana could uncross her fingers now. Come to that, she could throw her arms around her new—official—fiancé, too!
She promptly did, crying, “Oh, James, I’m sure I’ve never, ever been so happy!” And then, her heart swelling so much she feared it might burst, she kissed him in front of everyone.
“Ahem.”
She broke apart from James to find both the duke and Amanda gaping at them, looking extremely reproachful. But Juliana couldn’t bring herself to care. She only laughed.
Though she had learned a lesson about trying to change people. And she had a declaration.
“I’m never going to meddle again,” she said.
James snickered, and everyone else laughed.
FIFTY-SEVEN
“THANK YOU very much,” one of the Foundling Hospital’s Governors said in the Committee Room that afternoon. “Our next reception day is the second Saturday in August.”
“The tenth?” Juliana asked.
“Yes,” another Governor confirmed. “We very much appreciate you donating the baby clothes, my dear.”
James held his tongue until they were outside in the Hospital’s courtyard. But he couldn’t contain himself any longer than that. “I cannot believe you committed to making more baby clothes! You’re exhausted and overwhelmed!”
“How can I deny these poor children anything I’m able to give?” Juliana gestured to all the girls exercising in their matching uniforms. “If, due to my donation, only one more baby can be accommodated, only one more mother restored to work and a life of virtue, it will be entirely worth it.”
Apparently seeing he wasn’t convinced, she moved closer and reached up to put her hands on his shoulders. Sunshine and flowers washed over him.
“I know what I’m getting into this time,” she said. “I can pace myself better. Last time I started with just one party a week, but now I know—”
“You’re not having any more sewing parties,” he interrupted. “We’ll hire people to make the baby clothes.”
“Much as I love you for saving me yesterday, this shouldn’t be your responsibility.”
“Who said anything about my responsibility? I’ve already found you plenty of seamstresses. I trust you can handle the rest.”
She laughed. “Are you sure they’d want the work? Those fifty pounds you gave each of them ought to last awhile.” She shook her head. “Do you realize that’s enough to cover a family’s expenses for two years? You’re too nice, James. You’re too generous.”
He could never be too nice or too generous to her. She deserved everything he could give her and more. She was a treasure. She was exactly what he needed.
He didn’t know how he was going to wait until next Saturday.
“Besides,” she went on, “don’t you want to save your money to pay for more smallpox vaccinations?”
“Have I ever told you that you’re a treasure?” Was there another girl anywhere as concerned for everyone but herself? “I don’t have enough money to rid the world of smallpox singlehandedly, but I can do my part here in London and still afford to support other causes. And buy you beautiful dresses and anything else you ever want.” He flashed her a grin. “I’m not a pauper, you know.”
“I know. You set your table with gold spoons.”
“They’re sterling plated in gold,” he informed her.
“I figured that out.” She sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make baby clothes?”
She wasn’t particularly good at it, and there wasn’t another lady of the ton who would willingly do such mundane work. But then, no other aristocratic ladies he knew set foot in the kitchen, either. Juliana was different, and that was why he loved her.
He smiled down at her, loving her more than he’d ever thought possible, wanting her more than he wanted his own life. The next seven days were going to be the longest of his life.
“Of course I want you to make baby clothes,” he told her. “For our babies.”
And he watched her eyes turn blue before he kissed her.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Saturday, August 10
Cainewood Castle
IN RECENT WEEKS, when Juliana had dreamed of walking down the aisle, she’d often pictured the duke.
But she’d never imagined Amanda would be on the gentleman’s arm.
As she turned to face her guests after the ceremony in her family’s ancient chapel, she glimpsed their two pale, beautiful faces in the crowd. And the truth dawned on her: her real life was so much better than anything she could dream up.
Even with a snake accompanying the flower girl.
Emily had never come down with smallpox—thanks to James—and the Lambourne girls had recovered, too. Since Amanda and the duke had returned from Gretna Green, Juliana had sometimes seen them holding hands, and she was beginning to trust that one day they’d pluck up the courage to make a child together—assuming at least one of them knew how the unseemly deed was done. And miracle of miracles, Aunt Frances and Lord Malmsey had already started a child. Last month, Juliana had returned from delivering the baby clothes to find the two of them waiting in the drawing room with a minister and a special license. Two weeks later, Frances had missed her monthly.
Everyone was happy.
Except for James.
She could feel the tension in his arm as they walk
ed back up the aisle. He’d been so frustrated when Frances, his aunts, and his mother had all insisted on having a full month to plan this wedding, and even more frustrated to find that the preparations had proved so consuming—and all the women in his life suddenly so vigilant—that the two of them had found it impossible to steal even a moment of private time.
Well, she’d been frustrated, too, of course. But after all, she planned on marrying only once. She’d needed a wedding dress, and she’d wanted everything to be perfect.
And it was.
Still and all, being always together yet always under observation had been terribly difficult for them both, and she’d found herself relieved a couple of weeks ago when Parliament adjourned, meaning the season ended and everyone dispersed to their estates in the countryside. James had stayed in London to help his mother move in with her two sisters, and the four of them had arrived here only last night.
As they emerged from the chapel into Cainewood’s quadrangle, James ran his hand down all the little covered buttons on the back of her beautiful white wedding dress. “There. We’re married. Can we be alone now?”
She laughed. “We cannot abandon our guests two minutes after the ceremony, James.”
There hadn’t been time to plan a large wedding—it would have taken much longer than a month for that—but everyone she cared about was here. Her gaze skimmed the clipped green lawn that sat in the middle of the castle’s towering four stories of living quarters. There, in the shadows of the crenelated walls, stood her sisters. Corinna’s eyes shone as she laid a hand on Alexandra’s blue-silk-covered middle, which was protruding a little bit now. Beside them, Tristan beamed at his wife.
People Juliana had grown up with were scattered over the grounds, a contingent from Berkeley Square by the tumbledown keep, a few countryside neighbors walking the battlements. James’s friends and associates were here, too. Claire and Elizabeth were sharing a confidence—hmm, Juliana would have to wheedle it out of Claire later—and their tall, handsome brother Noah was chatting with James’s aunts.