Well, at least his mother wouldn't be able to drag him to Almack's tonight.
Chapter Seven
TRIFLE
Take yokes of four egges and a pinte of thicke Creame, and season it with Sugar and Ginger and Rosewater, so stirre it as you would then have it and make it warme on a chafing dishe and coales, and after put it into a Silver piece or a Bowle, and so serve it to the board.
Extra-strong Rosewater will put Roses into your cheeks.
—Lady Jewel Chase, 1687
Over the next two days, Juliana helped Amanda order an entire new wardrobe. They shopped for cosmetics, hats, shoes, hosiery, and other assorted fripperies. They practiced posture and walking, devised new alluring smiles, and perfected the look. Juliana taught Amanda how to apply the cosmetics so skillfully that no one would notice she was wearing any. She plucked Amanda's heavy brows, hardening her heart to the older girl's squeals of pain and protest—after all, all but the luckiest of women suffered for their beauty.
With each hour, Amanda's confidence grew, as did Juliana's certainty that her plan was going to work.
At last, Saturday dawned.
Juliana dragged Corinna out of bed early—at noon—to help her make trifle before Amanda arrived to dress for Lady Hammersmithe's ball. Unfortunately, Corinna was hopeless in the kitchen on the best of days. And considering she'd stayed up until seven o'clock in the morning to finish a painting, this day wasn't her best.
"My arm hurts," she complained. "And I'm tired."
"Just keep beating those eggs until they're creamy, please." Juliana added two more handfuls of rose petals to the water she had boiled. She was determined to make sure Amanda's cheeks would be nice and rosy. "I cannot understand why you won't go to bed at a reasonable hour."
"I'm not a reasonable person—I'm an artist," Corinna reminded her. "I cannot understand why you won't ask a kitchen maid to beat these eggs."
Juliana consulted their family's heirloom cookbook, an ancient volume to which each lady in the family had traditionally added a recipe every Christmas since the seventeenth century. Many of the sweets were thought to be magic charms. She poured the rosewater into a pot of cream and sprinkled it with a bit of ginger. "How many times must I tell you that the Chase family recipes must be made by Chase family members if they're to work?"
Corinna rolled her eyes. "You and your traditions. I cannot countenance why you and Alexandra believe such nonsense."
"It hurts no one to try. Besides, the trifle will be delicious—you'll have some, won't you? If you and I and Amanda all have rosy cheeks tonight, perhaps we'll all find husbands."
"A rouge pot would be a more efficient method of obtaining rosy cheeks, regardless of A Lady of Distinction's opinions on the matter." Corinna began grating sugar into the eggs. "Although I suppose poor Amanda can use all the help she can get."
"I've worked wonders with her," Juliana said, giving her mixture a vigorous stir. "Wait until you see. Her gown will be exquisite, her complexion flawless. I've summoned a hairdresser—"
"Just don't make Amanda so beautiful she steals your own suitors."
"That's an unkind thought." Juliana snatched the sugar loaf from her sister before she could add too much as usual; Corinna's sweet tooth was legendary even among the sweets-loving Chases, and she had no concept of the proper amount of any ingredient. "I've no suitors I wish to marry anyway," she added with a sigh.
"You're trying too hard," Corinna said. "Just relax and enjoy all the attention."
But how could Juliana relax? Next year she'd be twenty-three. Twenty-three and unmarried. At what age did one become a spinster, and how did one know when one reached it? Had Aunt Frances simply awakened one morning and decided to put on a spinster's cap?
"There, it's creamy." Corinna banged the bowl onto the big wooden table and rubbed her arm. "Am I finished? Assuming I can still hold a brush, I'd like to varnish my painting."
"Varnish away," Juliana said and watched her sister leave the kitchen.
Even without the security of a happy marriage like Alexandra's, Corinna seemed content with her life.
She wished she could say the same for herself.
* * *
The trifle was chilled in its silver bowl by the time Amanda arrived with two footmen carrying boxes. The French hairdresser was waiting, and less than an hour later, Amanda's once knee-length hair reached only the middle of her back. She watched in Juliana's dressing table mirror as her golden tresses fluttered to the floor, her face white as linsey, her eyes wide and apprehensive.
Juliana scooped trifle into a cup, thinking it might distract her friend. "Eat this. It will make your cheeks rosy."
"What is it?" Emily asked, adjusting Herman on her shoulder. "May I have some?"
"It's trifle, and yes, you may."
The girl cocked her blond head. "Our cook's trifle has cake and fruit."
"This is a very old recipe."
"Our cook is probably older," Emily said, then spooned the sweet into her mouth and smiled. "It's good. Your hair looks pretty, Lady Amanda."
Amanda drew a sharp breath. "Do you truly think so, Miss Neville?"
"Absolutely," Juliana answered for the girl. "Shorter hair is the thing. I cannot imagine why you hid those gorgeous curls in that plait." Juliana had always despaired of her own stick-straight hair, but at least she knew better than to scrape it all back into a braid so tight it looked plastered to her head.
Amanda grimaced at another snip.
"Hold your head still, if you will." Madame Bellefleur clipped off a final inch. "Parfait."
"It's trifle," Emily corrected. "Not a parfait."
"In French," Juliana told her, "parfait means 'perfect.' That length will be so much lighter and easier to put up."
Madame smiled and nodded. "Now, some shorter tendrils around the face, oui?"
"Brilliant." Juliana resumed unpacking the boxes, admiring all the dresses they'd ordered. The seamstress had sent only one of the ball gowns, but promised the rest would be ready next week. "Your hair will be stunning," she assured Amanda.
Amanda responded with a rather maniacal laugh.
Juliana winced. "You must practice a new laugh. An alluring laugh, like tinkling bells."
"Like this?" Amanda attempted a girlish giggle—and even Herman recoiled.
By the time they'd perfected the new laugh, Madame Bellefleur had experimented with different hairstyles, ultimately choosing one in which Amanda's blond mane was loosely gathered, twisted up, and pinned, with the remaining curls arranged artistically on top of her head. The hairdresser left, and Juliana swept the ball gown off her bed.
Amanda looked from the lavender silk dress, to Emily and Herman, and back to Juliana. "I'd prefer not to disrobe in front of a snake," she said stiffly.
"So that's why you refused to strip to your chemise in order to be measured." Juliana saw a chance to use this as an example. "The seamstress, Mrs. Huntley, also wasn't very keen on working with Herman in attendance. People don't wish to be in the company of your snake," she pointed out to Emily.
"I don't care," Emily said.
Juliana called her maid and asked her to walk Emily and the creature home. But after Juliana and Amanda were alone, it turned out Amanda didn't want to undress in front of her, either.
"Turn around," the older girl instructed.
"It's just me."
"Turn around."
Sighing, Juliana did so, hoping this didn't mean Amanda would be unwilling to bare a little skin in front of the man she chose to compromise her.
Much rustling followed, evidence of Amanda's struggles dealing with garments that weren't meant to be donned without help. "Gracious me!" she finally exclaimed, sounding anything but gracious. "I cannot wear this."
Juliana spun around to find her friend staring down at her chest in dismay. "Of course you can. You look beautiful." She could hardly wait to see society's reaction to the new Amanda. "Turn around and let me button you up in back. Once you see
the dress properly fastened, you're going to love it."
Unfortunately, turning around brought Amanda face-to-face with the looking glass. Her hands flew up to cover her cleavage. "This is entirely too low," she complained. "I'll have to wear a different gown."
"You have no other suitable gowns. Besides this, Mrs. Huntley sent only a few day dresses. The rest of your order won't be ready until next week."
Frowning, Amanda yanked up on the bodice. "I'm certain the example Mrs. Huntley showed me had a much more modest neckline."
Of course it had, else Amanda would never have approved it. But that was before Juliana gave Mrs. Huntley her instructions, which, thankfully, the seamstress had followed to the letter.
Although Juliana had always considered her friend a bit chubby, Amanda had a surprisingly lovely shape once she was rid of her baggy clothes. And Juliana intended to show that off, the better to snag a young husband. "It's not too low," she said, reaching around to tug the bodice back down.
"It is so." Amanda pulled it higher.
Watching her friend in the mirror, Juliana could only laugh. "Look at yourself!"
Amanda's neckline was indeed very near her neck—which meant the ribbon sash that was supposed to ride beneath her breasts was perched absurdly on top of them. Her mouth quirked, then spread into a reluctant smile, followed by a nervous titter.
"Tinkling bells," Juliana reminded her, and Amanda responded with her new, practiced laugh.
"Much better." Juliana reached once more to pull the bodice into place, dragging it a bit too low in the process. When an unusual fleur-de-lis shaped birthmark was revealed on Amanda's left breast, a delighted smile curved Juliana's lips. "Quite seductive," she murmured, raising a brow.
"Pardon?" Amanda looked down, then tugged the lace-trimmed bodice up to cover it. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"Whyever not? It's a delicate, pretty thing. I'm sure a man would find it enticing."
"Enticing?" Clearly scandalized, Amanda blushed. "It's private."
Tying the sash, Juliana sighed, wondering again if—in spite of her newfound beauty—Amanda might be rather too reserved to attract men. But at least the blush brought out the roses in her cheeks.
She gave her more trifle, just in case. And brushed on a little extra rouge, as Corinna had suggested. As she applied the rest of her friend's cosmetics—as artfully as her sister painted—she drilled Amanda over and over. "Let me see your smiles one more time. And you must practice the look again before we leave."
All of this preparation was not going to be for nothing.
Chapter Eight
“There he is," Amanda said dourly as they stepped into Lady Hammersmithe's ballroom.
"There's who?" Juliana asked.
"Lord Malmsey." A frown marred Amanda's newly flawless complexion. Apparently questioning Juliana's plan, she turned to her surrogate chaperone. "Should I dance with him, Lady Frances?"
Unaware that Amanda was engaged to him, Aunt Frances patted her hand. "I expect someone younger would suit you better, my dear. But if you've already been introduced, of course you should dance with him if he asks."
Juliana doubted Lord Malmsey would ask—although if she could judge by the man's pained expression, he was attempting to screw up his courage. Figuring ten seconds in his arms would cure Amanda's second thoughts, she laid a gentle hand on her friend's back. "You definitely should dance with him," she declared, subtly steering her protégé toward her ill-chosen fiancé. "It would be the polite thing, after all. And after that, we'll see about having Aunt Frances introduce you to some more-promising men."
Lord Malmsey's eyes widened as they approached, and Juliana saw him swallow hard. Taking pity on the poor man, she smiled when they drew near. "Good evening, Lord Malmsey. Lady Amanda was just telling me she hoped you'd ask her to dance."
"Very well," he said.
Amanda said nothing.
The strains of a waltz rose into the air, and the two of them walked off.
Or rather, they shuffled off.
Frances joined Juliana and watched them face each other and begin dancing. "They don't seem a proper match."
"No, they don't," Juliana agreed. She'd never seen a more awkward couple. Due to Amanda's height, she and Lord Malmsey danced eye to eye. But beneath his high, creased forehead, Lord Malmsey's gaze looked shy and hooded, flicking only briefly toward his fiancée. Amanda looked utterly despondent.
On the other side of the ballroom, Juliana spotted Lord Neville ambling out of the refreshment room. "Wait here," she told Frances. "I see Emily's father, and he rarely stays long at any ball." Since the man had two heirs and no plans to take a fourth wife, he spent his evenings with various mistresses or gambling at his club. "I simply must speak to him about that snake before he leaves. It will take but a moment, and then as soon as Amanda is finished dancing, we'll find some men who are more suitable."
What a lucky thing Aunt Frances had her head perpetually in the clouds. Amanda's own aunt would have been unlikely to cooperate with undermining her father's plans, Juliana thought as she made a beeline for Viscount Neville.
"Lord Neville, if I may speak with you for a moment?"
"Ah, yes, my dear, of course." Emily's father was blond and gray-eyed like his daughter, tall and a bit hefty—not fat, but a big man. As he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn't surprised to see a plate in his hand, filled with a variety of morsels from the refreshment room. He took a hearty bite of a biscuit. "What can I do to help you?"
"It's about Emily—"
"Ah, yes. I do appreciate the interest you've taken in my girl."
"She's a delight." Juliana smiled as he swallowed the biscuit and followed it with a grape. "But I'm wondering if I can prevail on you to discourage her from taking Herman out in public. It's not the thing for a young lady to carry a snake."
"Ah, yes," he repeated. "But my Emily is very attached to Herman. She and her mother found him in the garden the very day before my wife died." He plucked three more grapes off the bunch and popped them into his mouth.
"I'm aware of that, sir. But earlier this week when we visited the shops, a patron at Grafton House fainted dead away at the sight of Emily's snake." While that wasn't precisely true, it could have been true. A number of customers at Grafton House had been horrified, not to mention the poor seamstress, Mrs. Huntley. "If only you'd heard the shrieks of dismay, Lord Neville. It wasn't the sort of scene a young lady should inspire."
Apparently the viscount found that more amusing than distressing, because he laughed.
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 hands, 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.
"Dear heavens!" 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 rather calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount's cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in the same smooth, chocolatey voice that had weakened Juliana's knees when they danced together last week.
But Lord Neville didn't look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he might die right there on the spot. Lord Stafford didn't seem to think so, though. Decidedly unpanicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to bring him the chair.
She couldn't imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a mo
ment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man's big body to lean over the back. Quickly, 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, in concert with several other people who had become riveted by the emergency.
"You saved his life," she told Lord Stafford, impressed. After all, she was a woman intent on helping others, and Lord Stafford clearly did the same. But rather than acknowledge her compliment, he only shrugged and crouched down by Lord Neville, asking to have a look in his throat.
Supposing now was not the time to press Lord Neville about his daughter's snake, Juliana turned to see how Amanda was faring on the dance floor. But apparently the waltz had ended sometime during the excitement. 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.
She glanced at the man, who was now examining the back of Lord Neville's throat through a silver quizzing glass attached to a chain around his neck. His dark, tousled curls flopped over his forehead.
"He saved the viscount's life," Griffin added.
"That's his job," she snapped. Lord Stafford's quick, skillful actions didn't mitigate his shortcomings. He was not what she was looking for in a husband. "Where in heaven's name is Amanda?"
"Right there," Griffin said, gesturing toward a cluster of men across the room.
If Amanda hadn't been tall enough that Juliana could glimpse the blond curls piled on her head, she'd never have believed it. And to think she'd fretted earlier concerning Amanda's ability to attract suitors. Her worries had proved to be groundless.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 15