"I'm a man," he said.
The department store was patronized mostly by women. Juliana hadn't ever noticed that before, but she did now. Especially because a good number of the women were emitting little squeals and hiding behind the delicate pieces of furniture that were for sale.
Emily started up the wide staircase with Herman and Aunt Frances. When Juliana went to follow them, James held her back. "She really should leave that snake at home," he said once Emily was far enough ahead of them to be out of earshot.
Juliana was getting a bit tired of hearing that. "Are you hungry?" she asked.
"I'm a man," he said, and she laughed.
He really was quite a man.
Upstairs, Mr. Cosway's Breakfast Room had a glorious view over St. James's Park to Westminster and the Surrey hills beyond. Aunt Frances and Emily were already seated across from each other at a table for four. Juliana slid into the chair beside Aunt Frances, but James just stood there, more frozen than the ice cream in the restaurant's glass display case.
And that's when Juliana realized he didn't want to sit beside Emily. Or walk beside Emily. Or have anything to do with Emily at all—at least not while she was holding a snake.
Though it wasn't very kind or ladylike, Juliana couldn't help herself. A little smile quirked on her lips. A tiny giggle escaped. And finally—inevitably—she burst out laughing.
Chapter Fifteen
“You-you-you're afraid of Emily's snake," Juliana chortled. "Don't tell me you're not."
James felt heat creep up his neck and into his face. He'd never seen a woman quite so consumed by hilarity. It was humiliating.
Every diner in Mr. Cosway's Breakfast Room was staring at them, and he wasn't sure whether that was because of Emily's snake or Juliana's laughter. Either way, it was humiliating, possibly the most humiliating moment of his life. Juliana thought him laughable.
But he couldn't deny her accusation. "Deathly afraid," he confirmed with as much dignity as he could muster. "I was bitten by an adder at the age of seven."
"Oh, my," Juliana said. Her peals of laughter dwindled to giggles as she apparently tried to control herself. "That must have been dreadful."
"Very. It was quite painful, and my ankle swelled up horridly, and I was consumed by fever." He had also cast up his accounts several times, but he wouldn't say so in the presence of ladies. "I should never want to experience that again," he added, eyeing the damned snake with contempt.
"But Herman isn't an adder," Emily said, stroking the terrorizing creature with gentle fingers. "He's a harmless grass snake. He doesn't have any poison, and he doesn't bite."
James knew that. He was well aware that adders were the only venomous snakes in England, and Herman was quite obviously not an adder. Herman was longer and more slender than an adder and had different markings. James knew his fear was irrational.
But irrational as it was—and he was cognizant of the fact that, in the twenty-two years since he'd been bitten, his fear had expanded beyond all proportion to the incident—he couldn't bring himself to get close to Herman or any other snake.
Even now, though he was standing a good six feet away, the sight of Herman made his pulse feel thready and his guts clench. If he got any closer, he feared he might cast up his accounts right here in Harding, Howell & Company's froufrou little restaurant.
Juliana was no longer laughing. Instead, she was watching him very closely, so closely he was half convinced she could see right into him, see his churning stomach and his racing heart. See just how pathetic a man he was, a man too weak to conquer his fear of a simple grass snake.
Still watching him, she suddenly pushed back from the table. "I've just realized I'm not hungry."
"But I am," Emily said.
Juliana turned to her with a bright smile. "You can stay here with Aunt Frances while Lord Stafford and I find a few gifts for Lady Amanda."
Lady Frances began rising. "You and Lord Stafford cannot go off alone."
"Of course we can." Juliana eased her aunt back onto the chair. "We're in a public place, surrounded by dozens of people. We'll be back in a few minutes." And with that, before Lady Frances could voice another protest, Juliana placed her arm in James's and headed out of Mr. Cosway's Breakfast Room.
James wasn't certain, but he thought Juliana might have just saved him from complete humiliation. In any case, she'd definitely saved him from losing his luncheon. His stomach was feeling better already, and his pulse had gone back to normal.
"Thank you," he said as they headed down the staircase. "You must think me an utter coward."
"Don't be silly. We all have our fears."
He doubted that. "What's yours, then?"
"Blood," she said without hesitation. "I would make a terrible doctor. And unlike you, I don't have a legitimate reason for my fear. No traumatizing bloody events in my childhood."
She laughed, but this time it was at herself, not him. Which made all the difference.
Which made him like her even more.
"Lady Amanda isn't afraid of blood," she informed him. "I should think you'd be pleased to know that, since I expect it's an important attribute for a physician's wife."
"I don't think that really matters," he told her. An affinity for blood wasn't on his list of wifely requirements. Not that he was looking for a wife, anyway. He tightened his grip on Juliana's arm, smiling to himself when she leaned closer to him. Even though it was cold and rainy outside, she seemed to smell of sunshine and flowers.
"I think Lady Amanda would like a fan," she said, guiding him past the glazed mahogany partition that separated the fur and fan departments.
He didn't want to buy Lady Amanda a fan, but he didn't want to disappoint Juliana, either. And he especially didn't want her to give up on their "lessons," because then she'd have more time to spend with stuffy Castleton, who was entirely the wrong man for her. So he bought a fan.
"I think Lady Amanda would like gloves," she said next. And although he didn't want to buy gloves for Lady Amanda—although he didn't want to buy anything for Lady Amanda—he dutifully paid for the lacy pair she picked out.
She thought Lady Amanda would like perfume, so they stopped by the perfumery department. She thought Lady Amanda would like candy, so they visited the confectioners. In no time at all, he was burdened with bags and boxes.
He'd always hated shopping—and he knew very well he'd had a horrible attitude from the beginning—but all in all, Emily and her snake aside, this day wasn't turning out nearly as badly as he'd anticipated. He rather enjoyed being gallant and saving Juliana from stuffy Castleton.
Seeing that man at her house earlier had made him grit his teeth.
They were buying some fancy writing paper when Lady Frances and Emily sought them out. "Lady Juliana," Emily said, "you are taking forever."
Looking startled, Juliana turned from the stationery counter. And the next thing she did was immediately move to put herself between Emily and James. He could have kissed her for that.
Not that he'd actually kiss her, of course—that would be highly improper.
But he wanted to…and that was scary as hell.
More frightening than Emily's snake.
He wasn't ready for this. He didn't think he'd ever be ready. He might be getting used to the idea of remarrying someday, but only to make his mother happy. And because he needed an heir.
Not because he wanted to kiss someone. And certainly not because he'd fallen in love.
Juliana looked between him and Herman. "Goodness, Emily," she said, "you're right. We have taken forever. In fact, we've taken so long that Lord Stafford is going to be late for Parliament. We'll have to take a hackney coach home so he can go there straightaway."
James might have been a coward, but he wasn't a fool. He knew she'd said that to save him from riding with Herman in his carriage.
He could have kissed her for that, too.
Chapter Sixteen
ALMOND MACAROONS
Beat Whites of Eggs with salt until stiff, then add Almonds ground fine, Sugar and a bit of ground Rice. Put in little mounds and make flat on Paper, then add an Almond in each middle before baking in your oven.
When I wish to see my husband amorous, I feed him these macaroons.
They've never failed me yet.
—Katherine, Countess of Greystone, 1763
Juliana placed little mounds of dough on a paper-lined baking tin, spacing them carefully while she hid a yawn. She'd been up since dawn. After spending the morning with Emily—who still refused to relinquish Herman—now she was making almond macaroons with Amanda.
According to Chase family legend, the macaroons were supposed to make men amorous. Juliana planned to give some to James and tell him to eat them tomorrow, hoping they would induce him to act warmly toward Amanda at Lady Partridge's ball later that evening. Since she wasn't certain whether the macaroons needed to be made by the woman seeking attention—her grandmother, who'd penned the recipe, hadn't been clear—she'd decided to ask for Amanda's help just in case.
"Put an almond in the center of each macaroon," she said through another yawn.
"That's the third time you've yawned," Amanda observed, plopping the nuts on top rather haphazardly. "Are you sleepy?"
Juliana's fourth yawn seemed to echo off the basement kitchen's walls. "This week has been exhausting."
She'd been very busy since Monday's visit to the Institute and Tuesday's jaunt to the shops. Not only had she hosted another sewing party and spent every free minute stitching, but the duke had called on her every single day and danced with her twice at Almack's on Wednesday evening. He said the nicest things to her. His attentiveness was encouraging, and she was certain it was only a matter of time before he asked for her hand. A perfect gentleman, he remained careful not to touch her, demonstrating the respect due a lady.
James, on the other hand, touched her so often she was beginning to think the incidents might not all be accidental.
On Wednesday afternoon, when she and James had taken advantage of a few glorious dry hours to go riding in Hyde Park, he'd found excuses to help her on and off her horse on six different occasions—to buy refreshments from a stand, to look at some flowers, to take a stroll by the Serpentine—and his hands had seemed to rest on her waist longer and longer each time.
James had missed attending Almack's again Wednesday night—apparently he'd had another problem at the Institute—but Thursday evening, when they'd attended the theater, he'd set his chair so close to hers in the box that his thigh was against her skirts during much of the performance. In the intermission, he'd brought her a syllabub and then claimed twice that she had white cream on her face and wiped it off with his thumb.
"Did I tell you I received another gift from Lord Stafford?" Amanda flattened a macaroon and stuck a piece of almond in it. "Three gifts in one week!"
"Use the whole almonds, Amanda. You want the macaroons to look pretty, don't you?" Juliana picked out the broken nut and replaced it with a perfect one, thinking Amanda was almost as hopeless at cooking as Corinna. It was a good thing that an earl's wife wouldn't be expected to set foot in the kitchen. "What did he send you this time?" she asked.
"The most elegant lace gloves. I'm not sure Aunt Mabel would approve of something so personal. Fortunately she was napping when the package arrived. I suggested maybe she should return to the countryside, since Lady Frances is doing such a fine job as chaperone."
Juliana supposed Aunt Frances was a fine chaperone, if one considered oblivious to be synonymous with fine. "I'm glad Lady Mabel doesn't mind Aunt Frances filling in for her." Not least because it would be impossible to carry out their plan with the dear lady watching over Amanda. "Still, I hope she isn't feeling poorly enough to leave London. I enjoyed her company at Wednesday's sewing party."
"She surely enjoyed attending, too. It was much less strenuous than going on outings. Why, she hardly even wheezed."
And she'd proved a much better seamstress than her niece, completing four blankets in two hours. Unfortunately, even with Lady Mabel's help, Juliana had so far collected only thirty-three of the two hundred forty items she needed. And she had just three weeks left—the same three weeks Amanda had to find a new fiancé before she was forced to marry Lord Malmsey. "You're planning to keep the gloves, then?"
"I wouldn't dream of returning them. The workmanship is utterly stunning. The pink roses were beautiful, too. And I adore the painted fan," Amanda added as she placed another almond off-center. "Lord Stafford has exquisite taste, don't you think? Especially for a man."
Juliana was glad she'd taken it upon herself to have each of James's gifts delivered rather than trusting him to remember. Tomorrow evening, she would make sure Amanda wore the gloves and carried the fan, which should please him. She could scarcely wait until the ball, when he'd dance again with Amanda and ask for permission to court her. She was certain Amanda would agree.
Everything was going perfectly.
Hearing the tall-case clock chime upstairs, she hurried to place the last almonds. She had only half an hour to ready herself before James arrived for today's excursion to the Egyptian Hall. "Thank you for your help," she told Amanda as she shoved the pans into the oven. "I'll have a footman deliver half the macaroons to your house as soon as they're finished."
Not usually one to show affection, Amanda wrapped Juliana in a loose, awkward embrace. "Thank you," she said. "I had no idea that macaroons make one's eyes sparkle, but I appreciate your telling me and letting me help bake them."
"You're very welcome," Juliana murmured, feeling a bit guilty about misleading her. But only a bit. Honestly, she'd had no choice. Amanda was entirely too proper and reserved to bake macaroons with the intention of making a man amorous.
After Amanda took her leave, Juliana went upstairs to change her dress and put on a little rouge and lip salve. She was on her way back down when she heard the knocker bang. As she arrived in the foyer, expecting to see James, Adamson opened the door to reveal a deliveryman holding an enormous arrangement of red roses.
"Holy Hannah!" Paintbrush in hand, Corinna came in from the drawing room. "There must be five dozen!"
Aunt Frances came in from the library. "Goodness gracious, I can smell them from here. And just look at that gorgeous silver vase!"
"Do you expect they're from the duke?" Corinna asked.
"They must be," Juliana breathed, setting the gloves she was carrying on the marble-topped hall table. Red roses. The duke must be even more enamored than she'd hoped.
The heady scent was almost overwhelming. After tipping the deliveryman, the butler put the arrangement on the table. She plucked the card from it with shaking hands.
"A small token in comparison to the great love I hold in my heart," she read aloud, her pulse pounding harder with each precious word. "And it's signed—"
Her mouth gaped open, mute.
"Who signed it?" Corinna demanded. "Are the flowers not from the duke?"
Juliana closed her mouth and held the card out to Aunt Frances. "They're from Lord Malmsey. They're for you."
Frances's hand flew up to cover her heart. She looked like she might swoon for a moment, but in the end she just said, "For me?" in a squeaky little voice.
"For you," Juliana repeated, thrilled at this evidence her project was working. And thrilled for Frances, too, of course. Seeing her aunt sway on her feet, she eased her onto the striped satin chair that sat by the table. "Are you all right, Auntie?"
Her hand still splayed on her bosom, Frances blew out a breath. "Heavens, child, I've never been better." Her eyes looked misty behind their lenses. "But I do feel just a bit faint."
A kitchen maid came up from the basement and handed Juliana a small basket covered with a lace doily. "Your macaroons, my lady. A dozen, as you requested."
"Thank you," Juliana said and set the basket beside the flowers.
"May I speak with you a moment?" Without waiting for her to answer, Corinna took h
er by the arm. "In the drawing room."
They left Frances gazing at her roses.
"Do you not think," Corinna said once they were behind closed doors, "that this is going a little too far?"
"What?" Juliana asked, feeling bewildered.
"Sending Aunt Frances flowers and claiming they're from Lord Malmsey. Really, Juliana, what do you think is going to happen tomorrow at the ball when she thanks him for them and he tells her he didn't send them to her?"
"He did send them to her," Juliana said.
"He didn't."
"Well, who did, then? Because I didn't. I had nothing to do with those flowers."
Corinna eyed her skeptically, rather as if she were a very bad painting. "He's engaged to marry Amanda. Why would he send flowers to Aunt Frances? What would make him think she'd be receptive to receiving them?"
"The love letters he received from her."
"What love letters?"
"The ones I sent," Juliana said, exasperated that she would have to explain such an obvious thing. "It wouldn't do to have Aunt Frances be the only one getting mail. A true love must be two-sided."
She'd never written so many sappy letters in her life. In a week of incessant activity, Aunt Frances's romance had proved to be her most exhausting project.
Besides writing all the letters, she'd had to take Frances shopping for shoes, bonnets, and accessories to match all of her new dresses; buy cosmetics and practice applying them; and hire a dancing master to teach Frances all the new steps. And Frances's hair—oh, her hair! Madame Bellefleur had had to visit not once, but twice—the first time to dye Frances's hair with henna and walnuts, and the second to trim it and tinker with various styles.
But it was all worth it. Aunt Frances was going to look beautiful tomorrow night. And Lord Malmsey was already in love with her.
He'd sent red roses.
"You sent fake letters to both of them?" Corinna pointed the paintbrush she was still holding at her. "What do you think will happen when they compare notes?"
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