The sour lemons will turn a man sour to your charms. I thwarted my grandmother's matchmaking scheme twice by serving these slices to the dratted suitors.
—Miss Rebecca Chase, 1695
For five days—ever since she'd come to his house and offered to volunteer—James had been thinking about getting Juliana alone in one of his treatment rooms.
One would have expected the interludes at the Panorama and the Physic Garden to have slaked his passions, but the opposite was true. He'd spent yesterday's session in Parliament woolgathering instead of listening. Overnight, he'd dreamed impossible dreams. This morning, as he'd shaved and dressed, he'd concocted a fantasy so lurid he knew it would never happen. But he'd been looking forward to trying.
Unfortunately, life was conspiring against him.
Juliana rushed in as the clock struck one. Juggling two baskets while she folded her umbrella, she made her way through his crowded reception room. "I'm sorry, but I cannot stay long. I've instructed the driver to come back in three hours. I've too much sewing to do." She paused and blinked. "What are you doing behind the counter?"
"Playing assistant while I interview for a new one," he said, frowning at the front of her dress. For the first time ever—in his experience, anyway—she'd filled in her low neckline with some sort of froufrou scarf, which was hardly conducive to his fantasies.
"Another assistant has left?" She came around to join him and set down her baskets. "Again?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Another one found herself with child." He shook his head. "It's an epidemic."
"I suppose you gave her fifty pounds?"
"Yes. She was much relieved, but now I need to find someone new. What did you bring me?" he asked, lifting the doily that covered one of the baskets.
"Fabric." Laughing at the look on his face, she pulled out a handful of white material and waved it under his nose. "Would you care for some? Appetizing, isn't it?"
He gave her a wry smile. "I thought maybe you'd made some sweets."
"I don't have time to bake. I barely have time to breathe." She sighed and delved into the second basket. "But I baked anyway. Have a lemon slice." After he took one, she shooed him toward the back. "Go vaccinate some of these people before even more show up, or else they'll have to stand out in the rain. I'll take over here, and I'll let you know if anyone promising comes in to apply for the position."
James went, finding the lemon slice delicious but grumbling all the way nonetheless. He'd never resented having too many patients before—the more people who agreed to be immunized, after all, the sooner smallpox would become a thing of the past. But he hadn't been picturing sniffling children in his treatment rooms all week, damn it…Juliana was supposed to have been there.
Without a stupid scarf hiding her charms.
Between sewing baby clothes, Juliana proved a model of efficiency, but he and the other physician could vaccinate only so fast. Nearly three hours passed before the number of patients dwindled to the point where everyone waiting had a seat. When Dr. Payton left and two more doctors arrived for the second shift, James heaved a sigh of relief and joined Juliana behind the counter.
A frown creased the area between her brows, and though her gaze flicked to meet his for a moment, it was soon back on the task in her hands. Her shoulders looked stiff and hunched. He stepped behind her to rub them, finding her muscles tense and knotted.
"Come into the back with me," he murmured. "I'll make you feel better."
"I cannot. The carriage will be here any minute, and until then I must keep sewing." Though her needle stabs seemed frantic and rather random, she was getting the job done. "Besides, we really shouldn't be alone, James. You know what will happen."
Of course he knew what would happen. He would tempt her, and it would work, which would eventually lead to better things. Though he knew it was only a matter of time before she realized that she, not Lady Amanda, belonged with him, he was beginning to get impatient.
He kept massaging her, firmly but tenderly, wondering why her taut muscles weren't relaxing with his ministrations. "Just for a minute," he coaxed. "Nothing will happen in just a minute."
In two or three minutes, however…
"Your afternoon assistant has yet to arrive," she said toward her handiwork. "We cannot leave all these people out here unsupervised."
She was right about that. He kissed the top of her head and sighed. "No luck finding a new assistant?"
"Have another lemon slice, will you?"
He didn't take one, because he didn't want to let go of her to do so. Touching her was much more appealing than sweets. And her tenseness wasn't easing, which was worrisome. "I'm not hungry," he said.
Now she sighed. "Your last assistant sent in a friend, but I didn't think you should hire her."
"Why not? Could the woman not read?"
She bit off the end of a thread and leaned away from him to reach into her basket for a spool, sighing again when he leaned with her. "Yes, she could read. But I feared she'd find herself with child before long."
His fingers stilled. "What?"
"You heard me." She pulled off a length of thread. "You've lost two assistants due to pregnancy already. Why do you think that is?"
Actually, he'd lost four assistants, not two—but he wasn't about to admit that now. "The water?" he speculated.
"Your generosity," she declared. "You're too nice, James."
"Pardon?" He relinquished her shoulders and walked around to face her. "How the devil can a person be too nice?"
"These girls are taking advantage of your generosity," she said, sticking the end of the thread in her mouth to wet it. He wanted that mouth on him. "They're getting pregnant on purpose. I'd lay odds that last girl sent her friend here with a promise of fifty pounds. You need to find someone older, someone more responsible."
"Older women aren't seeking work. They're busy raising children."
"I mean much older women." Having threaded the needle, she looked up, and he found himself lost in her greenish eyes. "Like your aunts."
He blinked. "My aunts?"
"Excuse me," she said, turning away to hand a number to a woman waiting by the counter with two children.
He hadn't even noticed they were there.
"You're number forty-two," she told the woman. "I'll call you when it's your turn."
She looked back to him, meeting his gaze again, making him think she wanted to say something. But she didn't. Her eyes went even greener. She swallowed slowly and then gradually seemed to go limp, like a marionette whose strings had gone loose.
The chatter of the waiting patients grew louder in their personal silence.
He whipped out a hand and pulled the scarf from her dress.
"Hey!" She snatched it back. "Whyever did you do that?"
"You're not acting like Juliana. And you don't look like Juliana—not with that silly scarf or whatever it's called."
"It's a fichu," she informed him primly, stuffing it back into place.
Juliana was never prim. Or so tense and emotionally distant. Wondering what could be ailing her, he skimmed his knuckles along her chin. "What's wrong, Juliana?"
Her jaw set. "Nothing."
"You're working too hard. You're exhausted."
She reached into one of the baskets and handed him a lemon slice. "Eat this, please."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat it," she demanded in a most un-Juliana-like way. Her gaze flicked to the door, where a footman in Chase livery had just entered. She waved to him, looking relieved. "My carriage is here. But your aunts are bored. They need something to do."
"They're both countesses, in case you've forgotten. They're not looking for employment."
"I'm not suggesting you pay them. Your mother told me they're enjoying my sewing parties, and even more significant, they've stopped calling on you to examine them. But I've only three more parties, and then they'll be bored again and back to their tricks. Unless they help you instead." She shoved the
fabric, needle, and thread into the other basket. "Don't you see, James? They won't consider helping you to be employment or work; they'll see it as charity, an act of goodwill. And if they're busy helping here, they won't have time to fret about their health. They'll stop asking you to come examine them for one imagined ailment or another."
It was brilliant. In one fell swoop, Juliana might have solved both his problems, giving his aunts something to do and providing him with assistants who wouldn't find their bellies full of baby inside of a week. Or at all, for that matter. He'd never considered hiring women past their childbearing years.
Apparently Juliana's meddling really did help sometimes.
"How do you do it?" he asked. "How do you analyze what people need and put two and two together? Why are you so good at what you do?"
She shrugged. "I'm just attentive to the people around me."
It couldn't be that simple, that easy. "What if my aunts don't want to assist here?"
"They'll be thrilled at the very suggestion," she promised with a confidence that implied she positively knew. Which she very probably did. "Shall I ask them for you?"
"I can ask them. I'll stop by on my way to Parliament." When he reached to touch her arm, she flinched. A frisson of hurt took him by surprise, but then he reminded himself that she wasn't past her childbearing years, and if there was one thing he'd learned in his too-short marriage, it was that younger women were sometimes moody.
Although she'd never been moody with him.
"What's wrong, Juliana?"
"You're right. I'm exhausted. And overwhelmed. And the dratted lemon slices aren't working."
"Pardon?" He looked down to the uneaten slice in his hand and back up, horrified to see tears flooding her eyes. "What do lemon slices have to do with anything?"
"Nothing," she muttered. "I'm sorry." She inched around the counter and headed toward the door. "Eat the lemon slices, will you? All of them. I'll see you at the Teddington ball tomorrow. I must go home and sew."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
On Saturday evening, Griffin watched Juliana scan the Teddingtons' ballroom. "Where's Lord Stafford?" she asked.
"Shouldn't you be looking for Castleton?"
"He's in the card room, gambling away his fortune."
Griffin wondered why she sounded so disapproving. "Castleton isn't an inveterate gambler. He plays only to amuse himself."
She shrugged. "He only ever does anything to amuse himself."
"And you find this objectionable?" He narrowed his gaze. "Since when?" She was supposed to be in love with the man. Good God, had she changed her mind? "Do you not want to marry him anymore?"
She looked away. "He needs me."
"I should hope you'd want to marry a man because you need him."
She cocked her head at him. "Rachael says people should marry because they want each other, not need each other."
If men married all the women they wanted, he thought, polygamy would be the norm. "Has Castleton kissed you yet?"
"Would you want to hear about it if he did?"
He supposed he didn't; there was little more uncomfortable than thinking about one's sister in a romantic embrace. However, he knew Juliana well enough to know she wouldn't hesitate to give him the details in all their embarrassing glory, so he had to figure her answering his question with another question meant the prig hadn't kissed her yet.
He'd meant to have a talk with Castleton in his stables the next time the man paid Juliana a call, but he hadn't run into him lately. "I think I'll go play cards," he told his sister.
"Just don't lose thirty guineas."
Wherever had that caustic comment come from? he wondered as he made his way to the card room. He very rarely gambled, and never for ridiculous stakes.
Castleton was playing whist. "Yes?" he asked when Griffin walked up.
"I heard from my stableman yesterday. Velocity has been running well. You still want him, don't you?"
He shifted, tossing a card on the table without meeting Griffin's gaze. "Very much."
"Excellent. You might try kissing my sister."
Griffin turned around to see Rachael standing there, wearing a dress the same sky blue color as her eyes. It was very low-cut. She looked like she had a slight cold—her nose was a little red, her eyes a bit glassy—but that didn't make her any less alluring.
It was a good thing he didn't make a habit of marrying all the women he wanted, because he would have married her seventeen times.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"My sisters dragged me here tonight. And then I saw you walk into the card room." She glanced around at all the people uneasily. "I have something I'd like to ask you. In private."
"Let's find Lord Teddington's library."
"All right." She walked beside him from the room. "What does Velocity have to do with the Duke of Castleton kissing your sister?"
He hadn't realized she'd overheard that conversation. "I promised him Velocity if he married her."
"You promised him a horse for marrying Juliana?" Her glassy eyes looked incredulous. "How could you do that, Griffin?"
He looked away from her, turning down a corridor he hoped would lead to the library. "She wants to marry him. I want to see her happy."
"How happy do you expect she'll be when she finds out her husband married her for a horse?"
He peeked in an open door to find a music room. "Whyever would she find that out?"
"Maybe because I told her?"
"You wouldn't." He turned to her. "Tell me you wouldn't."
"I'm not sure I shouldn't."
"Rachael, tell me you won't tell her. It would only hurt her feelings."
"You should have thought of that before you made the offer." She stared at him for a moment while he shifted uncomfortably. "All right. I won't tell her. Unless she ends up engaged to the man, at which point I think it will be in her best interests to know, whether it hurts her feelings or not."
"Thank you," he said, not sure what he was thanking her for, since in all likelihood Castleton would ask for Juliana's hand and then Rachael would go running to her. But maybe not. And at least she wasn't running to her now.
They walked to the next room, but it turned out to be a small family dining chamber. "Whatever made you think of offering a horse for your sister?" she asked, continuing down the corridor.
He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I think I was a little foxed."
"Well, it's a good thing you're not a heavy drinker." She stopped before another open door. "Ah, the library." Taking a deep breath, she entered and walked over to a long leather sofa. She turned and sat carefully, folding her hands in her lap. "A few weeks ago you asked if I wanted you to help me find my father. I was wondering how you'd propose to do that. Seeing as he's dead, I mean."
Although he was relieved to be on a different subject, he hated to see her so apprehensive. Leaving the door open, he joined her on the sofa. "He might not be dead," he suggested.
"In the letter I found, Mama referred to herself as a widow."
"The letter could have been deliberately misleading," Griffin pointed out, and then, seeing hope leap into her eyes, hurriedly added, "although it probably wasn't. But in either case, I may be able to help you discover his identity."
"How?" She coughed, then sniffled. "Mama left no other letters that mentioned anything about an earlier marriage. Her parents died young, and after her sister died when I was but a child, she had no family left. She never even had any close friends other than your folks—Mama always kept to herself, do you remember? I wouldn't know where to start."
"Her things? Did she keep nothing to remind her of her previous husband?"
"Nothing at all. I went through everything when I cleaned out her rooms to ready them for Noah."
Noah, Rachael's younger brother, had recently come of age and taken responsibility for the earldom—a responsibility Rachael had borne on her own since the te
nder age of fifteen. Rachael was intelligent and competent. If she'd found nothing, there was likely nothing to find.
But now that she was willing to pursue the subject, Griffin didn't want to give up so easily. "Perhaps you missed something. Or saw something but didn't recognize it as a clue."
She looked dubious. "There was nothing, Griffin."
"Would it hurt to look again?" If he could judge by her expression, it very well might. "I'll go through your mother's things with you," he offered. "I might notice something you missed."
She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. "All of Mama's things are at Greystone," she said on a sigh, referring to her family's country estate. "Perhaps we can go through them at Christmas."
As much as Rachael clearly wished to put this off, he couldn't bear to see her unhappiness last until Christmas. It was so against her nature. "Christmas is six months away—"
"I'll think about it," she said, standing suddenly. "I'm not feeling well. I'm going home."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Aunts Aurelia and Bedelia had been thrilled when James asked them if they might help out at the Institute. They'd arrived at New Hope to be trained first thing after breakfast Saturday morning and taken to their tasks with great enthusiasm, running his reception room with a precision he hadn't witnessed since his stint in the military. As a result, James had vaccinated more patients in a day than he usually did in three.
At four o'clock, before his aunts departed to ready themselves for the Teddington ball, he'd penciled their names on his schedule, careful to make sure their assigned shifts wouldn't overlap and run him ragged. Then he'd gone home to change, decided to rest his feet and close his eyes for just a moment, and awakened four hours later.
By the time he dressed and left, it was past ten o'clock. He arrived at the ball very late and a tad grumpy. When Occlestone happened to swagger by the door as he walked in, his piggish nose high in the air, it took everything James had not to snarl. But he knew he'd feel better after sharing the day's success with Juliana, assuming she was no longer moody.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 35