"He'll be at his club," Amanda said, "playing cards."
"Which club?"
"White's, of course."
"Of course," Juliana echoed. She wasn't surprised to learn the duke belonged to a Tory establishment—he was the embodiment of the word conservative. What was surprising, however, was that Amanda knew where to find the man, while she didn't.
Despite expecting to marry him, it seemed she'd never really known him at all.
"Are you sure you're not upset that David loves me?" Amanda asked suddenly and rather warily. "I know you wanted to be the duchess."
While she wasn't sure the duke actually loved Amanda, Juliana shrugged. "No, I'm not upset. I believe the two of you belong together." Truer words were never spoken. "Um…if I told you I'm the woman Lord Stafford loves, would you be upset about that?"
"Gracious me," Amanda said, "you can have him. The man's chilly as a Gunter's ice."
Chapter Forty-Four
WAFERS
Rub Butter into Flour with some small amount of Salt. To this put Cream and Honey and roll out until very thin. Cut into small rounds and put them in your oven and eat them hot or cold.
A very simple treat, these have a calming effect. My grandmother used to serve them to my grandfather to make him reasonable.
—Anne, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1764
Even with a flurry of activity, Juliana's afternoon had passed excruciatingly slowly. Despite the heroic efforts of her five guests, her sewing party had added only eight items to her stockpile, well short of the twenty-five she'd been hoping for. But she hadn't been able to prolong the gathering past her usual four o'clock stopping time, knowing the men would be arriving at quarter past six.
She'd shooed everyone out of the house and hurried to the kitchen to make the wafers. When the sweets came out of the oven, she donned her most modest dress—a white one—and applied just enough cosmetics to look fresh and innocent. Then she paced around the drawing room until Corinna grew irritated enough to set down her paintbrush and summon her maid to accompany her for a walk.
She hadn't meant to drive her sister away from the house. But all the same, she couldn't help but be a little pleased that she'd be able to explain her plan to James and the duke without enduring Corinna's usual caustic asides.
James arrived first. She hurried him into the drawing room, giving him the details as they went.
"Then Lady Amanda can marry the duke," she concluded, "which will leave you free to—" She clamped her lips shut. While James had proclaimed his love, he hadn't made an offer of marriage. "Why on earth would Lady Amanda's father refuse?" she added instead.
"I don't know." Sounding hopeful but maybe also a bit hesitant, he glanced toward the open door, then shrugged and drew her into his arms. "But I pray he won't, because Lady Amanda isn't the woman I wish to wed."
She laid her head against his chest, savoring his warmth, hoping she was the woman he wished to wed instead. Wishing he could be hers forever.
He would be hers forever. "Lord Wolverston won't refuse," she said firmly. "He'd be an idiot to reject a duke as a son-in-law."
"My confident Juliana." James tilted her chin up, and she found herself captured in his intense chocolate gaze. Something fluttered in her middle as he lowered his lips to meet hers.
He brushed her mouth with aching tenderness, then settled there, deepening the kiss. His hands skimmed down her sides and found hers, lacing their fingers together, squeezing tight. There was something different about their kisses now that they'd admitted their love, something possessive, something more meaningful.
Something she knew she'd never find with any other man.
"Ahem." They broke apart to find the duke standing in the doorway. "Your note said you have a plan?"
Though she blushed wildly, she kept one of James's hands in hers. "Yes," she said and quickly explained, finishing with "Why on earth would Lady Amanda's father refuse?"
"He shouldn't," the duke said stiffly, his disapproving gaze on their clasped hands. "He won't reject me as a son-in-law. He'd have to be dumber than a box of hair to do that."
* * *
Juliana and Castleton were both sure Lord Wolverston wasn't stupid enough to reject a duke. And James had silently agreed with them—until they arrived in the man's dining room and he greeted them with all the warmth of an icicle.
"I don't recall issuing dinner invitations."
Lady Amanda set down her fork. "They're not here for dinner, Father."
"Excellent. Then I'm certain they'll have the good manners to leave."
"No, they won't." In all the weeks James had spent in Lady Amanda's company, he'd never seen her look so resolute. "The Duke of Castleton has something to ask you, Father."
"I don't choose to listen." Lord Wolverston leisurely drained his wineglass before setting it down. "Hastings, see these people to the door," he said and began to rise.
"No!" Amanda jumped from her chair and pushed him back down. "You will sit here and listen."
He gazed at his suddenly assertive daughter as though she'd grown an extra head. "Since when—"
"Lord Wolverston," Juliana interrupted, holding forth her basket. "If you're finished with your dinner, would you care for a sweet? I baked wafers this afternoon."
He stared at her as though she had three heads. "Ladies don't stoop to the level of kitchen maids."
An awkward silence filled the room. Even stuffy Castleton seemed discomfited by the man's attitude. But he stepped forward. "My lord," he said formally, "I assure you that my wife—my duchess—will never step foot in a kitchen. I would like to request the honor of your daughter's hand in marriage."
"My daughter is marrying Lord Stafford," Wolverston replied stiffly. "This Saturday." He rose again. "Now I expect you all to leave before I have to see that you're thrown out."
"Father!" Tears sprang to Lady Amanda's blue-gray eyes. "The Duke of Castleton is proposing marriage. A duke, Father! Surely you cannot refuse him!"
"I can, and I will." He looked to Castleton. "When next I see you at White's—this evening or another time—we shall pretend this interview never occurred," he said and turned to leave.
"No, we shall not." Castleton strode around the table and stood blocking the man's way to the door. "I wish to wed your daughter, and she wishes to wed me. If you've a valid reason to object, I want to hear it."
Wolverston hesitated a moment while his expression shifted to something resembling stone. "You don't want to hear it," he finally said mildly.
"I demand to hear it," the duke insisted through gritted teeth.
James had to give Castleton credit. In contrast to Wolverston's expressionless expression, the ass had never looked less reserved in his life. In fact, he looked formidable—and rather like he was preparing to strangle the older man.
Until he heard the next words from Wolverston's mouth.
"Very well, then." Calm, emotionless words. "I once had a liaison with your mother. Thirty-three years ago, to be precise. I fear you may be my son."
Juliana's basket dropped from her hand to the floor while the man pushed past Castleton as though the duke were about as substantial as a piece of paper.
"I expect you'll find that to be a valid reason for me to object to your marrying my daughter," Wolverston added as he went out the door.
For the next few moments, silence reigned.
"He didn't eat my wafers," Juliana finally whispered. "They were supposed to make him reasonable."
"They wouldn't have made a difference." James wrapped an arm around her shoulders—an arm that felt heavy as lead.
He glanced from her stunned face to the others. Castleton no longer looked formidable; instead, he looked as though he might crumple like that piece of paper. Lady Amanda had crumpled. In the shocked silence that had followed her father's confession, she'd folded back onto her chair and lowered her head to her lap.
"Gracious me," she breathed now, the words muffled in her skirts. "I cannot mar
ry my brother."
"He said I might be his son," Castleton pointed out. But his voice sounded defeated.
"You and Amanda's father are both blond and blue-eyed," Juliana observed wanly.
There was no need for her to point out that Lady Amanda had blue-gray eyes and blond hair as well. Or that everyone had always known his natural father hadn't been the Duke of Castleton. The expression on his face made it clear he was all too aware of those facts.
He shifted uneasily. "Hair and eye color are hardly proof of paternity," he mumbled, sounding less sure of himself by the moment.
But it was more than coloring. Now that the possibility had been raised, James realized Castleton looked much more like Wolverston than the man's daughter did. It was something in the line of the jaw, something in the tilt of the head, something in the length of the nose. Something about the stiff carriage and the lack of stature.
Something twisted in James's gut.
"The thought of you two marrying now…" Swallowing hard, Juliana put a hand to her middle. "It makes me feel slightly ill."
"It makes me feel very ill," Lady Amanda muttered into her lap. She slowly lifted her head, looking very ill indeed. Avoiding Castleton's eyes, she gazed unfocused at James. "We shall have to marry—"
"There's still Lord Malmsey," Juliana cut in.
She was grasping at straws, and broken ones at that. His gut now sinking as well as twisted, James moved to face her and took both her hands. "Lady Amanda can no longer wed Lord Malmsey, my love. She's been publicly disgraced. Under the circumstances, Lord Malmsey is perfectly within his rights to terminate the engagement, and furthermore, he wishes to wed Lady Frances. You wouldn't want to see him ripped from your aunt's side, would you?"
She shook her head, tears glazing her suddenly green eyes. "No," she whispered.
He gathered her close, knowing it would be for the last time. Much as he hated tears, he wanted to cry with her. He would cry with her if he could.
But he felt dead inside. Sinking and twisted and dead.
There was no way out. He had to marry Lady Amanda.
He had to marry Lady Amanda.
He had to marry Lady Amanda.
No matter how many times he repeated the fact to himself, it seemed impossible to believe.
Impossible to accept.
But he had to.
Slowly he released Juliana, thinking it was the hardest thing he'd ever done…
…but not as hard as it would be to say "I will" to someone else.
"I'm going home," he said. "I'll be back Saturday at noon."
Chapter Forty-Five
CHOCOLATE CREAM
Take a Quart of Cream, a Pint of white Wine, and a little Juice of Lemon; sweeten it very well, lay in a sprig of Rosemary, grate some Chocolate, and mix all together; stir them over the Fire till it is thick, and pour it into your cups.
Chill your cups in ice before serving. A delicious cure for melancholy.
—Belinda, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1792
“Why are you so sad, Lady Juliana?"
"I'm not sad, Emily." Sad was much too mild a word to describe how Juliana felt the next day. "You're doing very well. Keep mixing."
The little girl looked up from the cast-iron stove in Juliana's basement kitchen. "You look sad." Stirring with one hand, she stroked the snake draped over her shoulders with the other. "Herman, don't you think Lady Juliana looks sad?"
Juliana half expected the reptile to answer, considering nothing else in her life was going as expected. A talking snake would be less of a surprise than Lord Wolverston's revelation last night.
And James's reaction to it.
He'd left. He'd held her for a moment, but then he'd left. He'd apparently come to the conclusion that he had to marry Amanda, and accepted it, and just…left.
By all appearances, he had no intention of discussing this tragedy. He'd said he'd be back on Saturday. He'd made up his mind, and he wasn't planning to see her again until he was a married man.
If then.
She sighed and began grating chocolate into the triple batch of cream and sugar that Emily was stirring in the pot. "I haven't seen you in quite a few days, Emily."
"A new family moved in across the square. Lord and Lady Lambourne. And they have three children. Three girl children."
Another surprise. Juliana usually knew everything that went on in Mayfair. Evidently she'd been a tad preoccupied of late. "What are the girls' names, then?"
"Jane, Susan, and Kate. Susan is just my age."
"That must be lovely for you." She kept grating. "And what do the Lambourne girls think of Herman?"
"Oh, they find him bang up to the mark," Emily said enthusiastically.
Usually Juliana would have smiled at the girl's use of the newest slang. But she was too dejected. Not to mention this news didn't bode well for the success of her project to rid Emily of the horrid creature.
Emily stirred faster. "You're putting an awful lot of chocolate in, aren't you?"
"One can never have too much chocolate," Juliana said.
So what if she'd added twice as much as usual? She needed chocolate. Her mother had always said it was supposed to cure melancholy, and she'd never been more melancholy in her life.
How was she supposed to go on when the man she loved was marrying another woman? When four people's lives had been ruined? When it was all her fault?
Emily had stopped stirring. "You're crying," she said. "You are sad."
"I guess I am." Setting down the chocolate and the grater, she forced a smile. "I think we're finished here."
"What's wrong, Lady Juliana?"
What wasn't wrong? She couldn't marry the man she loved. She'd doomed him to a dreadful future with a woman reserved beyond belief, a future full of chess and antiquities and very little else. She was exhausted and overwhelmed—she hadn't slept last night at all—and somehow, some way—God only knew how, and apparently He wasn't telling—she had to produce sixty-two items of baby clothes in the next three days even though she'd made less than three times that many in the last month and a half.
"What's wrong?" She could barely push the words through her tight throat. "Everything, it seems."
"Is it about Lord Stafford?"
She blinked. "What makes you think that?"
The girl rolled her big gray eyes. "It's obvious you like him. I've known that for ages. And he likes you."
How ironic that the truth had been obvious to an eight-year-old but not to herself. Then again, Emily always had been rather precocious for a girl her tender age. "Well, he doesn't seem to want to see me right now."
"Then you must go see him. You have to talk to him. You cannot just stand here and mope. You have to do something, Lady Juliana."
Dear heavens, Emily was right. Juliana had never before just stood by and let things happen without trying to influence the outcome, and she couldn't imagine what had made her do so now. Melancholy, she supposed. But she couldn't allow melancholy to rule her.
Thank goodness she was making chocolate cream.
"Oh, you dear, dear child." She dashed the tears off her cheeks and wrapped Emily in a hug. "I'm supposed to be helping you, but you're helping me instead."
"Are you going to go see Lord Stafford now?"
"Not right now. I sent notes asking all the ladies to come sew today even though I've never held any parties on a Tuesday before. They'll be here in less than an hour, and I cannot get to the Institute and back in that short time." Dear heavens, James would be at Parliament by the time her sewing session was finished. "I shall have to go see him tomorrow. You'll stay for the sewing party, won't you?"
"Is there any more cutting to be done?"
"No. The cutting is all finished."
"Then I'm going to play with Jane, Susan, and Kate." When Juliana opened her mouth to protest, Emily held up one of her small hands—the one that wasn't stroking her snake. "You don't really want me to sew, do you? I'm sure to end up bleeding."
"Go ahead and play with the Lambourne girls. You have my blessing."
"Can I eat some chocolate cream before I leave?"
"I need to put it on ice first to make it cold. I'll bring you some tomorrow."
Emily helped her transfer the sweet pudding into three dozen cups before she departed to visit her friends across the square. After that, Juliana had just enough time to steal upstairs to her bedroom and wash her blotchy face before her guests arrived. She brushed on a little powder and went down to seat herself in the drawing room. As she picked up her sewing and Corinna kept painting without comment, she congratulated herself on how calm and composed she must seem.
Rachael was still ill, and now Claire and Elizabeth were, too. As were Lady Stafford and Lady Balmforth. Lady Avonleigh was feeling better, though, and she arrived first.
"Oh, my dear," she cried, "I'm so sorry." And she rushed across the room to enfold Juliana in her arms.
Juliana rose from the sofa and let herself be comforted by James's aunt. Except the embrace wasn't comforting. The harder Lady Avonleigh hugged her, the harder she had to fight to keep the tears from falling again.
"I wanted you to marry my nephew," Lady A murmured, tears in her voice, too. "I wanted you to be my niece."
"I wanted you to be my aunt. I wanted Lady Stafford to be my mother." It seemed forever since she'd had a mother, and Juliana knew no one warmer or more motherly than Lady Stafford. She shuddered in Lady A's arms, inhaling camphor and gardenias. "There has to be something we can do."
"Our James doesn't believe there's anything to be done. But if anyone can think of something, it's you, my dear." Lady Avonleigh pulled back and wiped the moisture from Juliana's cheeks with gentle fingers. "You keep thinking, and I will, too."
"Thank you," Juliana said wanly.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 38