Juliana (39 page)

“I would
never
go back on my word.” Lord Wolverston craned his neck, searching the crowd. “Malmsey!” he bellowed. “Do you still wish to wed my disgraced daughter?”

Someone pushed Lord Malmsey forward. “I—I—” he sputtered. A meek man to begin with, he seemed to have shrunk into himself. “I—”

“The baron doesn’t want her,” Wolverston said.

Well, of course he didn’t. He wanted Lady Frances.

“She must wed the earl,” Wolverston concluded, suddenly sounding less angry. In fact, if the man were capable of such a thing, he might have grinned.

“Please, Father!” Lady Amanda begged. “This isn’t fair! Father, you must listen! You must reconsider—”

“There will be no reconsidering.” Lord Wolverston grabbed her by the arm, making her wince. “We’re leaving.”

“Please, Father!” she wailed as he dragged her through the crush. “Pleeeease!”

It was a wail James feared he would hear the rest of his life.

Literally.

AS LADY
Hartley’s guests followed the Wolverstons from the room like rats following a piper—except in this case they were mesmerized by Amanda’s heart-wrenching pleas—Juliana watched Lady Stafford push through them in the other direction.

“James!” she cried, throwing her arms around him.

He held her for a few seconds, but then extricated himself. “Please go, Mother. Take Aunt Aurelia and Aunt Bedelia back to the tent. I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.”

She looked to her sisters, who were standing there openmouthed, and back to him. “But, James—”

“Please. I need to talk to Lady Juliana.”

As Lady Stafford and her sisters reluctantly departed, leaving James and Juliana alone, he turned to her.

She felt like she hadn’t breathed in the last five minutes.

And like she might never breathe again.

She thought she should cry, but she felt numb. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she
could
say. All the words seemed to have been sucked right out of her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was all she could manage.

James only nodded.

She’d never seen him look so pale, so stricken. Not even when he’d been deathly afraid of Emily’s snake. The very sight of him in that state made anger rise in her, which finally loosened her tongue.

“Lord Occlestone should be shot.”

“Others followed us in here as well,” he said wearily. “Lady Amanda’s father would have found out one way or another. Occlestone is a lout, but he isn’t to blame for this.”

“I know.
I’m
to blame. But I’ll fix it.”

She
had
to fix it.

James’s lips quirked to form something that might have been a sad smile. “You cannot fix everything, Juliana. But the fact that you never stop trying…well…it’s one of the many things that made me fall in love with you.”

There was no way she could live with herself if he had to marry Amanda. “I can fix this, and I will,” she reiterated. “I have to.” And then she froze. “One of the many things that made you…what?” She held her breath again, but for an entirely different reason, and then her gaze dropped to his hand. And her breath whooshed out of her. “You brought roses.”

He glanced down, as though he’d forgotten he was holding them. “They’re a bit worse for the wear.”

They
did
look a tad bedraggled. “But they’re red roses.”

“There aren’t many of them. I couldn’t easily carry more than a dozen. Not two dozen like we ordered for Lady Amanda, and compared to what Lord Malmsey sent to your aunt—”

“They’re
red
roses.” He wasn’t handing them to her. “Are they for me?”

Abruptly, he held them out. “Who else could they possibly be for? For what other girl would I dethorn red roses? I must’ve nicked myself twenty times.”

“You said you would never fall in love again.” She grabbed the flowers and held them tight to her chest, the paper crinkling, their sweet scent wafting to her nose. “Oh, James. I love you, too, you know.”

She launched herself into his arms, and he held her close, the bouquet crushed between them. And then the tears that wouldn’t fall finally did, because really, it was just too much.

And too late.

He’d brought her red roses. She’d been hoping he loved her, hoping for it harder than she’d ever hoped for anything before. But now that she knew he did, her meddling had ruined everything.

She was going to fix it, but for now she couldn’t stop weeping.

“Hush,” he murmured while her tears wet his waistcoat. And, “hush,” while they soaked through to his shirt. And finally, “Do you know what I hate even more than snakes?”

She shook her head, rubbing her nose in the damp warmth.

He put a finger under her chin and lifted it, until her eyes were forced to meet his. “A girl’s tears,” he said. “I swear, love, they make me feel more helpless than anything.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she was. Sorry for crying, and sorry that made him unhappy. But mostly sorry James loved her and she loved him and everything was ruined.

“Hush,” he said one last time, and then he lowered his head and kissed her, a small soft kiss. And another one. And yet another, but it wasn’t soft, it was crushing instead.

Juliana stopped crying, partly because she didn’t want to upset him anymore, but mostly because kissing him felt so right. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned into him, and threaded her fingers into his dark, tangled hair. Everything was wrong, but James—tangles and all—was heartbreakingly right.

She was in love.

She’d never been so happy and so sad all at once.

“I’ll fix this,” she said when they finally broke apart. “We have five days before Saturday.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Five short days.”

“Five and a half,” she whispered, inhaling his scent, starch and spice mixed with roses. She held him tighter, wishing she didn’t have to let go.

But she did have to. At least for now.

“Five and a half,” she repeated.

It would have to be enough.

THE NEXT DAY,
Juliana paced around the drawing room while she waited for her guests to arrive for her one o’clock sewing party.

“I cannot concentrate.” Seated at her easel, Corinna dabbed a bit of gray on the underside of a cloud. “I know you’re going to make me sew all afternoon, so for now, will you please sit down?”

Juliana sat and stabbed her needle in and out of a little white nightshirt. For about a minute. Then she rose and began moving again, the nightshirt dangling from her clenched fingers. “There must be some way to fix this. It’s disastrous for everyone involved.”

“Aunt Frances doesn’t think it’s a disaster,” Corinna pointed out.

That much was true. Although their aunt had been shocked to learn Lord Malmsey was engaged, he’d managed to talk his way back into her good graces before Juliana even had a chance to help. In fact, last evening she’d returned to the tent in Lady Hartley’s garden to find him proposing on bended knee—a proposal Aunt Frances had joyfully accepted.

But the fact that the two of them were thrilled hardly mitigated the disaster that had befallen everyone else.

She and James were devastated. The duke was devastated. No doubt Amanda was devastated, too, although Juliana hadn’t seen her since last night. Lord Wolverston had taken his daughter straight home—proclaiming loudly, according to several eyewitnesses, that she wouldn’t be seen again in public before her wedding. Juliana had received an apologetic note from Amanda this morning, explaining that she wouldn’t be able to attend any more of her sewing parties and her Aunt Mabel wouldn’t be there, either.

Apparently having been less than impressed with his sister’s chaperoning—or rather, her lack thereof—Lord Wolverston had given poor Mabel such a lecture that she’d gone straight to bed with the asthma and expected to remain there for the week.

Out in the foyer, the knocker banged on the door. A few moments later, Adamson came into the drawing room with two letters for Juliana.

“Thank you,” she said, breaking the seal on the first one and scanning the short message. “Drat!”

“What is it?” Corinna asked.

“Rachael cannot come today. She has a cold.” She opened the second letter, her eyes widening as she read the words. “Double drat!”

“What now?”

“James’s aunts are ill, too. And his mother. How in heaven’s name am I going to make twenty-five items of baby clothes today with only you and Alexandra, Claire and Elizabeth, and Aunt Frances?”

Working feverishly in every free moment, Juliana had managed to complete seven garments on her own between her last sewing party and today, but she still needed to collect seventy-six pieces of baby clothes during just three more parties. That was more than twenty-five per party, and today she would have six fewer sewers contributing.

“In the scheme of things,” Corinna said, “I should think those baby clothes are the least of your troubles.”

“You’re right.” Ordering herself to stay composed and keep things in perspective, Juliana plopped down on the sofa and resumed sewing. Her gaze went to the bedraggled red roses sitting in a vase on the mantel. They looked nearly as droopy as she felt. “James’s forced betrothal to Amanda is much more distressing.”

“Perhaps Lord Wolverston has calmed down by now,” Corinna suggested. “Maybe if Amanda explains that it was all a misunderstanding, he’ll reconsider.”

“I don’t think so. For all his bluster, he was clearly delighted to see her catch an earl instead of a lowly baron.” Juliana’s needle dropped from her fingers. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Corinna tilted her head, perusing her work in progress.

“If the Duke of Castleton offers to marry Amanda instead of James—”

“Her father would refuse, wouldn’t he?” She dabbed at the cloud some more. “Isn’t that why you plotted her compromise in the first place?”

“But everything’s different now. Lord Wolverston wouldn’t be breaking his word or breaching a contract. At this point, he only wants to see his ruined daughter wed and off his hands, and after all, if an earl is better than a baron, surely a duke is better still.” It was so obvious, Juliana wanted to kick herself for not realizing right away. All this worry could have been avoided. “Why on earth would he refuse?”

Corinna shrugged and dipped her brush. “Your logic seems sound, but Amanda seems to think her father is unreasonable.”

“I’ll bake some wafers, then, just in case.” According to the wafer recipe in the family cookbook, they were reputed to have a handy calming effect. “But I cannot imagine why he would refuse.”

“Well, then, I’m certain he won’t. You always know best, after all.”

Since Juliana obviously
didn’t
always know best—as proven by last night’s disaster—she found her sister’s sarcasm needling. But she was sure Lord Wolverston wouldn’t refuse. The man would have to be an idiot to reject a duke as a son-in-law.

Five minutes later, Juliana was on Amanda’s doorstep, explaining her new plan. “Why on earth would your father refuse?” she concluded.

“I cannot imagine.” Amanda’s eyes had been dull with despair, but now they shone with hope. “I wish he were home so we could ask him right now.”

“The duke must be with us, in any case. Your father is a stickler, after all, so the duke will need to formally request your hand. And Lord Stafford should be in attendance as well, to confirm he agrees with the proposed solution. When will your father be home?”

“I’m not privy to his schedule. But he usually insists on dining at precisely six o’clock.”

“Perfect. I’ll send a footman with notes to summon Lord Stafford and the duke, and we’ll all be here at half past six.”

“He won’t take callers in the middle of dinner.”

“Do you know for certain he’ll stay home afterwards?”

Amanda shook her head.

“Then inform your butler beforehand that we’re expected. That way he won’t go to your father to ask his permission.” Juliana started down the steps, then turned. “Oh, bother. I’m sure Lord Stafford is at the Institute, but I have no idea where to send a note that will reach the duke.”