Juliana (8 page)

The thought of returning to Cainewood, of facing another year in the country with naught but her siblings for company—including Alexandra’s frequent letters overflowing with marital bliss—was the primary reason Juliana couldn’t afford to relax.

She stirred faster.

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, stroking 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 didn’t scrape it all back into a plait 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 truly bizarre sound, which Juliana interpreted as strangled laughter. She recognized the donkey bray.

She put Amanda’s dresses aside. “You must practice a new laugh. An enchanting 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, then back to Juliana. “I’d prefer not to disrobe in front of a snake,” she said stiffly.

“So that’s why you refused to undress in order to be measured.” Juliana seized on the potential lesson, turning to Emily. “The seamstress, Mrs. Huntley, was also distressed by Herman’s presence. Many find his company unwelcome.”

“I don’t care,” Emily said.

Juliana called her maid and asked her to walk Emily 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.

Much rustling followed as Amanda grappled with her garments. Finally it seemed she’d successfully clothed herself when she exclaimed, “I cannot wear this!”

Juliana spun around. “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. Once you see the dress properly fastened, you’ll love it.”

But turning around brought Amanda face-to-face with the looking glass. Her hands flew up to cover her collarbone. “The neckline is too low! I must change into something else.”

“You have nothing else suitable. Besides this gown, Mrs. Huntley sent only day dresses. The rest won’t be ready until next week.”

Amanda yanked up on the bodice. “I’m certain the example Mrs. Huntley showed me had a much higher neckline.”

Of course it had, else Amanda would never have approved the order. But that was before Juliana gave Mrs. Huntley her instructions, which, thankfully, the seamstress had followed to the letter.

Amanda had always appeared rather round, but clothing of the proper size showed a surprisingly charming figure—which Juliana intended to use to her friend’s advantage. If Amanda hoped to secure a husband on a tight schedule, she’d need to create a bit of a stir. Anyhow, the gown was cut quite modestly compared to some of the latest fashions.

”It’s not too low,” Juliana said, reaching around to tug the bodice back into place.

“It is so.” Amanda jerked it higher.

Watching her friend in the mirror, Juliana had to laugh. “Look at yourself!”

Amanda’s neckline was indeed at her neck—which meant the ribbon sash that was supposed to circle the empire waistline was perched above her bosom. 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, polished laugh.

“Much better.” Juliana reached once more to adjust the bodice, but she mistakenly pulled it too low and revealed a birthmark near Amanda’s breastbone. It was shaped like a fleur-de-lis. “How pretty!”

Amanda quickly tugged the lace-trimmed bodice up to cover it. “You weren’t supposed to see that!”

“Whyever not? It’s quite lovely.”

“Lovely?” Amanda blushed. “It’s
private
.”

As she tied the sash, Juliana hoped that her improvements would be enough to compensate for Amanda’s shy and standoffish manner. At least her blushing brought out the roses in her cheeks.

She gave her more trifle, just in case. And brushed on a little extra rouge. As she completed the finishing touches, she drilled Amanda over and over again. “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.

“THERE HE IS,”
Amanda said grimly as they stepped into Lady Hammersmithe’s ballroom.

“There’s who?” Juliana asked.

“Lord Malmsey.” A frown marred Amanda’s perfectly done-up face. She turned to her surrogate chaperone. “Should I dance with him, Lady Frances?”

It seemed she was already losing heart. Juliana wouldn’t stand for it.

Unaware of Amanda’s engagement, 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 he would ask, although if she could judge by his pained expression, he was attempting to screw up his courage. Excellent—here was a perfect opportunity to strengthen Amanda’s resolve. “You definitely should dance with him,” Juliana declared, laying a gentle hand on her friend’s back to steer her toward Lord Malmsey. “It would be the polite thing.”

She figured ten seconds in his aging arms would have Amanda
begging
for introductions to other men.

Lord Malmsey’s eyes widened as they approached, and Juliana saw him swallow hard. Taking pity on the poor fellow, she smiled when they drew near. “Good evening, my lord. 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.

Aunt Frances joined Juliana and watched them dance. “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, her eyes came level with his expansive forehead. Neither of them spoke or looked at each other. Lord Malmsey radiated apprehension, Amanda pure misery.

Juliana could not have been more pleased.

On the other side of the ballroom, she spotted Lord Neville ambling out of the refreshment room. “Wait here,” she told Aunt Frances. “I must speak with Viscount Neville, and he’s sure to leave the ball early.” Having no plans to take a fourth wife, Emily’s father preferred to spend his evenings gambling at his club. “I’ll return momentarily.”

Aunt Frances nodded absently, smiling at the dancers whirling past. Juliana patted her dear shoulder and went off to intercept the viscount.

“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. As he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn’t surprised to see a heaping plate in his hand. He popped a grape into his mouth. “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 watched him choose a biscuit and devour nearly half in a single bite. “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, plucking three more grapes off the bunch. “But my Emily is very attached to Herman. She and her mother found him in the garden just before my wife died.”

“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. “If only you’d heard the shrieks of terror, 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 guffawed.

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 hand, 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.

“Faith!” 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 very calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount’s cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in his smooth, chocolatey voice.

But Lord Neville didn’t look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he was running out of time. Lord Stafford didn’t seem to think so, though. Decidedly
un
panicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to return.

She couldn’t imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a moment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man’s big body to lean over the back. Forcefully, 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, as did the audience that had gathered to view the drama.

“You saved his life,” she marveled, watching Lord Stafford in awe. After all, she tried to help people as best she could, but she’d never done something like
that
.