Juliana (9 page)

Lord Stafford merely shrugged. Turning his back on Juliana, he crouched down by his patient and asked to have a look in the man’s throat.

The audience began to disperse.

Since her discussion with Emily’s father was obviously over for now, Juliana turned to see how Amanda was faring on the dance floor. But apparently the waltz had ended sometime during the commotion. A quadrille was playing instead, and Amanda was nowhere to be seen.

“I told you Lord Stafford was a good man,” Griffin said beside her.

Juliana glanced back at the man in question, who was now examining Lord Neville’s throat through a silver quizzing glass attached to a chain around his neck. His dark hair was as tousled as ever.

“He saved the viscount’s life,” Griffin added.

“That’s his job,” she retorted. Lord Stafford’s heroism didn’t erase his shortcomings. He still was
not
what she wanted in a husband. “Where in heaven’s name is Amanda?”

“Right there,” Griffin said, gesturing toward a cluster of gentlemen across the room.

If Juliana hadn’t recognized the blond curls piled atop her friend’s head, she’d never have believed it was Amanda at the center of the cluster. Why, she was literally surrounded by suitors!

The trifle was clearly doing its job.

Juliana swooped in for a closer look. Maddeningly, she was too short to see around the crowd of black-clad shoulders. Would it be unladylike to worm her way in amongst the gentlemen? While trying to decide, she noticed Lord Malmsey hovering nearby, looking more than a little perturbed.

A delicate laugh like tinkling bells carried over the crowd.

Her mind made up, Juliana charged into the clutch of admirers. Many of whom, she noted, were quite young and handsome. Never mind that she’d already met and rejected every one of them—Amanda was sure to have different tastes and requirements. Juliana’s heart swelled as she realized her friend might fall in love with someone this very night! And when she finally reached her protégé, statuesque and radiant and smiling one of the smiles Juliana had made her practice over and over, she thought her heart might burst with pride.

She touched Amanda on the arm and whispered,
“The look.”
Amanda startled and gazed down at her in confusion. Then her expression cleared, and she quickly chose a young man and took aim, lowering her newly darkened lashes.

“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asked immediately.

“With pleasure, my lord,” Amanda said, just as Juliana had taught her. As she went off on the gentleman’s arm, she cast her friend a look of wonder. “It works!“ she mouthed silently.

Of course it did. Hadn’t Juliana told her so?

Without Amanda at the center of it, the group slowly dispersed. But Lord Malmsey remained in place, gazing toward the dance floor dejectedly. Although Juliana didn’t know him well, he seemed a kindly man. And aside from his small stature and vast forehead, he was pleasant-looking for an older fellow. But his pale green eyes seemed troubled.

Quite suddenly, Juliana realized there was a flaw in her perfect plan. In seeing to Amanda’s happiness, she was making Lord Malmsey
un
happy. And that would never do.

“What are you plotting now, Juliana?”

She looked over to see Corinna and Alexandra approaching. “Nothing,” she told them both.

“I recognize that look on your face,” Alexandra said.

Juliana never had been able to fool her older sister. “Oh, very well,” she admitted, and led them a safe distance from her target. “I’m trying to find a match for Lord Malmsey.”

“Holy Hannah,” Corinna groaned, “whatever put that thought into your head?”

Juliana pressed her lips together, maintaining her silence.

“Something is going on.” Corinna narrowed her eyes. “Something to do with Amanda.”

Juliana sighed. She should have known Corinna would weasel the truth out of her one way or another. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course we can,” Alexandra said, looking a little hurt. “Have we broken a confidence ever?”

Well, no, neither of them had. Not to Juliana’s knowledge, anyway. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Amanda’s father has betrothed her against her will to Lord Malmsey.”

“I knew it!” Corinna exclaimed at the same time Alexandra said, “That’s dreadful!”

“Quite. Lord Wolverston is deaf to her protests. He’s told her that if she refuses to go through with the wedding, he’ll disinherit her.”

Corinna gasped. “Then no one else will
ever
offer for her.”

Of the three of them, she always
had
been the most blunt.

“Precisely,” Juliana said. “Which is why I’m working to help Amanda charm a more suitable man, in the hopes that he’ll offer for her before it’s too late.” While that wasn’t exactly the plan, it was close enough. She dared not mention the compromising position in front of her sisters, who rarely approved of her schemes. “But I cannot find love for Amanda at Lord Malmsey’s expense. That would be terribly unfair.”

“Juliana always wants to see
everyone
happy,” Alexandra teased affectionately.

“In all his many years,” Corinna pointed out, “Lord Malmsey has never proposed to anyone before Amanda. He’s too shy to approach another lady.”

“Then a shy spinster will be a perfect match.” Juliana’s gaze wandered the ballroom. Miss Hartshorn was too old; Lady Sarah Ballister was too young; Miss Ashton was too outgoing. She scanned past her chaperone, then back. “Aunt Frances,” she said, nodding to herself with more than a little satisfaction.

“Aunt Frances?” Corinna’s brilliant blue eyes widened. “You’re thinking to match
Aunt Frances
with Lord Malmsey?”

Alexandra frowned toward their aunt, no doubt considering her spectacles and unstylish gray hair. “I’ve never seen Aunt Frances show romantic interest in a gentleman.”

“That’s only because no one has shown an interest in her,” Juliana said. “And that will all change when she receives Lord Malmsey’s love letter.”

“What love letter?” Alexandra and Corinna asked in unison.

Juliana shook her head. “The one I’m going to write, of course.”

Her sisters had no imagination.

She spotted one of their cousins, looking aimless. “Rachael!” she called with a merry wave, starting toward her.

Corinna grabbed her arm. “Are you plotting something else now?”

“Of course not,” Juliana said, although she was indeed plotting to get her brother to dance with her cousin. Lately, Rachael seemed withdrawn or absent from most events, which had hampered Juliana’s ongoing efforts to match her with Griffin.

She put on her most innocent smile and added, ”I intend to invite Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth to my next sewing party.” Which, in point of fact,
was
precisely true.

It just wasn’t her only intention.

WARY OF
Juliana’s grin, Griffin watched her heading his way with their cousin in tow. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “Rachael would love to dance with you.”

Rachael’s gorgeous sky blue eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. An awkward moment passed while Griffin shifted uncomfortably. But there was nothing for it—no way to duck out of this situation gracefully.

“I would be honored, Lady Rachael,” he said at last, “if you would join me for the next dance.”

“Splendid,” Juliana said, beaming as the musicians struck up a waltz. “Please excuse me.” She waved them toward the dance floor. “I must speak with Alexandra.”

Griffin was already concocting his revenge. See if Juliana still thought this a fun game after being forced to dance with—

“Griffin!”

“Pardon?” Blinking at Rachael, he realized they were waltzing. She felt so natural in his arms that he hadn’t noticed she was there—except now that he’d noticed, he couldn’t
stop
noticing.

She looked amused. “Do you always allow your sisters to run roughshod over you?” she asked in a conversational tone.

“Only Juliana,” he told her lightly.

“Balderdash,” she said. Rachael could curse like a sailor, but he considered that part of her charm. “Alexandra and Corinna know how to play you just as well.”

Since he couldn’t really argue, he twirled her and changed the subject. “You’ve been hiding this season.”

Her good humor suddenly vanished. Even the chestnut tendrils around her face seemed to droop. “I haven’t felt much like mingling.”

She didn’t have to say why. Griffin knew—although his sisters didn’t—that Rachael had been dealt a blow several months earlier when she’d learned the man she’d called “Papa” since birth hadn’t actually been her father. He was dismayed, though not surprised, to find her still brooding on the subject.

“It doesn’t signify,” he said quietly.

“It signifies to me. I feel like my life has been a lie.”

“Has something changed at home? Is Noah treating you differently? Or Claire or Elizabeth?”

“No. Not at all. But I feel as though they should.”

“You all shared a mother. They’re still your brother and sisters.”

“I know.” Her eyes grew suspiciously damp, and her chin—her adorable, dented chin—began to tremble. He could see her straining to maintain composure. She was too dignified to fall to pieces in a crowded ballroom.

And Griffin cared about her too much to just stand by and watch—yet what could
he
do? In truth, the matter was none of his concern. Besides which, he had plenty of his own concerns to be getting on with.

But he couldn’t bear to see Rachael like this. She was young, lovely, intelligent, strong. And she’d already endured more than enough grief. She should be trying new things, enjoying herself, falling in love. Instead, she was hiding.

“Have you considered searching for your true father?” he asked.

“Of course not. He’s dead.”

Dead or not, he wanted to say, learning her father’s identity might help. But the music ended, and she drew back and dipped a curtsy.

“Thank you, Lord Cainewood,” she said without meeting his eyes. And then she walked away.

Given their shared childhood, her curtsy and address had both been too formal. But Griffin decided it was for the best. He shouldn’t be getting involved—spending more time with Rachael would only complicate his life.

As he made his way from the dance floor, the Duke of Castleton walked up. “When are you going to sell me Velocity?”

Grateful for the distraction, Griffin laughed. “Never. When are you going to give up asking?”

“Never.” Although Castleton gave a determined nod, not a hair on his carefully coiffed blond head moved. “I heard he made a good showing at Ascot.”

“A pity you missed the meet,” Griffin said, remembering Juliana preferred fair men. “You’ve a fine stable, Castleton.”

“It would be finer with Velocity.”

“Velocity—as I’ve told you at least a dozen times—isn’t for sale.” Considering the subject closed, Griffin gestured across the room. “I say, would you care to meet my sister?”

Revenge against Juliana might have to wait until
after
he found her a decent husband.

EVERYONE WHO
was anyone was at Lady Hammersmithe’s ball. Including James’s mother, Cornelia—the Dowager Countess of Stafford—and her older sisters, Aurelia and Bedelia.

In the refreshment room, James handed them all glasses of champagne. “How is your throat, Aunt Bedelia?”

“Better. But my chest has been paining me.” She put a narrow hand to her flat chest—Aunt Bedelia was as skinny as a rail. “Perhaps you should stop by Monday morning and have a listen.”

Doing his best to appear concerned, James sipped champagne. “Perhaps I’ll do that.”

“Certainly you will,” his mother said, but she softened the rebuke with a smile that reached her brown eyes.

Besides sharing James’s eyes, she had the same dark hair, and a trim figure for a woman of her years. Aurelia might be a mite plump, and Bedelia a bit too thin, but Cornelia was perfectly in between.

“Have you enjoyed the dancing this evening?” she asked her son pointedly.

“Am I supposed to?” he retorted. “I thought marriage was the object, not enjoyment.”