Juliana (40 page)

“He’ll be at his club,” Amanda said, “playing cards.”

“Which club?”

“White’s, of course.”

“Of course,” Juliana echoed, vaguely surprised she hadn’t known the answer herself. After all, she’d been planning to marry the duke up until a few days ago.

It seemed she’d never really known him at all.

“Are you sure you’re not upset that David loves me?” Amanda asked suddenly. “I know you wanted to be the duchess.”

“Of course I’m not upset. The two of you belong together.” Juliana truly believed that, although she did wonder if Amanda wouldn’t eventually come to resent her husband’s distant, chilly nature. “Um…if I told you I’m the girl James loves, would you be upset about that?”

“Gracious me,” Amanda said, “you can have him. The fellow’s colder than a Gunter’s ice.”

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 gentlemen 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 they came out of the oven, she donned her most virtuous 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 their maid to accompany her for a walk.

Juliana hadn’t
meant
to drive her sister away from the house. But all the same, she couldn’t help feeling pleased that she’d be able to explain her plan to James and the duke without enduring Corinna’s usual sarcastic 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 mouth 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.” 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 girl I hope to wed.”

She laid her head against his chest, savoring his warmth, knowing she was the girl he hoped to wed. But still wishing he’d said it aloud.

All the same, she was sure she’d get her proposal soon enough. “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 melting into his intense chocolate gaze. Something fluttered in her middle as he placed a lingering kiss on her lips, skimming his hands down her sides to find hers, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tight. There was something different about their kisses now that they’d admitted to loving each other, something possessive and meaningful.

Something she knew she’d never feel with anyone else.

“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 laced with hers. “Yes,” she said and quickly explained, finishing with “Why on earth would Lady Amanda’s father refuse you for a son-in-law?”

“He shouldn’t,” the duke said stiffly, his reproachful gaze on their clasped hands. “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.” 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 a second 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 shouldn’t stoop to the level of kitchen maids.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Even stuffy Castleton seemed to object to Wolverston’s stuffiness. James hoped the turd wasn’t reconsidering whether to accept this man as his father-in-law.

James sure would be.

But the duke 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 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.”

”You don’t want to hear it.” Wolverston’s expression had shifted to something resembling stone. Only less expressive.

“I
demand
to hear it,” the duke insisted through gritted teeth, his hands clenching and unclenching reflexively.

James was impressed—the turd looked downright impassioned!—and also concerned that this new, impassioned duke might actually try to strangle their host.

But Wolverston didn’t seem a bit concerned. ”Very well, then, Castleton,” he said, his words as calm and emotionless as his stony face. ”I once had a liaison with your mother. Twenty-nine years ago, to be precise. I think it likely you’re my son.”

Juliana dropped her basket.

“I expect you’ll find that a valid objection to your marrying my daughter,” Wolverston added flatly. Then he pushed past the duke and left, without so much as glancing back.

Another awkward silence reigned.

“The wafers were supposed to make him reasonable,” Juliana finally whispered. “He didn’t eat them.”

“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 impassioned; instead, he looked drained, empty, flimsy. 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.

She was saying something now, but her skirts muffled the words.

“What was that?” James asked.

She lifted her head slightly. “I said…I cannot marry my brother.”

“He said it’s
likely
I’m his son,” Castleton pointed out. “Which implies I might not be.” But he sounded as dispirited as she.

“You and Amanda’s father are both blond and blue-eyed,” Juliana observed in an equally despondent tone.

There was no need for anyone to point out that Lady Amanda had blue eyes and blond hair as well. Or that it was common knowledge the duke’s natural father hadn’t been the late Duke of Castleton.

He shifted uneasily. “Hair and eye color are hardly proof of paternity,” he mumbled without an ounce of conviction.

But it was more than coloring. Now that the connection had been suggested, 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 short stature.

Something twisted in James’s gut.

“It can’t be proven one way or the other,” Juliana said. “But the thought of you two marrying now…” Swallowing hard, she 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 sat all the way up, 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, making James’s heart sink. She was grasping at straws, and broken ones at that.

She was out of ideas.

James took both her hands in his. “No, love. You know Lord Malmsey has already offered for 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.

He pulled 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.

He released Juliana slowly, reluctantly, thinking it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

“I’ll be back Saturday at noon,” he told Lady Amanda, and went out.

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.”