Juliana (13 page)

Emily stroked Herman’s olive green scales, for all the world like he was a real pet. “I never get letters.”

“I never get letters, either.” Eyes wide behind her spectacles, Aunt Frances broke the seal and held the paper up to the light. As she scanned the single page, she sucked in a breath. “Goodness gracious!”

Juliana stifled a smile. “What does it say, Auntie?”

Her aunt’s cheeks were suddenly so rosy, she looked like she’d eaten an entire bowl of trifle. “It’s a poem.”

“A poem? Does it rhyme?”

Aunt Frances nodded violently.

“Who is it from?”

“I’m not at all certain. He didn’t sign his name.”

“How do you know it’s a
he
, then?” Emily asked. “It might be from a girl.”

The older woman raised a hand to pat her modestly covered bosom. “He signed it”—her voice dropped conspiratorially—
“Your Secret Admirer.”

“Oh, Aunt Frances! That’s so romantic!” Juliana sneaked a glance out the window, wondering how much longer she could distract her. “Whoever he is, he must have been at Lady Hammersmithe’s ball Saturday night and seen you in that beautiful fawn dress.”

Aunt Frances looked doubtful. “I’ve worn that dress dozens of times.”

“Well, then, we must order you new ones, don’t you think? Before next Saturday’s ball.”

Though she hadn’t bought a new dress all season—probably all decade—her aunt nodded. “I suppose we must.”

Juliana toyed with the handle of her basket, fighting off a self-satisfied grin, until the carriage drew to a stop before a small, neat building with a sign that said
NEW HOPE INSTITUTE
.

The neighborhood hadn’t improved, but her aunt no longer seemed to care. When a footman lowered the steps, Aunt Frances all but floated down to the street. Carrying the basket, Juliana climbed out after her, and Emily and Herman followed.

The door to the Institute opened, and a woman came out and down the steps, holding two children by the hand. Aunt Frances nearly collided with them, but her niece managed to yank her out of the way in time. “What color dresses shall we order?” she asked Juliana.

“Pastels will look best with your golden-brown hair.”

On the Institute’s steps, Emily turned and frowned. “Her hair isn’t brown.”

Juliana smiled. “It will be after I summon Madame Bellefleur to dye it.”

They all went inside. The reception area looked very new and clean, though it was noisy and crowded with people in ragged clothing. “A snake!” a boy exclaimed, and several grimy children ran over to cluster around Emily and Herman.

A young woman with an air of authority walked out from behind a counter. She was dressed a little better than the patients. “Twenty-three!” she called.

A mother stood up with a baby and followed her through a door into the back.

When the young woman returned to the counter and began adding some rather scary-looking supplies to the jumble already on the shelves, Juliana went over to her. She handed Juliana a worn square of paper with a big black
36
written on it. “You’re number thirty-six,” she said very slowly and clearly, as though Juliana couldn’t read it for herself. “Please be seated. I’ll call you when it’s your turn.”

Juliana put the paper in her basket. “I wish to have a word with Lord Stafford, if I may.”

“Lord Stafford?” The woman blinked. “Oh, you mean Dr. Trevor. He isn’t here, milady.”

Drat! Juliana hadn’t even considered the possibility. “Do you know when he’s expected?”

“I’m sorry, milady, but I don’t. Only one doctor volunteered for today, so he should be here to vaccinate the other half of the patients. But his note said only that he’d be delayed—”

Just then the door opened, and in walked James, his coat and cravat draped over one arm. Even though he was scandalously undressed, Juliana couldn’t have been more delighted. “Lord Stafford!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you!”

He looked shocked—and maybe pleased. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

She hadn’t meant it like that. “I thought you’d be here, but you weren’t.”

“I was examining my Aunt Bedelia. She’s been suffering imaginary chest pains.”

“The poor, sweet lady.” She paused, just realizing what he’d said. “Imaginary?”

“Aunt Bedelia is the healthiest woman I know. Except possibly my other aunt, Aurelia.” Unfastening the top button of his shirt, he cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

Aunt Frances suddenly turned to her. “I was wondering that myself. Why
are
we here, Juliana?”

She had no answer, so instead she said, “Aunt Frances, have you met Lord Stafford?”

James offered a bow. “Good afternoon, Lady Frances.”

“Good afternoon, my lord.” She looked at him sharply. “Did I see you at Lady Hammersmithe’s ball?”

“I had the pleasure of attending, yes.”

Aunt Frances’s gaze grew more focused. At first Juliana assumed she was staring at the little V of exposed skin where James’s shirt was unbuttoned, which Juliana found rather fascinating herself. Other than her brothers’—and they hardly counted—she’d never seen any part of a man’s chest. But then she realized her aunt was actually looking at James’s face, and her blue eyes had turned speculative behind their lenses. Juliana had never seen her look at a gentleman like that before…

Faith! Middle-aged, gray-haired, half-insensible Aunt Frances was wondering if
James
was her secret admirer! Juliana pressed a gloved fist to her mouth, but couldn’t quite manage to hold back the mirth that was bubbling up inside her. She covered it with a cough.

She’d have to write another love letter from Lord Malmsey and sign his name to it this time—before Aunt Frances set her hopes on someone much younger and better-looking.

James’s gasp interrupted her thoughts. “Is that a
snake
in my reception room?”

Across the room, the children were still gathered around Herman, enthralled, while Emily, in her glory, proudly lectured them on his care and allowed them turns to touch.

Juliana smiled. “That’s Viscount Neville’s daughter, Miss Emily Neville, and—”

“Get it out of here.”

“No need to worry.” The light in here was odd; James was looking rather pale. “It’s perfectly harmless, Lord Stafford.”

“James,” he corrected distractedly. “And I want it out. It’s frightening the children.”

It was doing no such thing, but Juliana wasn’t about to argue. She had much more important matters to discuss with him. “Aunt Frances, would you please take Emily and Herman outside?”

Her aunt was still scrutinizing James. “It’s dreadfully cold out there,” she said without taking her eyes off him.

“You can wait inside the carriage. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“The neighborhood—”

“The coachman and three footmen are there for your protection.” Juliana took her aunt’s arm and began easing her toward Emily. “You’ll be safe. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

Her gaze no longer focused on James, Aunt Frances consulted the little watch pinned to her dress. “You’d better not take any more time. The Duke of Castleton is calling at half past two.”

Following a short negotiation, Juliana finally shut the door behind Aunt Frances, Emily, Herman, and several children who refused to stay inside when there was a snake outside to play with. “Now, if I could have just a few moments of your time, Lord Stafford—”

“James,” he interrupted.

“James.” She looked around. “Is there someplace private we could speak?”

WONDERING WHAT
Juliana wanted of him, James led her to an empty treatment room. He also wondered why the thought of Castleton calling on her irritated him so. Perhaps because Castleton was so very wrong for her. The duke was a prig; she was much too lively for such a stuffy fellow.

Not to mention the prig wanted her only because she came with a fancy racehorse.

The treatment room held nothing but a chair and a table spread with medical supplies, but Juliana glanced around as though she found it interesting. She was wearing a dress made of a thin, soft yellow material that did nothing to hide her curves.

Well, in truth the dress’s fabric wasn’t any finer or thinner than the dresses other young ladies of her class wore—thin, fine fabric must be in fashion, he supposed—but James wasn’t used to seeing women in fashionable dresses at the Institute. The women who came to the Institute generally wore drab, practical clothes made of warm, sturdy fabrics. He wouldn’t have noticed Juliana’s thin dress at a ball, but here at the Institute it made him suddenly—uncomfortably—aware that he was alone in a room with an unchaperoned young lady.

An unchaperoned young lady he found way too appealing.

He left the door open.

“That child doesn’t sound happy,” she said, referring to the sobbing girl in the next room.

“Dr. Hanley will give her a sugar stick.”

Sure enough, the sobbing stopped. Juliana smiled. “I love sweets.” She handed him the small basket she was carrying. “I brought you these.”

He lifted the number
36
on top and peered underneath. Appetizing scents of cinnamon and raspberry wafted out.

“They’re Shrewsbury cakes,” she said. “Chase ladies always bring sweets when we pay calls.”

“People don’t generally
call
at the Institute.”

“It’s not in a very nice neighborhood,” she allowed. “Why is that?”

“Those who live in nice neighborhoods are vaccinated by their own doctors. The patients we serve cannot afford to take a hackney coach to Mayfair.”

“Oh,” she said, looking chastened. “That does make perfect sense.”

He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Have you been vaccinated?”

She glanced warily toward the instruments. “Actually, I was variolated shortly after birth, before Dr. Jenner’s vaccination method became known.”

Variolation was an older procedure, a method of taking pus from the pocks of someone suffering from smallpox and inoculating healthy people with it. James was surprised and impressed that she knew the difference. Perhaps she wasn’t
entirely
frivolous. “Where did you learn about Edward Jenner?”

“I do know how to read—and not only ladies’ fashion magazines.” She spoke archly, but with a nervous edge. James guessed why when she glanced toward the instruments again.

“You don’t need to be vaccinated,” he assured her, “not if you’ve been variolated.”

She instantly relaxed.

He grinned and went on, “Smallpox variolation grants lifelong immunity. You’re lucky you lived through it, though.” The technique usually caused only a mild case of smallpox, but about two patients in a hundred developed a severe case and died. That was much better odds than the thirty percent risk of death from naturally-caught smallpox, but the newer vaccination method was safer. Jenner had discovered that giving people cowpox would keep them from getting smallpox, too.

“Were you variolated as a child?” Juliana asked.

“No, but I was vaccinated while in the army. My commanding officer didn’t want his men dying of smallpox.” He set the basket on the table. “So, what was it you were wanting to speak of?”

“Try a Shrewsbury cake.” She waited while he chose one and took a bite. “I was wondering what you thought of Lady Amanda.”

He hadn’t thought of Lady Amanda even once since Saturday’s ball. “She’s lovely,” he said tactfully.

Juliana beamed. “I’m so glad you think so.”

He didn’t like where this was leading. ”The cake is delicious,” he said, polishing it off.

“Have another.” She reached into the basket and put one into his hand. “Do you expect you might wish to marry Lady Amanda?”

He promptly had a violent coughing fit.

She waited patiently while he recovered, her expression a mixture of amusement and concern. “Do you feel quite all right, Lord Stafford?”

“James,” he choked out between deep breaths. “And yes, I do, thank you.”

“You
do
wish to marry Lady Amanda, you mean?”

She was absolutely incorrigible. He took several more breaths before pointing out, “I’ve only danced with her once.”

“Very true. I expect you’ll want to court her for a while before making such a decision.”

He didn’t want to court Lady Amanda in the slightest. But it would be rude to say so out loud, so instead he said, “Yes, one doesn’t come to such a decision lightly.”

The
yes
was a mistake. Juliana’s lips curved in a delighted smile. “I’m so happy to hear that! I hope you’ll accept my offer of assistance.”

“Assistance with what?”

“Wooing Lady Amanda, of course.”

James couldn’t have heard correctly. “Wooing, did you say?”

“Precisely. She’s a very particular girl, besides which, I gather you’ve been too busy to court many ladies”—James opened his mouth to protest, though it was no less than the truth, but she headed him off —“not that there’s anything wrong with that! I think it quite adorable, in fact.”

Adorable?
Didn’t girls realize that the worst thing they could possibly call a fellow was
adorable?
A flush seemed to be rising in his cheeks, which only doubled his mortification.