Juliana (30 page)

He’d never seen his mother read a Minerva Press novel. They were torrid romances, and he was startled to see her reading such a thing, but that didn’t affect his fine mood.

“Yes, James?” she said, shutting it quickly and setting it upside down on the table beside her. “How was your evening?”

“It was pleasant,” he said, perhaps the greatest understatement of his life. “I want to renovate my bedroom.”

“You cannot change that room. It was designed by Henry Holland!”

“I don’t care who designed it. Brown and plum are too somber.”

Mother loved redecorating, but James’s father had never let her touch Stafford House, so she’d had to content herself with overhauling their manor house in the countryside. James had known she wouldn’t argue long. Clearly excited, she rose, belted her dressing gown more tightly, and walked over to sit at her feminine writing desk.

“What colors would you like, then?” she asked, dipping her quill in the inkwell.

“Red,” he decided.

“Your favorite color. I should have guessed.” She scribbled. “Any other requests?”

“And yellow. Red and yellow.” He’d noticed Juliana often wore yellow, but he wouldn’t explain that to his mother. The last thing he needed was her figuring out he’d finally decided to remarry.

“We’ll do stripes,” she said, still scribbling. “Wide red and yellow stripes on the walls above the wainscoting.”

“I want the wainscoting gone. It’s dark wood, and I don’t want anything dark in the room.”

She frowned, then brightened. “We’ll paint the wainscoting white, then. Bright white enamel. And use narrower stripes on the upholstery. But solid red bedclothing, I think. Perhaps with yellow pillows.”

“Fine.” Henry Holland’s design had used floral fabrics, so stripes sounded perfect. As different as could be. “And get rid of that monstrous old-fashioned bed, will you?”

“It’s been in the family since the sixteenth century.”

“It looks it.”

“Nine Stafford earls were born in that bed—”

“I want something modern. Without a canopy or stifling curtains.”

She looked up. And then she gazed at him for a very long moment. He wondered if she’d made the connection, if she’d realized that the bed, the curtains—all of it—held too many memories.

“Very well,” she finally said. “If you insist, we’ll move it to a guest room.”

“IT’S THE
rheumatism, I fear,” Lady Avonleigh said the next afternoon.

“It’s dreadful,” Lady Balmforth added. “The two of us ache every morning.”

When James had fetched Juliana and the others for their outing, he’d explained that he needed to stop by his aunts’ house on their way to Leicester Square. Seated in his aunts’ drawing room on a peach sofa, Juliana watched him walk them toward a large picture window.

“I’m afraid some morning stiffness is to be expected at your age,” he said sympathetically. He lifted Lady Balmforth’s narrow hand and examined it in the window’s light.

“Don’t you need to use your quizzing glass?” she asked.

“Not for this. I see no evidence of swelling, and your joints don’t look reddened or feel overly warm. If the achiness wears off before noon, that’s a good sign.” He flexed her elbow. “Does this hurt?”

“He’s patient,” Amanda said quietly, sitting beside Juliana.

“Yes, he is,” she whispered back, lifting an embroidery hoop one of James’s aunts had left on the table. It wasn’t a simple sampler but an amazingly detailed scene—a cottage in the woods with animals among the trees. “Isn’t this exquisite?” It had a faint smell she couldn’t quite identify. She sniffed curiously, then coughed and quickly lowered the hoop. Gardenias and camphor. Ick.

“I wish he’d be a little more
im
patient,” Amanda whined. “We’re going to be late.”

“There’s no need to worry. The rotunda doesn’t close until four.”

“But the duke will be waiting.”

“Not for so very long.” Juliana raised a half-finished crewelwork seat cover and ran her fingers over the pattern, a veritable field of flowers. This one was mercifully unscented. “Lord Stafford’s aunts are very talented.”

“Lord Stafford is on his knees,” Amanda said. “That cannot be good for his injury.”

James was crouched on the floor, obligingly examining Lady Avonleigh’s plump ankles. Juliana didn’t think about his injury much—it didn’t seem to stop him from doing anything, so she couldn’t see where it mattered. But apparently it mattered to Amanda.

“There’s nothing Lord Stafford won’t do for someone he cares for,” Juliana told her, returning the crewelwork to the table. “You’re lucky to have someone so wonderful courting you.” Honestly, it was a bit annoying that Amanda didn’t seem to realize how truly lucky she was. “It’s nice of you to be concerned for him, though. Just remember to let him kiss you.”

“What if he doesn’t try?”

“He’ll try. I’ve heard parts of the rotunda are quite dark.” James would take advantage of the darkness—Juliana knew this from experience.

“What if I don’t like kissing him?”

Poor Amanda seemed even more afraid of kissing than before. The failed trick must have traumatized her. "You'll love kissing him,” Juliana assured her. Another thing she knew from experience. In fact, just thinking about that particular experience made her stomach feel all queer again.

Why was that?

Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, because the next thing she knew, James was standing over her, looking concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” she assured him—and herself. “Are you finished?”

“I’ve prescribed hot, damp towels for my aunts’ aches. I’m certain they shall be fine.”

She rose and walked over to where his aunts sat while their maids obligingly applied the towels. “I hope you’ll both be feeling better soon.”

“Oh, we shall,” Lady Balmforth said as her maid wrapped one of her wrists. “Our James always knows what to do. I’m sure we’ll feel better by the time Cornelia comes to fetch us in an hour. We’re going to Gillow’s to look at some new furniture for her house.”

“Your needlework is lovely. I’m having a little sewing party tomorrow afternoon, to make some baby clothes for the Foundling Hospital. Would either of you be interested in joining me?”

“Cornelia told us about your sewing parties,” Lady Avonleigh exclaimed, appearing better already. The odd gardenias-and-camphor scent was hers. “They sound delightful, my dear. I should love to attend.”

Lady Balmforth clasped her hands together so enthusiastically she lost a towel in the process. “I should love to attend, too.”

“Thank you so much. Shall I send my brother’s carriage at one o’clock?”

“Oh, no,” Lady Avonleigh said. “We have our own carriage, and John Coachman has much too much time on his hands.”

“He naps,” Lady Balmforth added. “Even more often than we do.”

Juliana noticed James and Amanda both inching toward the door. “Excellent,” she said before going after them. “I live at forty-four Berkeley Square, and I very much look forward to seeing you.”

“That was rather presumptuous,” Amanda said as they walked out to James’s carriage where Aunt Frances and Lord Malmsey were waiting.

“I disagree,” James said. “I think it was kind. My aunts were thrilled to be invited.”

Juliana smiled. “They’re very sweet.”

“And very healthy,” he said dryly. “Such a pity they don’t know it.”

“They just need something else to occupy their minds. That’s why I invited them to my party—well, besides the fact that I do need their help. And I’m thinking I should introduce them to a few more charming gentlemen.”

“I don’t believe either of them is interested in gentlemen, charming or not.”

“Have they never been wed?”

“Oh, yes. Aunt Bedelia was married four times.”

“Four!” Amanda exclaimed.

“A baron, two viscounts, and an earl. They all died,” he added, shaking his head as a footman opened the carriage door. “Poor, sweet lady.”

Juliana made a concerned noise that turned into a gasp. Inside James’s opulent carriage, her aunt was
kissing
Lord Malmsey!

“Gracious me!” Amanda cried, clearly scandalized. Not because she cared that Lord Malmsey was courting Aunt Frances, Juliana thought—after all, Amanda had given him permission to court other women. No, Amanda would have been scandalized to see
any
two people kissing. She was scared to death of kissing.

The couple jerked apart. A flush rushed up Aunt Frances’s neck and spread to her cheeks. Not a delicate flush, either—it was more like a bright red flood.

But she kept her composure. “Are your aunts feeling better?” she asked James, folding her hands in her lap.

“Remarkably.” He handed Amanda in first, then Juliana before himself. She left space for him in the middle, but it seemed there wasn’t enough, because he ended up squished against her. “To the Leicester Square Panorama,” he instructed and settled back.

They all rode in silence for a few awkward moments. James felt very warm against Juliana. Her stomach was feeling even more queer. “Lord Stafford was telling us his aunt Bedelia has been married four times,” she told her aunt.

“Oh, my,” Aunt Frances said.

After a few more awkward moments, Juliana looked up to James. “Were there no children?”

“None that lived. And Aunt Aurelia’s life has been even more tragic.”

“How many husbands did
she
have?” Amanda asked in a tone that Juliana found rather judgmental.

James didn’t seem to notice, however. “Only one, the Earl of Avonleigh. But their children failed to bring her happiness. Her eldest daughter eloped with a cousin, prompting her husband to disown the girl. Aurelia never heard from her again and learned she’d died a number of years later. Her middle child, a son, drank too much and accidentally drowned. And her youngest, another daughter, ended her own life soon after marrying. She jumped off the London Bridge, taking her unborn child with her.”

“Oh, my,” Aunt Frances said again.

“Aunt Aurelia’s husband died soon thereafter. A ‘visitation from God’ was the coroner’s official verdict, but I expect his spirit was broken.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Lord Malmsey said.

Juliana nodded, her heart twisting in sympathy. “It’s a wonder your poor aunt survived. She must be a strong lady.”

“She is. They both are. But it’s a shame they have no children or grandchildren to dote upon.”

“They have you,” she pointed out.

“I know, and I adore them. I admire their pluck.” The carriage came to a halt. “I just wish they had someone else to pluck at once in a while.”

The door opened to Leicester Square and a huge round building. Over a rather nondescript entrance, a fancy marquee said
PANORAMA
. Before it stood the duke.

Juliana was relieved to see he didn’t look annoyed. On the other hand, he didn’t look glad, either. He looked the way he usually did: detached and rather blank. His pale blue eyes calm, his expression neutral.

Everyone clambered out of the carriage. “Good afternoon, my dear,” the duke said to her. “I was very pleased to receive your invitation.”

He might try
looking
pleased, Juliana thought.

After everyone else exchanged greetings, the gentlemen bought tickets at the box office and they all proceeded inside. A long, narrow, dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, and it got even darker when the door shut behind them.

Amanda shrieked. Juliana rolled her eyes.

“There now,” a voice said, soothing Amanda. “Take my arm.”

It was the duke, not James.

James took Juliana’s arm instead. Even in the dark she knew it was James, because he smelled like starch and spice instead of eau de cologne. And because her stomach felt even queerer.

“You should be escorting Lady Amanda,” she whispered as they all groped their way down the hall, laughing and feeling their way along the walls.

“She’ll be fine,” he said.

Of course Amanda would be fine. There was nothing dangerous about a darkened, closed-in corridor. It wasn’t scary—in fact, it was rather fun. However, while the duke was very kind to soothe Amanda, James could hardly kiss her while she was with the duke. And that was the whole reason they’d come.

By the time they reached the end of the corridor, Juliana’s eyes had adjusted to the low light and she could see somewhat. A tall staircase spiraled up. And up. And up. The light in the stairwell grew a little brighter as they went.

“My knees hurt,” Amanda complained halfway up. “Can we please stop and rest?”

“Of course we can,” the duke said.

Propelled by James, Juliana passed them and kept going.

Behind her, Aunt Frances giggled. “I cannot remember the last time I turned in so many circles!”

Indeed, Juliana felt like a blindfolded child being spun around as part of a game. It was a bit disorienting. She held on to James, noticing he seemed to be limping a little more than usual. Maybe Amanda had been right that he shouldn’t have been kneeling.

Suddenly the staircase ended, and they emerged to find themselves transported to another time and place. Like magic, they’d gone from Leicester Square to Belgium in a matter of minutes.