Juliana (6 page)

“Perhaps not in so many words. But she’ll come.” Amanda
had
to come. Juliana had devised a plan. An excellent plan, which she couldn’t wait to explain—

“Ouch!” Emily hollered, sticking her pricked finger in her mouth. She really
wasn’t
very good with a needle. “This blanket is turning out dreadful.”

Juliana leaned over to inspect the girl’s handiwork. “It isn’t that bad.” The hem was rather uneven, but it wasn’t
dreadful
. Luckily, infants couldn’t criticize. “The blanket will keep a baby warm no matter what it looks like.”

“But I want it to look
good
.”

“With more practice, it will,” Corinna said. “You need to practice to become good at anything.” She pointed her needle toward an easel set up by the large picture window. Even in the dim rainy-day light, the scene on the canvas—a man pushing a laughing lady on a swing by a gleaming lake—conveyed movement, vibrancy, a sense of life. “My first painting didn’t look like that.”

Still patiently working her own needle into the little cap she was making, Alexandra smiled. “As I recall, your first painting was a willow tree that looked more like a haystack.”

“We’re none of us expert seamstresses, Miss Emily.” Aunt Frances squinted at her own handiwork through her spectacles. “I’ve only ever done samplers and embroidery. After a few more practice blankets—”

“This isn’t practice,” Juliana interrupted. “Every single item will be used.” If she was lucky, today’s efforts would produce five or six finished garments. And she needed two hundred and forty! Although it was a bit early to panic, she realized already, less than an hour into her first sewing party, that she was going to have to host many more of them than she’d anticipated. “Where is Amanda?”

Just then the knocker sounded in the foyer.

“That must be her!” The tiny frock fell to the floor as Juliana jumped up and rushed from the room.

Though their butler, Adamson, was nearly as short as she, he always managed to look dignified. “Good afternoon, Lady Amanda,” he intoned as he opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Adamson,” Amanda replied formally.

“Where on earth have you been?” Juliana asked.

“Playing chess with Aunt Mabel. I couldn’t leave in the middle of such an exciting game.”

“Exciting?” Juliana could think of little she found less exciting than chess. Even sewing was more fun. “Come into the library.”

Amanda peeked through the open door across the way. “Isn’t everyone in the drawing room?”

“Yes. That’s exactly the point.” Juliana took her in the opposite direction, closing the door behind them and ushering her friend toward two leather wingback chairs. “We must keep your engagement a secret. I’ve devised a plan to break it.”

Amanda sat and clasped her hands in her lap, suddenly looking nervous. She blew out a breath. “All right. What’s the plan?”

Picturing her sisters listening at the door—after all, she herself had instituted the practice—Juliana lowered her voice. “We shall arrange to have you compromised by a nice, eligible young man. Once the public has seen you together in a compromising position, your father will be forced to let the two of you wed.”

“A compromising position?” Amanda’s laugh, an awful guffaw like a donkey braying, made Juliana wince. “I’ve never even been kissed!”

“I haven’t been kissed, either,” Juliana said. “I’ve always warded them off.” She wished for her first kiss to be with someone she cared for, and so far, nobody had been up to snuff.

“Well, no one’s even tried with me,” Amanda said mournfully. “There’s no chance of a suitable gentleman compromising me. Not willingly, anyway.”

“I didn’t mean
un
willingly—perish the thought!” Anyhow, such a thing wouldn’t be necessary. When she was finished with Amanda, gentlemen would be falling all over themselves trying to compromise her. “Don’t fret on that matter.” She leaned closer to squeeze her hand. “Are you free tomorrow and the day after?”

“To be compromised?”

“To be fitted for a few ball gowns. You’ll require a new wardrobe, among other things. We’ll need to visit a seamstress and comb the shops.”

Amanda appeared both dubious and hopeful, which was an impressive feat. “My father did give me leave to assemble a trousseau.”

“Excellent.” There was little Juliana relished more than transforming an ugly duckling into a lovely swan. “We have a lot of work to do before Lady Hammersmithe’s ball on Saturday.”

“I cannot attend Lady Hammersmithe’s ball.”

“Of course you can. I shall summon Madame Bellefleur to trim your hair—”

“My hair has never been cut.” Amanda’s hands went protectively to her head. “And I cannot attend—”

“Ouuuccch!” The howl was so piercing, it shot from the drawing room, across the foyer, and through the library’s closed door.

Juliana bolted from her chair. Lifting her skirts, she dashed out the door. “Emily!” she shouted, running through the foyer and bursting into the drawing room. “Emily, what’s happened?”

And there she stopped, a sudden sickness in her middle, her head suddenly swimming.

Emily was
bleeding
.

“It
hurts
,” the girl wailed, bent over her hand. Tiny red spots dotted her pink skirts. Although the injury clearly wasn’t serious—they were just
tiny
spots—Juliana knew she should hurry to help. To comfort. To make everything all better.

But she couldn’t. Because the sight of those red spots seemed to make it hard to breathe.

Thank goodness everyone
else
was helping. Well, maybe not helping, precisely, but at least they weren’t riveted in place. In the scant seconds Juliana stood there—because that’s all the time it was, really—her sisters and Aunt Frances leapt up and surrounded Emily, making assorted clucking, compassionate noises.

Thankfully, that hid the sight of Emily’s wound. But all the sympathy seemed to make her sob harder. “M-my needle s-slipped. It-it didn’t just poke me this time, it caught—”

“For goodness’ sake!” Amanda snapped, pushing past Juliana and into the little cluster of females. “It’s just a little blood. Here, someone take the snake.” While Corinna moved to do so, Amanda reached for some linsey and tore off a strip, then drew Emily to her feet. “Let’s clean it up and bandage it, shall we?” she said, leading her from the room.

Juliana collapsed into a chair, her knees giving out. Which was absurd, as she well knew. Corinna teased her mercilessly on this point. How silly it was for any woman past puberty to find the sight of blood distressing. But her own monthlies never bothered her. That sort of bleeding was natural; other bleeding wasn’t.

Fortunately, Corinna and the others hadn’t seemed to notice her foolishness.

Corinna held Herman at arm’s length, looking almost as ridiculous as Juliana felt. “Why didn’t you bring Amanda straight in here?” she asked.

“I wanted to talk to her about Lady Hammersmithe’s ball on Saturday. Talk her into attending, I mean.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Alexandra asked.

Juliana shrugged—casually, she hoped. “She’s rather shy around young men. I’m helping her with a new wardrobe, which I hope will raise her confidence.”

“That’s kind of you,” Alexandra said.

Corinna looked suspicious. Or perhaps just wary of the snake. “Whyever did you feel the need to talk privately? We could have assisted in persuading her—”

“Here she is, all repaired,” Amanda announced, returning with Emily.

Emily sported a neat little linsey bandage wrapped around her finger. When she reached for Herman, Corinna didn’t hesitate to hand him over. Juliana’s sister still looked wary, though. Or suspicious.

Drat.

“Shall we get back to work?” Juliana asked cheerfully.

Emily shook her head. “I’m not sewing anymore.”

“You can start cutting the clouts,” Juliana suggested, handing her a bundle of cotton fabric, a pair of scissors, and a simple pattern. She hoped that when the cut rectangles were folded and sewn, they would turn out the right size to cover a baby’s bottom. Refusing to even
think
about doing that a hundred times, she gave Emily’s half-finished blanket to Amanda. “Here. This is almost done.”

It wasn’t, of course, and Amanda proved to be no handier with a needle than the rest of them. Not only was Juliana going to have to host more sewing parties, she would also need to invite more friends—ideally some who had sewn more than samplers. “I hope you’ll all help me recruit more ladies at Almack’s tonight.”

“I’m not attending,” Alexandra said. “Since Parliament isn’t sitting, Tristan wants to stay home, just the two of us.”

Juliana was looking forward to dancing, of course, but still, she envied her sister. Since Almack’s was essentially a matrimonial bazaar, Alexandra could afford to skip the mayhem and spend a pleasant evening at home instead. At the rate Juliana
wasn’t
finding a husband, she began to wonder if she’d ever have that luxury.

Corinna looked up from the petticoat she was stitching. Suspiciously. “Amanda, you’ll be attending Almack’s, won’t you?”

“No,” Amanda said. Juliana held her breath, half expecting her to blurt out the news of her engagement. Instead, Amanda added, “Aunt Mabel isn’t feeling up to chaperoning me these days.”

“Is it the asthma again?” Aunt Frances sighed. “Poor Lady Mabel. I shall have to pay her a call.”

“She’d appreciate that very much,” Amanda said, hemming her blanket almost as crookedly as Emily.

If anything, Corinna looked even more suspicious. “But Juliana said you’re going to Lady Hammersmithe’s ball.”

“As I tried to explain to her, I don’t expect Aunt Mabel will be well enough by Saturday, either. The London air—”

“Aunt Frances can chaperone you along with us,” Juliana said.

Amanda’s needle slowed—not that it had been moving especially quickly in the first place. “There’s no point in going. No one will ask me to dance anyway.”

“Oh, yes, they will.” Alexandra smiled down at her handiwork. “Juliana will teach you
the look
.”

Now Amanda’s needle stopped. “What look?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Juliana looked up from her little frock. “First you choose a fellow you wish to entice—”

“Entice?” Amanda’s cheeks were pink.

“Enticement is the objective of
the look
. Trust me, should you do it properly, men are guaranteed to fall at your feet.”

“Are they?”

“Positively,” Alexandra declared.

Amanda looked from one sister to the other. “I’m listening.”

“Excellent. First you choose a fellow and command his gaze.” Juliana focused on Amanda, a beguiling look in her eyes.

The older girl swallowed hard. “And then?”

“Glance down, bowing your head a little to display your lashes against your cheeks. Then sweep your eyelids up, gaze at him full on again, and slowly—very slowly—curve your lips in a smile.”

Amanda’s forehead crinkled. “Show me again.”

“Watch closely.” Juliana took her time with the second demonstration.

Corinna snickered, but Amanda and Emily both sighed. “Can I learn, too?” Emily asked.

“It’s never too early to begin practicing. Amanda, give it a try.”

Amanda stared hard at Juliana, closed her eyes, popped them open, and stretched her mouth into a wide grin.

Juliana suppressed a sigh of her own. This was going to be harder than she’d thought.

“I REALLY MUST
be on my way, Aunt Aurelia.” James gave a forced smile. “You’re healthy as the day you were born.”

“My heart was paining me so.” Plump but elegant nonetheless, Aurelia reclined on her peach-draped bed. Her entire house was decorated in peach. In fact, sometimes when James found himself here—which he did far too often—he felt he was
in
a peach. “I tell you I could barely breathe,” she continued. “Won’t you check it with that ingenious instrument of yours?”

“If you insist.” Suppressing a sigh, he opened his black leather bag and drew out the ingenious instrument, which was simply a foot-long cylinder of wood. One end had a hole to place against the ear, and the inside was hollowed out in the shape of a cone. This past March, a young French physician named Laennec had invented the instrument and christened it the stethoscope, derived from the Greek words for “I see” and “the chest.”

James placed the wider end of the cone over his aunt’s heart. Her scent, an unappealing combination of camphor and gardenias, wafted over him, and he gained a sudden appreciation for Laennec, Frenchman though he was. Without the stethoscope, James would have had to press his ear directly against Aunt Aurelia’s over-perfumed bosom.

Her heartbeat sounded strong through the tube, the thump-
thump
clear and distinct. “Regular as Grandmother’s clock,” he assured her.

“You’re certain?” She shook her coiffed gray head in disbelief. “And my lungs?”

“Sit up, if you will.” Bracing a hand on the headboard, he applied the stethoscope to her corseted back. “Breathe in,” he said as patiently as he could. “Out. In. Perfect. As I said, you’re healthy as a newborn babe.” He dropped the instrument back in his bag and fastened the clasp. “Now I really must leave, Auntie.”