Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2) Page 3

  Utilizing the vast fortune left to him, James had opened a facility in London where children whose families were too poor to pay for doctors could get smallpox vaccinations, an endeavor dear to his heart. Life had been good again. And he and his wife were expecting a baby, their first child.

  What man wouldn't have been happy?

  Then his wife had died in childbirth, and their baby, born too early, had died along with her. All the physicians, James included, hadn't made a bit of a difference. And James had wondered if he'd ever be happy again.

  Now, two years later, he was still wondering. But his mother was pressuring him to remarry and sire some heirs, and although he didn't expect to find happiness or love again, he figured he might as well at least consider making her happy. She was a good, caring mother, after all, and perhaps a wife, even one not loved, would ease some of the loneliness he'd suffered these two years past. So he'd allowed himself to be dragged to this ball. And now he forced himself to smile and answer Cainewood.

  "Yes, I'm an earl. And I'd be pleased to meet your sister."

  Cainewood wasted no time marching him across the room and introducing him to both of his sisters. As James bowed over Juliana's hand, he caught himself gazing into dancing eyes that were full of life. He'd thought he'd be immune to Cainewood's sister, so he found himself surprised. Or perhaps shocked would be a better word.

  And it felt wrong somehow.

  But Cainewood's sister was a pretty thing, and he couldn't seem to wrench his gaze from those eyes. Green eyes. No, blue. He couldn't decide. They seemed to change as he watched.

  "Will you honor me with a dance?" he asked, bemused.

  "It would be my pleasure," she assured him.

  He hadn't danced since his wife died. He wondered if he remembered how. But there was a waltz playing, and Juliana fairly melted into his arms.

  He remembered.

  "What color are your eyes?" he asked.

  She laughed, a joyful, tinkling sound. "Hazel. Why?"

  "I couldn't tell. They looked green at first, but now they look blue."

  "Well, they're hazel," Juliana repeated, wishing he would stop staring at them. It seemed almost as though he could see right through them, as though he could see into her head. As though he could glimpse her very soul. And that was an unnerving thought, no matter that she had nothing to hide.

  She glanced away, her gaze landing on her married sister. Alexandra had come to town for the season while her new husband claimed his seat in the House of Lords. How happy they looked dancing together, Alexandra's dark eyes locked on Tristan's steady gray gaze. Their road to romance had been a rocky one, but they'd been fated to be together from the first—and Juliana had known that, of course.

  If only she could find such a love for herself.

  Still feeling Lord Stafford's gaze on her, she shifted in his arms and met his eyes, mentally daring him to look away. He didn't. His eyes were a warm brown, reminding her of chocolate. She loved chocolate. But she had to look up to see those eyes. Way up.

  She could get a crick in her neck dancing with such a man.

  "I haven't seen you at any other balls," she commented. "You must take your duty to Parliament seriously."

  The corners of those warm eyes crinkled when he smiled. "That and my profession."

  "Your profession?"

  "I'm a physician."

  "I thought you were an earl," she said.

  One of his dark brows went up. "Can I not be both?"

  "Of course you can," she said quickly, although she'd never heard of an earl-physician. "What do you do, exactly? Have you many patients?"

  "Some, although I'm not taking on any new ones. Most of my time is spent at my facility, the New Hope Institute."

  "New Hope," she mused. "I've heard of that. Something to do with smallpox?"

  "I provide vaccinations, yes. To anyone willing to receive one, regardless of the ability to pay."

  "That sounds like very important work," she allowed. He was a most unusual man. And an excellent dancer. Having noticed a slight limp as he'd initially approached her, she wouldn't have thought he'd dance so gracefully.

  However, much as she enjoyed dancing, finding a man who excelled at it wasn't her priority. After all, it wasn't as though she had a shortage of dance invitations—she danced her feet off at every ball, with or without Griffin in attendance. She had no problem attracting men; the problem was finding one she considered husband material. And Lord Stafford had many shortcomings.

  When the music came to an end, he led her by the hand off the dance floor. "It was a pleasure, my lady."

  His voice was warm like his eyes, low and smooth, reminding her again of rich chocolate. The very sound of it seemed to weaken her knees. "Thank you," she said.

  The musicians struck up a country dance, and as he was still holding her hand, she half expected him to lead her straight back to the dance floor. Instead, he raised her fingers toward his mouth. Then, rather than pucker his lips in the customary salute in the air above her hand, he lowered them to actually touch her glove.

  Scandalous. She could have sworn she felt the kiss through the white silk. A tingly sensation.

  "Thank you," she repeated more faintly.

  "Thank you," he echoed with a smile.

  A smile that looked as dazed as she felt.

  No sooner had he turned to leave than Griffin descended, snapping her back to reality. "Well?" he asked.

  She watched Lord Stafford walk away, shoulders broad beneath his tailcoat. Loose, tousled curls grazed his black velvet collar. Many fashionable men achieved a similar look with pomade and curl papers, but his hair looked naturally tousled. Like he was too busy to bother to control it.

  "He's too dark," she said.

  "Pardon?"

  "You know I prefer golden-haired men. And he's entirely too tall—I felt like a child dancing with him."

  Griffin looked down on her, both literally and figuratively. "Face it, Juliana—you're short."

  As though she hadn't noticed most of the world towered over her. "He works," she said. "He has a profession."

  "And this makes him unacceptable as a husband?"

  "Should I marry him, he wouldn't have any time for me." She wanted a grand love, like Alexandra and Tristan's; she wanted a husband who loved her to distraction. She wanted endless hours spent in passion with the man she decided to marry. And for heaven's sake, this man couldn't even find a few minutes to comb his hair. "I'm sorry, but he just won't do."

  The fact that Lord Stafford's work was important was hardly a mitigating factor—and the fact that her heart had stuttered when he'd so impertinently kissed her hand had no bearing whatsoever.

  Griffin released a long-suffering sigh. "I shall keep looking."

  "You do that," she said, patting his arm and silently wishing him luck. The spice cakes had clearly been a waste. Poor Griffin. "In the meantime, I must speak with Alexandra."

  She scanned the ballroom in search of her older sister and finally found her talking to Aunt Frances.

  "Who was that you were dancing with?" Alexandra asked as she approached.

  "Lord Stafford."

  "He's very handsome."

  "His hair is too dark." At Alexandra's blank look, Juliana shrugged. "Can you come to the Berkeley Square house this Wednesday afternoon?"

  "I expect so. Why?"

  "I need help making clothes for the Foundling Hospital babies."

  "Your newest project, I take it?" Alexandra's brown eyes sparkled with mischief. "What have you got yourself into this time?"

  If only she knew. "Corinna wanted to see the Hospital's art gallery, but oh, the poor foundlings were heartbreaking. And their mothers." Just thinking back on the balloting, Juliana wanted to cry. "I must do something to help them."

  "Of course you must," Aunt Frances said. "With you, it's always something."

  That much was true; Juliana couldn't deny it. "And what does that make me?" she wondered. "Impulsive?
Melodramatic? Judgmental, overwrought, overemotional?" She stopped there, knowing she was all of those and more. Honestly, she could go on and on.

  Which was why she wanted to hug Alexandra when she said, "No. That makes you compassionate, giving, hopeful. Kind and unselfish and vulnerable." Her perfect, responsible, married sister gifted her with a quiet smile. "It makes you lovable, Juliana. That's what it makes you the most."

  She did hug her sister then, and her aunt, too, her heart not broken now but aching with warmth and affection instead. Yet all the while she was wondering: If I'm so lovable, why can't I find a husband to love?

  FOUR

  "THIS PINK IS pretty," Emily said Monday at Grafton House, a draper's shop in New Bond Street.

  "It is," Juliana agreed, watching a snooty woman give the girl and her ever-present snake a wide berth. "But silk isn't sturdy enough for babies. And pink won't do." She fingered a length of thick white wool. "The Governors want white, so all the clothes will suit both girls and boys."

  Emily cocked her golden head. "Won't the babies be overly warm in frocks made of that?"

  "I'm considering this for the blankets. We'll buy linsey for the frocks."

  "I'll look for linsey, then," Emily said and walked away.

  Juliana nodded absently, deciding the wool would do fine. She was about to ask the price when she heard a little shriek, followed by a familiar voice. "Gracious me, Miss Neville! Are you still carrying that varmint everywhere?"

  Juliana turned, surprised to see another Berkeley Square neighbor, Lady Amanda Wolverston.

  Young Emily looked much more affronted than surprised, however. "Herman isn't a varmint," she protested, returning to slip her hand into Juliana's. "He's a pet."

  "Not a very proper one," Lady Amanda said.

  Although she agreed, Juliana squeezed Emily's hand. Amanda could sometimes be a bit too proper. But she and Amanda had grown up as neighbors and played together as small children, so Juliana considered her a good friend.

  "I'm so glad you've come to town," she told her with a smile. "I've invited my sisters to a little sewing party on Wednesday afternoon, to make some clothing for the Foundling Hospital babies. I do hope you'll join us."

  Juliana's tall blond friend was slouching—a habitual posture for her. But she seemed to be slouching even more than normal, and she looked uncommonly pale.

  Blinking, Juliana peered up at Amanda's wan face. "Where have you been hiding all season?"

  "In the countryside. My father is still excavating the Roman ruins he found on the estate." Amanda gestured toward a chair in a corner of the shop, where her aunt sat primly. "Aunt Mabel came with me, which was very kind. She didn't want to come to town this year at all."

  A slight, pinch-faced woman in a baggy gown, the poor lady was as pink-cheeked as Amanda was pale. She seemed to be wheezing a little. "You know she's always suffered from asthma," Juliana said sympathetically, vaguely musing that Amanda must have inherited her fashion sense—or rather, lack thereof—from her aunt. "The London air doesn't agree with her. However did you persuade her to come?"

  "Father persuaded her. Or rather, he ordered her." Amanda took a deep breath. "Because…" Her gaze slid to Emily and back, wordlessly telling Juliana she had something to confide.

  Dying to hear the news, Juliana squeezed the little girl's hand again. "Could you do me an important favor, sweetheart, and see if you can find that linsey?"

  "All right," Emily said, happily wandering off.

  "Well?" Juliana asked when Emily was out of earshot.

  Amanda's voice dropped to a whisper. "Father has arranged my marriage. He sent me and Aunt Mabel to put together a trousseau, which is why I'm here at Grafton Hou—"

  "He's arranged your marriage?" Juliana interrupted. "To whom?"

  Amanda closed her blue-gray eyes for a moment and released a slow breath before she reopened them. "Lord Malmsey," she said despondently.

  "Lord Malmsey?"

  The man was shorter than Amanda, quiet, mild-mannered, and meek. But the predominant image in Juliana's mind was that of a creased forehead beneath a receding hairline.

  "The man must be forty, at least!"

  "Forty-five," Amanda corrected. Nearly twice her age. She was a year older than Juliana, which made her all of twenty-three. "I met with him last evening—not that either of us had much to say to each other. We're to be married four weeks from Saturday, in a private ceremony by special license."

  The same day as the next Foundling Hospital intake, when Juliana had to have all the baby clothes ready. Amanda looked to be in the dismals, which was no wonder. "Can you refuse to wed him?"

  She shook her head. "Father has made it clear that if I fail to go through with this wedding, he'll disinherit me—which would leave me slim chances of ever wedding at all."

  It was on the tip of Juliana's tongue to argue the point, but she wasn't one to lie—not outright, anyway—and Amanda was only stating the truth. In five seasons, no one else had offered for her, and without her substantial inheritance, it was unlikely any man ever would.

  "I'm miserable," Amanda added unnecessarily.

  One thing Juliana was sure of: Griffin would never expect her to wed other than where her heart led her. For that, she was grateful. "Have you told your father how you feel?"

  "Countless times. My protests fall on deaf ears. Nothing I can say will make him breach a contract. His honor is more important to him than my happiness."

  Lord Wolverston had always been rather emotionless and uncaring, but this went beyond that. It was downright cruel. "There's nothing at all honorable about putting his reputation before his own daughter. He should want to see you in love."

  "He believes that when it comes to marriage, there are much more important matters to consider."

  Juliana couldn't disagree more—concerning her own marriage, at least. Her parents had wed for practical reasons, and her mother had never known true happiness. While she did realize that much of society had other priorities for evaluating matches, for her, love came first.

  Amanda slouched even more. "He's pleased beyond belief to have an offer for my hand at all, let alone one from a baron. I suppose he's right when he says I'm lucky Lord Malmsey is willing to marry me."

  "Amanda!"

  "I'm a confirmed wallflower, Juliana."

  Amanda did look rather plain, but Juliana had always assumed that was because her mother had died giving birth to her. Much like little Emily, she'd grown up without anyone to offer guidance. Her Aunt Mabel was certainly no help. Amanda wore dowdy clothes in all the wrong colors, her brows were too heavy, her blond hair was pulled back into an excruciatingly tight braided bun, and she never met anyone's eyes—not even Juliana's now. Her blue-gray gaze was focused in the vicinity of her unfashionably shod feet.

  In short, Amanda was a project just waiting to be tackled.

  "Who else knows about your engagement?" Juliana asked.

  "We arrived only yesterday. You're the first one I've told."

  "Excellent." Lord Malmsey wasn't the type to spread news, either. Although the man was a fixture at society gatherings, Juliana couldn't recall more than a dozen words ever leaving his mouth. "Don't tell anyone else. I shall save you from this dismal fate."

  The older girl glanced up. "How? Do you truly believe it possible?"

  "Without a doubt." Juliana had never been one to disregard anyone in need. "Let me think on the matter."

  "Look here, Lady Juliana!" Emily returned, holding forth Herman coiled upon an armful of white fabric.

  "Perfect, sweetheart." Juliana smiled, hoping the clerk wouldn't faint when she asked for a length to be cut. Or maybe hoping the clerk would faint, because that might convince the girl, once and for all, that carrying a snake around wasn't a good idea. She looked back to Amanda. "You'll come to the sewing party Wednesday, won't you? One o'clock. By the time you arrive, I'm certain to have a solution."

  FIVE

  "WHERE IS Amanda?" Juliana said We
dnesday afternoon in the drawing room.

  Rain pattered outside the windows. "You've asked that more times than Emily's pricked herself," Alexandra observed as she patiently knotted a thread.

  Alexandra could afford to be patient, Juliana thought, stitching a tiny frock more frantically than patiently. Alexandra wasn't the one who'd promised to deliver twenty dozen articles of baby clothing in one short month. "Amanda said she'd be here."

  "No, she didn't," Emily pointed out, rearranging Herman on her shoulders. Unfortunately, the clerk at Grafton House hadn't fainted. She'd only glared, which had done little toward convincing Emily to part with the dratted snake. "You invited her, but she never actually said she would come."

  "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 exclaimed for the fifth time, 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 babies couldn't criticize. "The blanket will keep an infant 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 stopped sewing long enough to gesture 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 reflective 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. "If I recall correctly, your first painting was a willow tree that looked more like a haystack."