TemptingJuliana (21 page)

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

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

Cornelia 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. Yes, 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 marry.

“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, while he wondered if she’d make the connection, if she’d realize 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. Oddly enough, though, it seemed to smell faintly of camphor. “Isn’t this exquisite?”

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

“There’s no need to worry.” She sniffed the embroidery hoop before she set it back down. Definitely camphor. “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. “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. “There’s nothing he won’t do for someone he cares for,” Juliana said, 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 very 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. Parts of the rotunda are rumored to be very dark.” James would take advantage of the darkness—Juliana knew this from experience.

“What if I don’t like his kisses?”

Poor Amanda seemed even more afraid of kissing than before. The failed trick must have traumatized her. “You’ll love his kisses,” she 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 am 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 camphor smell was hers—along with a rather strong scent of gardenias. “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 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 as a footman opened the carriage door. “That sweet old lady must be toxic.”

Juliana started to laugh, but ended up gasping instead. 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 Frances, Juliana thought. After all, Amanda wanted to marry James; she’d given Lord Malmsey permission to court other women; she’d told him she was going to find a way out of their marriage. Amanda would have been scandalized to see
any
two people kissing. She was scared to death of kisses.

The older couple jerked apart. A flush rushed up 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 was not 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 Frances.

“Oh, my,” 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 disapproving.

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 accidently 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,” 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. “It’s a wonder your aunt survived.”

“She’s a strong lady. They both are. 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 he didn’t look perturbed. On the other hand, he didn’t look happy, either. He looked the way he usually did.

Reserved. And rather bland. His pale blue eyes calm, his expression pleasant.

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

After everyone else exchanged greetings, the men 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.

“There now,” a voice said, soothing her. “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 soap and starch 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. The duke was very kind to soothe her. It was somewhat of a shock going from the busy, open square to the dim, closed-in corridor, but it wasn’t really scary. In fact, it was sort of fun. However, James could hardly kiss Amanda while she was with the duke, and that wasn’t a good thing.

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 not stop and rest?”

“Of course we can,” the duke said.

Propelled by James, Juliana passed them and kept going.

Behind her, 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 tighter to James, noticing he seemed to be limping a little more than usual. Maybe Amanda had been right when she said 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.

Feeling like she was still spinning, Juliana wormed her way through the crowd and gripped the platform’s rail. All around her, above and below, a battlefield stretched miles into the distance. “Amazing,” James breathed behind her.

It was overwhelming. She knew the panorama was only a giant painting, but everything in the rotunda was
designed to trick the eyes. Indirect illumination, provided by narrow skylights beneath the edge of the domed ceiling, made it look like outdoors at dusk. Far below, a three-dimensional terrain stretched from under the platform up to the walls, filled with lifelike vegetation, objects, and figures that blended into the picture, making everything seem real.

And all around, the Battle of Waterloo raged.

Chaos reigned. Cavalrymen charged on horses with bayoneted infantry at their backs. Officers gave orders, soldiers aided the fallen, smoke rose from cannons in a stand of trees. The ground was low in places, muddy in others, fenced and open, brown and green, flat and rough and everything in between. Fields that should have been smooth were littered with the killed and wounded, the contents of their knapsacks strewn all over. As far as the eye could see, men scrambled and fought, their guns and swords flashing in the glistening haze made by spent artillery.

When Juliana finally felt steady enough to release the rail, she edged sideways around the platform, working her way through the other milling spectators. It seemed they were all standing in a pavilion on the top of a small hill in the center of the battle. The soldiers looked wet, dirty, and blue with cold. She could have sworn she saw a mounted officer raise a hat to signal an attack. A shiver ran down her spine.

“I feel seasick,” Frances said from somewhere close on the platform.

“Hold on to me,” Lord Malmsey said. “You have delicate nerves, my love.”

His love?
Blinking in the twilight, Juliana tore her gaze from the panorama and turned toward the voices.

But the couple was no longer nearby.