Juliana (20 page)

“Yes, a haze. Or a fog, if you will, or perhaps it’s some sort of dust, since it appears to be dry. Unlike the way the sun easily dissipates a moist fog, its warmth seems to have little effect on this haze. Therefore it reasonably follows that its rays aren’t reaching the earth and warming the surface as usual.”

“And to what do you attribute this haze?” Occlestone demanded.

“That I couldn’t tell you. I’m a physician, not a meteorologist. But I see no reason to jump to the conclusion that the condition will continue indefinitely.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawkridge tilt his head, as if intrigued by the idea.

“Do you expect there’s a haze above America as well? I think not.” Occlestone’s pinkish face was turning rather purple. “I was forced to listen to your two-hour speech in Parliament, Stafford, but I don’t have to listen to you here.” And with that, he stalked off, muttering so loudly he was audible halfway across the ballroom.

Brows raised all around, the group watched him go. Heat was crawling up James’s neck.

Hawkridge broke the silence. “For heaven’s sake,” he crowed, thumping James companionably on the back. “It’s no more absurd than the rest of your harebrained theories!”

The other men laughed, and after a moment of uncertainty James joined in.

“Good evening, Tristan,” a familiar feminine voice said behind them.

James turned to see Juliana, dressed in such a cheerful bright yellow she seemed to make up for all the missing sunshine. But his sunny mood evaporated as he watched Hawkridge kiss her hand and she smiled. “You’re looking lovely tonight, Juliana.”

And they’d addressed each other by their given names. Just how familiar
were
these two?

They moved a short distance to confer together, and James couldn’t hear what was said next. He turned away, telling himself he had no business caring what their relationship might be. Juliana was entitled to genuine suitors. And at least Hawkridge seemed far superior to the duke, being neither a prig nor a turd. In fact, they might be quite well suited—

“Are you all right, James?” Juliana asked.

He blinked. “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You just looked…odd.”

He shrugged. “Hawkridge is a fine fellow, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I think so, too. It’s a shame Tristan was shunned by society for so long. I’m so glad to him finally receiving the respect he deserves. Thank goodness for Alexandra.”

“Alexandra?”

“My older sister. His wife. She cleared his name of the scandal.”

“Oh.” Whatever scandal had afflicted Hawkridge, it must have happened while James was preoccupied by grief. Feeling an absurd rush of relief, it was all he could do to hold back a grin. Hawkridge wasn’t Juliana’s suitor—he was her
brother-in-law
. “I didn’t realize he was married to your sister.”

“I forgot you’ve met only Corinna. I shall have to introduce you to Alexandra.” She caught sight of someone and frowned. “That man doesn’t like you much, does he?”

James followed her gaze. “Occlestone?” He hadn’t realized she’d overheard their conversation. “He’s hated me since our school days. But I don’t like him much, either, so we’re even.”

“Two hours,” she said, looking impressed. “How was your speech received? Other than by Lord Occlestone, I mean.”

He sighed. “I don’t think the House of Lords is willing to spend more money fighting smallpox. They awarded two grants to fund Edward Jenner’s research—in 1802 and again in 1806—and they consider that enough. And there are others who object to the very concept of mandatory vaccination. They believe forcing people to undergo the treatment is a violation of civil liberty.”

“I never thought of it that way,” she said.

He nodded. “It’s not an unreasonable objection.” It seemed very little in this world was black and white. “But I do wish there was more support for public funding to help eradicate the disease.”

“Has your bill come to a vote?”

“Not yet, but I fear I know the outcome already.” His two-hour speech had been followed by four hours of debate—mostly not in his favor. “I shall try again next year. Perhaps for the funding only.”

“But will money alone help? You’re already paying for other people’s vaccinations.”

“Only here in London. My income, after all, is generous but not unlimited. And government funds could pay for more than just doctors and supplies—they could also finance education. If everyone learned the benefits of immunization and decided to have their children vaccinated, the end result would be the same as if it were compulsory.” Thinking this was quite a serious discussion for a ball, he smiled and changed the subject. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

“Of course. I didn’t see you arrive.”

“That’s because you were dancing with Castleton.” The turd had looked as stuffy as ever. “Can I convince you to dance with me instead?”

“You’re here to dance with Lady Amanda,” she reminded him. “Did you eat the macaroons before you came?”

“Absolutely. I assure you, I shall have enough energy to dance with you both.”

“Very well,” she said with a laugh. “We can talk about your strategy as we dance.”

James didn’t want to talk strategy. But he did want to get close to Juliana and hopefully make more progress toward kissing her. So he mumbled something that sounded like agreement and drew her toward the dance floor.

“SO,” JULIANA
said to James as they waltzed, “have you decided how you’re going to ask Lady Amanda’s permission to court her?”

He pulled her closer. “I thought I’d start with ‘May I have this dance?’ and take it from there.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly gallant.”

“I think it will work,” he said dismissively. “After all, I bought her several gifts.” He pulled her closer still, until their bodies were nearly touching, which seemed to spark an odd tingling sensation. “Have I sent her all of the gifts yet, or just some?”

“Only the fan and the gloves so far,” she said, his hand trailing slowly down her back in a thoroughly distracting manner. “And the flowers, of course. You’ll send the rest next week.”

“You’ll see to that, I presume,” he said dryly as his hand slid back up. “Sending the gifts is a very gallant gesture, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I suggested them.”

“Well, then,” he said, his fingers skimming down again and making her feel lightheaded, “shouldn’t that be enough? They do say that actions speak louder than words.”

His
actions spoke volumes—but in a language Juliana didn’t understand. She couldn’t imagine what he meant by touching her like this while they discussed his courtship of another girl. For that matter, she couldn’t think what
she
meant by allowing it to continue.

But there was one thing she did know—if James asked Amanda to dance and touched her this way, made her feel this way, she was
sure
to accept his suit. Why, if it were Juliana in her friend’s place,
she
might be tempted to propose to
him.

What an absurd thought! Juliana nearly giggled aloud, but stopped herself, fearing laughter might lead to awkward questions from James. Hilarity aside, the important point was: her project was all but guaranteed to succeed!

As the waltz came to an end, she noticed her older sister conversing with Amanda. “There’s Alexandra now,” she said, maneuvering so that James would lead her off the dance floor in their direction. “Let me introduce you.”

James told Alexandra he’d been delighted to learn Lord Hawkridge had wed—in fact, he seemed so delighted that Juliana supposed they must have been quite close friends at Oxford—and Alexandra was glad to meet the gentleman who’d been discussed so avidly at Juliana’s sewing parties, although she didn’t say so, of course.

After the introductions were complete, it was a simple matter to suggest that James and Amanda dance. Unfortunately, the musicians struck up a country tune, not a waltz, but the two of them headed off, looking as good together as ever. They were both tall, and James’s dark handsomeness contrasted with Amanda’s pale beauty. Anyone would agree they made a charming couple.

Juliana spotted James’s mother gazing happily toward her son, clearly pleased to see him with a lady as lovely as Amanda. Lady Stafford looked different tonight—or younger, maybe—wearing a fashionable dress of deep rose with almond trim. Juliana recalled seeing something similar in the latest issue of
La Belle Assemblée.
Remembering that James wanted his mother to dance, she looked around for an eligible gentleman and found one nearby.

“Lord Cavanaugh,” she said, smiling when he shifted to face her. A dapper widower in his mid-fifties with a patrician nose and silver hair, he was ideal for Lady Stafford. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

He grinned down at her, looking surprised. Doubtless he wasn’t used to being addressed by so young a lady. “Very much, Lady Juliana. And you?”

“Very much as well.” She started edging toward James’s mother. “Have you been dancing much tonight?”

“Not yet,” he said, interpreting her question as an invitation, just as she’d intended. “But I’d be honored to—”

“Excellent,” she said, walking him right up to Lady Stafford. “Good evening, Lady Stafford.”

James’s mother turned, the smile still on her face. “Good evening, Lady Juliana.”

“Your dress is beautiful. Is it new?”

Her warm brown eyes, so like her son’s, sparkled much more than Amanda’s. She reached to touch Juliana’s arm. “Why, thank you, and yes, it is.”

“I believe you know Lord Cavanaugh?” Juliana smiled in the man’s direction. “He would love to dance with you. I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves,” she added and sailed off.

Corinna stepped into her path. “Very smooth, Juliana.”

Since she was so happy with the way everything was going, she ignored her sister’s sarcasm. “Thank you.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that some people might not appreciate your meddling?”

“I’m not meddling. I’m helping.” She gestured toward the dance floor, where Lady Stafford was performing a quadrille with Lord Cavanaugh. “They’re both smiling.”

“They’re being polite.”

“They’re happy. He’s a wealthy widower; she’s a lonely widow. Why shouldn’t they be happy to dance together?”

“Maybe because you pushed them into it?”

“Some people need a little pushing.” She eyed her sister, thinking she looked a bit lonely. “Shall I find a dance partner for you?”

“Holy Hannah,” Corinna said and hurried off.

Juliana looked back to the dance floor. No matter what her sister said, it was obvious Lord Cavanaugh and James’s mother were thoroughly enjoying their dance. And Lord Malmsey and Aunt Frances were dancing again, their eyes locked on each other in a way that made Juliana sigh with envy. If only the duke would look at her like that. Well, maybe he would now, having eaten the macaroons.

She was looking around for him when Amanda sidled up. “I talked to Lord Malmsey.”

“About what?” Juliana demanded, picturing her giving him a piece of her mind about dancing with Aunt Frances.

But Amanda surprised her. “About our betrothal. You were right—I had no call to disapprove of him dancing with another woman. I told him that I understand his change of heart, and feel the same, and I’m going to find a way out of the marriage that will leave him with his honor intact.”

Juliana slumped in relief. “You’ve decided to marry Lord Stafford, then.”

Amanda shrugged. “I’m still not struck by love.”

Impossible. “Did Lord Stafford touch you?” Juliana asked.

“Touch me? He touched my hand, of course, during the dance when we progressed.”

“But nothing else? Nothing more…amorous?”

“Amorous?” Amanda’s eyes widened. “I should hope not! It’s not as though we’re engaged.”

They’d never
get
engaged if she didn’t let him touch her! “The plan was to find someone willing to compromise you,” Juliana reminded her. “And some touching, after all, will be necessary in order to convince your father that you’re compromised. Perhaps a little experimentation would be wise.”

Amanda appeared to quail at the very idea. “It’s too soon. I’ve yet to decide if Lord Stafford is the young man I wish to have compromise me.”

“Well, your wedding is only three weeks off. You’d best make your decision quickly, or it will be Lord Malmsey touching you instead of someone of your own choosing.”

The poor girl’s face went white, and Juliana chided herself for the unfeeling remark. “We’ll find someone,” she soothed, reaching to squeeze Amanda’s hand. “I’m just not sure it’s realistic to expect to be struck by love in so little time.”

Amanda bit her lip, looking more reserved than ever. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“If you’d allow Lord Stafford to touch you, that might help.”

“He hasn’t tried,” Amanda said.

Surely the macaroons’ effects hadn’t worn off that quickly? “Perhaps if you were a bit more inviting.”

“I’ll try.” Amanda fiddled with her fan. “Do you enjoy it when the duke touches you?”

“Very much,” Juliana assured her, wishing the duke had actually touched her so she wouldn’t have to fib. “Listen. The musicians are starting a waltz. That’s an excellent dance for touching.”