He looked back to her hands, which were rubbing her middle now. "You're with child, aren't you?" he suddenly realized, even though her belly looked flat.
After all, that was the reason his last assistant had left.
She nodded miserably, with the longest, most pathetic sniffle yet.
"And you're not wed, of course," he surmised less than brilliantly. After all, she was Miss Chumford.
This time she nodded and words tumbled out of her mouth. "Papa will k-kill me, or at least throw me out of the house. Harry, my…the f-father of my child, cannot afford a home of his own. We shall have to live with his p-parents, and his mother hates me, and his father—"
"Your Harry is willing to marry you?" James interrupted. "To take responsibility for his offspring?"
She nodded again, still blubbering. "H-Harry is a good man, m-my lord, and a hard worker. B-but—"
"Wait here, Miss Chumford." He could take no more of her tears. There were plenty of things to be miserable about that couldn't be fixed. Fixing this would be a simple enough matter.
He had a small safe in his private office, from which he withdrew fifty pounds. A pittance to him, but enough to cover a small family's rent and food for two years or more. It would provide Miss Chumford and her baby's father with a start, and should Harry be as good a man and hardworking as she claimed, he and his new wife and child would weather this disaster quite well.
After Miss Chumford left—tearfully blubbering her thanks—James sighed and lettered a HELP WANTED sign, propped it in the Institute's front window, and settled down behind the counter for what he knew from experience was likely to be many hours spent interviewing candidates.
Well, at least his mother wouldn't be able to drag him to Almack's tonight.
SEVEN
TRIFLE
Take yokes of four egges and a pinte of thicke Creame, and season it with Sugar and Ginger and Rosewater, so stirre it as you would then have it and make it warme on a chafing dishe and coales, and after put it into a Silver piece or a Bowle, and so serve it to the board.
Extra-strong Rosewater will put Roses into your cheeks.
—Lady Jewel Chase, 1687
OVER THE NEXT two days, Juliana helped Amanda order an entire new wardrobe. They shopped for cosmetics, hats, shoes, hosiery, and other assorted fripperies. They practiced posture and walking, devised new alluring smiles, and perfected the look. Juliana taught Amanda how to apply the cosmetics so skillfully that no one would notice she was wearing any. She plucked Amanda's heavy brows, hardening her heart to the older girl's squeals of pain and protest—after all, all but the luckiest of women suffered for their beauty.
With each hour, Amanda's confidence grew, as did Juliana's certainty that her plan was going to work.
At last, Saturday dawned.
Juliana dragged Corinna out of bed early—at noon—to help her make trifle before Amanda arrived to dress for Lady Hammersmithe's ball. Unfortunately, Corinna was hopeless in the kitchen on the best of days. And considering she'd stayed up until seven o'clock in the morning to finish a painting, this day wasn't her best.
"My arm hurts," she complained. "And I'm tired."
"Just keep beating those eggs until they're creamy, please." Juliana added two more handfuls of rose petals to the water she had boiled. She was determined to make sure Amanda's cheeks would be nice and rosy. "I cannot understand why you won't go to bed at a reasonable hour."
"I'm not a reasonable person—I'm an artist," Corinna reminded her. "I cannot understand why you won't ask a kitchen maid to beat these eggs."
Juliana consulted their family's heirloom cookbook, an ancient volume to which each lady in the family had traditionally added a recipe every Christmas since the seventeenth century. Many of the sweets were thought to be magic charms. She poured the rosewater into a pot of cream and sprinkled it with a bit of ginger. "How many times must I tell you that the Chase family recipes must be made by Chase family members if they're to work?"
Corinna rolled her eyes. "You and your traditions. I cannot countenance why you and Alexandra believe such nonsense."
"It hurts no one to try. Besides, the trifle will be delicious—you'll have some, won't you? If you and I and Amanda all have rosy cheeks tonight, perhaps we'll all find husbands."
"A rouge pot would be a more efficient method of obtaining rosy cheeks, regardless of A Lady of Distinction's opinions on the matter." Corinna began grating sugar into the eggs. "Although I suppose poor Amanda can use all the help she can get."
"I've worked wonders with her," Juliana said, giving her mixture a vigorous stir. "Wait until you see. Her gown will be exquisite, her complexion flawless. I've summoned a hairdresser—"
"Just don't make Amanda so beautiful she steals your own suitors."
"That's an unkind thought." Juliana snatched the sugar loaf from her sister before she could add too much as usual; Corinna's sweet tooth was legendary even among the sweets-loving Chases, and she had no concept of the proper amount of any ingredient. "I've no suitors I wish to marry anyway," she added with a sigh.
"You're trying too hard," Corinna said. "Just relax and enjoy all the attention."
But how could Juliana relax? Next year she'd be twenty-three. Twenty-three and unmarried. At what age did one become a spinster, and how did one know when one reached it? Had Aunt Frances simply awakened one morning and decided to put on a spinster's cap?
"There, it's creamy." Corinna banged the bowl onto the big wooden table and rubbed her arm. "Am I finished? Assuming I can still hold a brush, I'd like to varnish my painting."
"Varnish away," Juliana said and watched her sister leave the kitchen.
Even without the security of a happy
