All of this preparation was not going to be for nothing.
EIGHT
"THERE HE IS," Amanda said dourly as they stepped into Lady Hammersmithe's ballroom.
"There's who?" Juliana asked.
"Lord Malmsey." A frown marred Amanda's newly flawless complexion. Apparently questioning Juliana's plan, she turned to her surrogate chaperone. "Should I dance with him, Lady Frances?"
Unaware that Amanda was engaged to him, Aunt Frances patted her hand. "I expect someone younger would suit you better, my dear. But if you've already been introduced, of course you should dance with him if he asks."
Juliana doubted Lord Malmsey would ask—although if she could judge by the man's pained expression, he was attempting to screw up his courage. Figuring ten seconds in his arms would cure Amanda's second thoughts, she laid a gentle hand on her friend's back. "You definitely should dance with him," she declared, subtly steering her protégé toward her ill-chosen fiancé. "It would be the polite thing, after all. And after that, we'll see about having Aunt Frances introduce you to some more-promising men."
Lord Malmsey's eyes widened as they approached, and Juliana saw him swallow hard. Taking pity on the poor man, she smiled when they drew near. "Good evening, Lord Malmsey. Lady Amanda was just telling me she hoped you'd ask her to dance."
"Very well," he said.
Amanda said nothing.
The strains of a waltz rose into the air, and the two of them walked off.
Or rather, they shuffled off.
Frances joined Juliana and watched them face each other and begin dancing. "They don't seem a proper match."
"No, they don't," Juliana agreed. She'd never seen a more awkward couple. Due to Amanda's height, she and Lord Malmsey danced eye to eye. But beneath his high, creased forehead, Lord Malmsey's gaze looked shy and hooded, flicking only briefly toward his fiancée. Amanda looked utterly despondent.
On the other side of the ballroom, Juliana spotted Lord Neville ambling out of the refreshment room. "Wait here," she told Frances. "I see Emily's father, and he rarely stays long at any ball." Since the man had two heirs and no plans to take a fourth wife, he spent his evenings with various mistresses or gambling at his club. "I simply must speak to him about that snake before he leaves. It will take but a moment, and then as soon as Amanda is finished dancing, we'll find some men who are more suitable."
What a lucky thing Aunt Frances had her head perpetually in the clouds. Amanda's own aunt would have been unlikely to cooperate with undermining her father's plans, Juliana thought as she made a beeline for Viscount Neville.
"Lord Neville, if I may speak with you for a moment?"
"Ah, yes, my dear, of course." Emily's father was blond and gray-eyed like his daughter, tall and a bit hefty—not fat, but a big man. As he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn't surprised to see a plate in his hand, filled with a variety of morsels from the refreshment room. He took a hearty bite of a biscuit. "What can I do to help you?"
"It's about Emily—"
"Ah, yes. I do appreciate the interest you've taken in my girl."
"She's a delight." Juliana smiled as he swallowed the biscuit and followed it with a grape. "But I'm wondering if I can prevail on you to discourage her from taking Herman out in public. It's not the thing for a young lady to carry a snake."
"Ah, yes," he repeated. "But my Emily is very attached to Herman. She and her mother found him in the garden the very day before my wife died." He plucked three more grapes off the bunch and popped them into his mouth.
"I'm aware of that, sir. But earlier this week when we visited the shops, a patron at Grafton House fainted dead away at the sight of Emily's snake." While that wasn't precisely true, it could have been true. A number of customers at Grafton House had been horrified, not to mention the poor seamstress, Mrs. Huntley. "If only you'd heard the shrieks of dismay, Lord Neville. It wasn't the sort of scene a young lady should inspire."
Apparently the viscount found that more amusing than distressing, because he laughed.
And then he stopped.
In fact, not only had he stopped laughing, it looked as though he'd stopped breathing. The plate dropped from his hands, shattering on the parquet floor as he clutched at his throat and chest. His mouth was open, but he seemed unable to speak. His skin was turning blue.
"Dear heavens!" Juliana exclaimed loudly enough to make the people nearby look over. "Lord Neville, are you all right?"
Clearly he wasn't.
"Help!" she yelled, moving to thump him on the back, the way people did when someone swallowed the wrong way and went into a coughing fit. But it seemed he couldn't even cough. His eyes bugged out in his blue face, panicked.
Just then, Griffin ran up with his friend Lord Stafford in tow. "A chair," Lord Stafford instructed. "Now."
Griffin rushed to do his bidding. In the meantime, Lord Stafford very quickly—and rather calmly, under the circumstances—untied the viscount's cravat and loosened the buttons at his throat. All the while, he murmured soothing words in the same smooth, chocolatey voice that had weakened Juliana's knees when they danced together last week.
But Lord Neville didn't look soothed. In fact, Juliana feared he might die right there on the spot. Lord Stafford didn't seem to think so, though. Decidedly unpanicked, he continued to murmur calmly while he waited for Griffin to bring him the chair.
She couldn't imagine why Lord Stafford wanted a chair, but when it appeared a moment later, he plunked it down in front of the viscount and shoved the man's big body to lean over the back. Quickly, again and again. After several thrusts, an intact red grape shot out of Lord Neville's mouth
