Juliana stifled a smile. "What does it say, Auntie?"
Frances's cheeks were suddenly so rosy, she looked like she'd eaten an entire bowl of trifle. "It's a poem."
"A poem? Does it rhyme?"
Frances nodded violently.
"Who is it from?"
"I'm not at all certain. He didn't sign his name."
"How do you know it's a he, then?" Emily asked. "It might be from a girl."
The older woman raised a hand to pat her modestly covered bosom. "He signed it"—her voice dropped conspiratorially—"Your Secret Admirer."
"Oh, Aunt Frances! That's so romantic!" Juliana sneaked a glance out the window, wondering how much longer she could distract her. "Whoever he is, he must have been at Lady Hammersmithe's ball Saturday night and seen you in that beautiful brown dress."
Frances looked doubtful. "I've worn that dress dozens of times."
"Well, then, we must order you new ones, don't you think? Before next Saturday's ball."
Though she hadn't bought a new dress all season—or, for that matter, all decade—Frances nodded. "I suppose we must."
Juliana toyed with the handle of her basket, finding it harder and harder not to grin. To her vast relief, the carriage drew to a stop before a small, neat building with a sign that said NEW HOPE INSTITUTE.
The neighborhood hadn't improved, but her aunt no longer seemed to care. When a footman lowered the steps, Frances all but floated down to the street. Carrying the basket, Juliana climbed out after her, and Emily and Herman followed.
The door to the Institute opened, and a woman came out and down the steps, holding two children by the hand. The three of them were clothed rather poorly, but Aunt Frances didn't seem to notice. "What color dresses shall we order?" she asked Juliana.
"Pastels will look best with your golden-brown hair."
On the Institute's steps, Emily turned and frowned. "Her hair isn't brown."
Juliana smiled. "It will be after I summon Madame Bellefleur to dye it."
They all went inside. The reception area was noisy but looked very new and clean, especially compared to the people waiting there on the chairs. "A snake!" a boy exclaimed, and several children ran over to cluster around Emily and Herman.
A young woman with an air of authority walked out from behind a counter. She was dressed a little better than the patients, which wasn't saying much. "Twenty-three!" she called.
A mother stood up with a baby and followed her through a door into the back.
When the young woman returned to the counter and began adding some rather scary-looking supplies to the jumble already on the shelves, Juliana went over to her. She handed Juliana a worn square of paper with a big black 36 written on it. "You're number thirty-six," she said very slowly and clearly, as though Juliana couldn't read it for herself. "Please be seated. I'll call you when it's your turn."
Juliana put the paper in her basket. "I wish to have a word with Lord Stafford, if I may."
"Lord Stafford?" The woman blinked. "Oh, you mean Dr. Trevor. He isn't here, milady."
Drat! Juliana hadn't even considered the possibility. "Do you know when he's expected?"
"I'm sorry, milady, but I don't. Only one doctor volunteered for today, so he should be here to vaccinate the other half of the patients. But his note said only that he'd be delayed—"
Just then the door opened, and in walked James, his coat and cravat draped over one arm. Even though he was scandalously undressed, Juliana couldn't have been more delighted. "Lord Stafford!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to see you!"
He looked shocked—and maybe pleased. "I'm glad to see you, too."
She hadn't meant it like that. "I thought you'd be here, but you weren't."
"I was examining my Aunt Bedelia. She's been suffering with imaginary chest pains."
"The poor, sweet lady." She paused, just realizing what he'd said. "Imaginary?"
"Aunt Bedelia is the healthiest woman I know. Except possibly Aunt Aurelia." Unfastening the top button of his shirt, he cleared his throat. "What can I do for you this fine afternoon?"
Frances suddenly turned to her. "I was wondering that myself. Why are we here, Juliana?"
The woman could be oblivious at times, but Juliana had found she could use that to her advantage. "Aunt Frances, have you met Lord Stafford?"
James offered Frances a bow. "Good afternoon, Lady Frances."
"Good afternoon, my lord." She looked at him sharply. "Did I see you at Lady Hammersmithe's ball?"
"I had the pleasure of attending, yes."
Frances's gaze grew more focused. At first Juliana assumed she was staring at the little V of exposed skin where James's shirt was unbuttoned, which Juliana found rather fascinating herself. Other than her brothers'—and they hardly counted—she'd never seen any part of a man's chest. Of course, her dress left much more of her own chest bare, but that was different. She had to force her eyes away from that intriguing bit of golden skin.
But then she realized Frances wasn't specifically looking at that little V, and, in fact, her blue eyes had turned speculative behind their lenses. Dear heavens, her aunt must be wondering if James was her secret admirer! How oblivious could the woman get? She'd have to write another love letter from Lord Malmsey and sign his name to it this time—before Aunt Frances set her hopes on someone much younger and better-looking.
A little gasp from James interrupted her thoughts. "Is that a snake in my reception room?"
Across the room, the children were still gathered around Herman, enthralled, while Emily, in her glory, proudly lectured them on his care and allowed them turns to touch.
Juliana smiled. "That's Viscount Neville's daughter, Miss Emily, and—"
"Get it out of here."
"No need to worry." The light in here was odd; James was looking rather pale. "It's perfectly harmless, Lord Stafford."
"James," he corrected distractedly. "And I want it out. It's frightening the children."
It was doing no such thing, but Juliana wasn't about to argue. She had much more important matters to discuss with him. "Aunt Frances, would you please take Emily and Herman outside?"
Frances was still gazing speculatively at James.
