James examined it over her head. "It's such a crush in here," he complained.
"The newspaper reported that ten thousand a day are visiting just to see this carriage."
"There seem to be twenty thousand today." He bumped into her from behind, then placed his hands on her waist to steady her. "My apologies," he murmured by her ear. "These people have no manners."
Although nobody seemed to be jostling, she let him keep his hands there, just in case. "There's a blanket inside, embroidered with the initials NB. Do you expect Napoleon actually slept in here?"
"He'd have been smart to, considering it's bulletproof." He wrapped his arms further around her, overlapping them under her breasts. "There's a desk inside, too."
It was built in below the front window, with many compartments for maps and telescopes. "Very clever," she murmured, leaning back into him so no one would nudge her. His body was warm. His scent swamped her again, making her curiously dizzy. She felt very cozy and safe.
"Do you think Lady Amanda would like this?" he whispered.
"The clever desk?"
"No, me. Holding her like this."
"Oh, yes," she breathed, followed by a horrified, "No!"
What had she been thinking? She could feel his quizzing glass against her spine, which she was certain Amanda would find quite uncomfortable. "Lady Amanda wouldn't like this at all," she said, twisting out of his embrace. "You're right. It's entirely too crowded here today." She pushed through the throng and began retracing their steps back to Frances. "I believe we should fetch my aunt and leave. You cannot be late to Parliament if you're giving a speech tonight."
Frances was still sitting where they'd left her, gazing happily into space.
"Come along, Auntie," Juliana said.
It took a few minutes for the coachman to bring James's carriage around—a few minutes during which she marveled that her macaroons had had such an astounding effect. No sooner had they climbed into the carriage than she burrowed into the basket to count how many macaroons were left.
"What are you doing?" James asked.
"I forgot to keep some for myself." She pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule. "I'm sure Aunt Frances will want some."
"I don't need any macaroons, child." Her aunt patted her newly golden-brown hair. "A lady should keep a trim figure."
Frances had never had a care for her figure before. "Corinna will want some, then," Juliana said, piling them onto her handkerchief. She couldn't leave all the macaroons for James. She needed some for the duke, and besides, the mere thought of James eating nine macaroons made her cringe. Nine! If three had made him so amorous, nine would likely bring on behavior Amanda might never forgive.
James took the basket and peeked inside. "One? You cannot leave me just one."
Maybe he was right. She did want him to act warmly toward Amanda tomorrow night—just not as warmly as in the museum. "Two, then." She put one back in the basket and folded the handkerchief around the remaining seven. "But don't eat them until right before the ball tomorrow," she instructed as she slipped the bundle into her reticule. "You're going to need extra stamina, so you mustn't forget."
NINETEEN
"I CANNOT SEE," Frances complained. "I should never have let you talk me into taking off my spectacles."
"But you look beautiful, Auntie." Juliana patted her on the arm. "Just wait until Lord Malmsey gazes into your big blue eyes. You won't be sorry then." Having just arrived at Lady Partridge's ball, she looked around for the man in question, smiling when she spotted him across the room. "There he is."
"Where?" Frances glanced around wildly. "I cannot see him."
"Right there, Auntie. Leaning on the mantel." Since it was quite cold for June, Lady Partridge had ordered the fireplaces lit on both ends of her impressive ballroom. "Come along. I'll take you to him."
Frances drew a deep breath and smoothed her soft peach dress down her sides, eyeing her lower-than-usual décolletage—although it wasn't very low compared to what most of the ladies were wearing tonight. "Do I look all right?"
"You look perfect," Juliana assured her, taking her arm as they started across the room. It was true. Frances looked much younger in the fashionable dress with her hair dyed and styled, and Juliana's skillful hand with the cosmetics had completed her transformation. She seemed to be trembling, but there was nothing Juliana could do to help that.
Standing in the glow of the fire, Lord Malmsey also looked nervous. Well, he should be. Not only was he falling in love for the first time in his life, but he was doing so while betrothed to another lady—and while Juliana knew that would soon cease to be a problem, he didn't.
It was unfortunate a gentleman couldn't call off a wedding, because that would solve everything. He'd be free to marry Aunt Frances, and Amanda's father would have no grounds to disinherit her, leaving her free to find another suitor without so much pressure. But it just wasn't done. Although a lady could back out of an engagement—assuming she was willing to be labeled a jilt—a gentleman had no honorable way to withdraw an offer of marriage.
As Lord Malmsey noticed them approaching, a tentative smile spread on his face. While it didn't quite transform him—it didn't, after all, smooth his creased forehead or improve his unfortunate receding hairline—he did seem more attractive than Juliana remembered. Perhaps it was his stylish suit, which was obviously brand-new, or perhaps it was because what was left of his hair had been neatly trimmed. Or perhaps it was a glow that came from knowing someone of the opposite sex cared for him.
Love could change a person.
When they reached him, his anxious gaze met her aunt's. "Good evening, Lady Frances," he said shyly.
A youthful blush blossomed on Frances's cheeks, making her even more alluring. "Good evening, Lord Malmsey."
"Please," he said, gazing
