"My father-in-law commissioned the set to be carved." Lady Stafford lifted a crystal decanter. "Would you care for some sherry?"
"A little, please." Juliana took the first glass she poured and perched herself on a pale green satin love seat with gilt palm tree legs that had obviously been designed to match the room. "Thank you so much for inviting us to your home."
"It's my son's home," Lady Stafford said, handing Amanda another glass.
That son walked into the room with the duke, the two of them deep in conversation. Juliana was thrilled to see the men were becoming friends already. She smoothed the skirts of her white dress, which she'd chosen hoping the duke would think it proper and ladylike.
Very pure, as James had said.
Sipping sherry, Amanda sat beside her. "He's so much taller," she whispered.
James was much taller than the duke. Which was why he and Amanda looked so good together.
"And darker," Amanda added.
Yes, James was dark. The duke looked pasty in comparison. Pasty and pale-haired. But only in comparison. And Juliana preferred pale hair.
"And much more handsome."
"It isn't polite to whisper," Juliana whispered back. She didn't want to think about James being much more handsome. And it wasn't true, anyway.
Was it?
"Good evening, ladies," James said, his voice low and chocolate-smooth as always. On hearing it, Juliana felt her knees weaken as always, too, even though she was sitting down.
"Good evening," the duke said in his perfectly normal voice. He smiled at Juliana. "It's lovely to see you again, my dear."
Well, why should a voice matter, anyway? The duke was a duke. And it was obvious he cared for her, even if he didn't touch her.
A footman appeared in the doorway and announced dinner. Lord Cavanaugh offered Lady Stafford his arm. "Shall we?"
The rest of them followed the older couple into a large formal dining room. The extra leaves had been removed from the mahogany table to make it an oval for six. While a footman drew back Juliana's chair, she took a moment to look around. The dining room featured Roman-looking marble columns, a beautiful Turkey carpet, and a carved marble fireplace. But the most impressive thing was the ceiling, a scalloped design with round inset panels representing classical scenes, all decorated in gold.
"This is exquisite," she said as she sank onto her forest green velvet seat.
"My late husband's pride and joy." Lady Stafford sat, too. "It was based on a ceiling in the Baths of Augustus in Rome."
Gazing up at it, Amanda sighed. "This is the most magnificent house I've ever seen. Everything in it is absolutely splendid." She turned to James beside her. "You have wonderful taste, Lord Stafford."
His mother laughed. "The taste was his grandfather's. The man hired the venerable Henry Holland as his designer. Were it up to my son, he'd probably sell the whole lot and use the money to vaccinate every last soul in England."
James frowned. "The sale of this house and its contents wouldn't begin to cover—"
"I was jesting," Lady Stafford broke in with the sort of fond smile a mother gives her exasperating-but-adored son. "I trust you not to sell off the family treasures."
Juliana saw an opportunity to segue into a matter she'd hoped to discuss. "If others would help with Lord Stafford's cause," she said as asparagus soup was served in porcelain bowls with gold Stafford crests on their crimson rims, "there would be no need to sell anything." Lifting her spoon, which was gold, too, she turned to the duke. "Eradicating smallpox is a worthy goal that all should contribute towards, don't you think?"
"All?" The duke raised his own gold spoon. "Worthy or not, I don't expect everyone can afford to donate."
"Certainly you can," she said sweetly.
She thought she heard choking sounds from James. Or maybe a muffled chortle.
Lord Cavanaugh took a sip of wine. "I'd be pleased to contribute."
"Thank you very much," James said with an expression of startled approval. "That would be greatly appreciated."
Lady Stafford looked quite delighted.
Amanda turned a smile on James. "I should like to contribute, too," she said prettily, "but alas, I shall need to ask my father for the funds."
Knowing Amanda's father, Juliana suspected he wouldn't donate a penny. And she was sure Amanda knew that, too. "Time is also valuable," she said. "You could volunteer your aid in lieu of money."
Amanda blinked and pressed a hand to her pale blue muslin bodice. "Are you suggesting I give smallpox vaccinations?"
"No, of course not. Doctors give the vaccinations. But I imagine there are other tasks you could do that would prove helpful."
"Certainly," James put in, setting down his spoon, which Juliana had decided was actually sterling plated in gold, because, really, solid gold spoons were a little much, even for people as rich as the Staffords. "There are always new supplies arriving that need to be unpacked and arranged on the shelves behind the counter, and schedules to be made out in a hand neater than mine, and treatment rooms to be cleaned, and—"
"You're looking for people to clean rooms?" Amanda interrupted. She pinned Juliana with a pointed gaze. "Are you going to volunteer, too, then?"
In truth, Juliana hadn't a clue why she'd suggested Amanda volunteer in the first place. She certainly didn't expect her to clean treatment rooms—she doubted the woman had cleaned anything in her life, with the possible exception of her own teeth. But something about Amanda's disingenuous offer of money had rubbed her the wrong way.
And now she'd backed herself into a corner. "I'd be happy to volunteer," Juliana found herself saying. She lifted her chin. She did like helping people, and while she was quite busy sewing baby clothes, she imagined she could spare a little time. "As I said, it's a worthy cause."
"Capital!" James exclaimed so enthusiastically she half expected him to break into applause. "How about Wednesday at one o'clock?"
"She can't," Amanda said. "She has a sewing party every Wednesday at one."
Drat. "I'll move this week's party to tomorrow."
"Sewing party?"
