James watched the family try and fail to find seats, then turned to Juliana. "I prefer to be called Dr. Trevor while I'm here. 'Lord Stafford' intimidates the patients."
"I'll try to remember that. There's a young woman waiting for an interview—I told her to sit until you were ready. Which of the treatment rooms shall I clean?"
"Pardon?"
"I came to clean treatment rooms, remember?" She pulled off her gloves. "I wore my oldest dress."
He eyed her oldest dress. It had a tiny bodice and looked no more shabby than the one she'd worn to his house for dinner, which meant, of course, that it didn't look shabby at all.
"What makes you think I would expect a lady to clean anything?" he asked. "The Stafford House maids take turns coming here to clean. Three times a week."
Her pretty brow creased. "Why did you tell Lady Amanda she could clean, then?"
He shrugged, remembering Lady Amanda's attitude at dinner. Very ladylike and rather snobbish. "I just wanted to see her reaction."
"Oh." Juliana looked thoughtful, or apprehensive—he wasn't sure which. "And what did you think of how she reacted?"
"Very much like a lady," he said, leaving out the word snobbish.
Now she looked relieved. "Amanda is very much a lovely lady," she said. "What shall you have me do if not clean treatment rooms?"
"You seem to make an excellent assistant. Why don't you keep doing that?"
She did prove to be an excellent assistant, which allowed him to vaccinate patients between interviewing candidates. Two hours later, the number of people in the reception room had dwindled to something approaching normal. The orange jumbles were all gone, and they'd indeed seemed to comfort some of the patients. People waiting to be infected tended to be somewhat nervous.
He'd talked to three more women who wanted the job, but they'd all been underqualified.
"The tasks aren't very difficult," Juliana said during a rare lull. Her gaze flicked toward his open collar and back up. "Why is it that you find it so hard to hire someone acceptable?"
"My assistant must be able to read and write."
"Many women can read and write—"
"But many of those don't need employment. Educated women are likely to have fathers or husbands to support them."
"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." She handed him the box of sugar sticks he'd asked her to fetch. "I shall screen the applicants for you and let you know if I find someone acceptable. That way you can keep administering vaccinations."
He wished he could find someone as efficient as Juliana. An hour later, she announced she'd found the perfect replacement, a young woman that Miss Smith, his last morning assistant, had apparently sent and recommended. All the supplies in the treatment rooms were restocked, the storage shelves were organized, Juliana had rewritten his scribbled July schedule in a neat, legible hand, and—in part thanks to the rain—only five patients were waiting for vaccinations.
Even better, it was now four o'clock, which meant his second-shift assistant had arrived, as well as two fresh physicians. He was free, and it was Wednesday, so Parliament wasn't in session. Juliana's carriage was due to return any moment, but she had no chaperone, for once. She was still glancing where his shirt was unbuttoned whenever she thought he wasn't looking.
Maybe he could get her alone someplace where he could kiss her, he thought as he followed her toward the door. Maybe he could talk her into going somewhere besides home.
She pulled on her gloves. "Will I see you at Almack's tonight?"
Somewhere besides Almack's.
The door opened, admitting two new patients, a footman in Chase livery, and a messenger boy. "Lord Stafford?" the messenger boy inquired.
"Yes." James took the note, broke the seal, and scanned the single page. "Damn."
"Is it something dreadful?" Juliana asked, splaying a gloved hand over her breasts in their tiny yellow bodice.
Which only made him notice them more. Hell. Was she trying to kill him?
"No. Aunt Bedelia fears some ailment and wishes to see me."
"I hope she'll turn out to be well."
"She will, I assure you. But I'm afraid I won't make it to Almack's tonight."
"It's only four o'clock. How long can it take to examine her?"
"Very long," he fibbed. "I fear Aunt Aurelia will wish to be examined, too."
"How very unfortunate." She sighed so prettily that her breasts rose and fell beneath their little yellow bodice. Apparently she was trying to kill him. She pulled her umbrella out of the stand. "Shall I see you at the Billingsgate ball on Saturday, then?"
There was no way his mother would accept an excuse for not attending the Billingsgate ball. His aunts would be there, after all, so he could hardly claim they'd summoned him to deal with imaginary aches and pains. "I'll be there," he promised.
It wasn't Almack's. And Juliana would be there, too. In another tiny bodice.
A pity he wouldn't be able to unbutton his shirt.
TWENTY-SIX
THE BILLINGSGATE ball was in full swing, and music floated through the open door of Lord Billingsgate's library. "This will be perfect," Juliana said, glancing around. "It's close to the ballroom, so as soon as there's a commotion, plenty of people will come running to witness your disgrace."
In a hopeless attempt to cover her bare shoulders, Amanda tugged on the little puffed sleeves of the pale green dress Juliana had suggested she wear. "Shall I have to kiss Lord Stafford for long?"
"I shouldn't think so. As soon as he starts kissing you, I shall fetch Lady Billingsgate to assure your ruin."
"What if he doesn't wish to kiss me?"
"Of course he wishes to kiss you! He's courting you, isn't he? Men are always looking to kiss ladies."
Except for the duke.
Juliana was beginning to wonder if she'd ever be kissed. The duke had been too busy to pay her any calls this week—doing what, she couldn't imagine—so
