He didn't want to take Lady Amanda to Vauxhall Gardens. He didn't want to take her anywhere. He'd never wanted to take her anywhere.
But he especially didn't want to take her to Vauxhall Gardens, the place where he'd discovered he was in love with Juliana.
"Never," he said. "I didn't enjoy Vauxhall Gardens much."
"Didn't you?" She narrowed her eyes as though she didn't believe him. Which was hardly surprising, since in truth he'd enjoyed himself immensely. "Well," she said, "then where shall you take her?"
He wanted to say nowhere, but he couldn't. Because then he'd have no excuse to see Juliana. She was bent on marrying the stuffy duke, which meant she wouldn't accept an invitation to accompany him anywhere unless it was for the sake of Lady Amanda.
That wasn't such a terrible thing, he consoled himself. He and Juliana were becoming fast friends, and that was good enough for now. If he continued the pretense that he was interested in Lady Amanda, he could keep touching Juliana, and kissing her, and tempting her. Juliana wouldn't try to trick him again—she'd promised not to, and he trusted her. He could afford to remain patient. Friendship in marriage was important, and there was plenty of time to make Juliana fall in love with him.
He was just getting used to the fact that he wanted to marry her. There was no reason to rush right into it.
"I'll take Lady Amanda wherever you'd like," he said. "Except Vauxhall Gardens. As long as you come along, too."
"I cannot come along!"
"You can if you're with Castleton." It galled him to say that, but he saw no other choice. No other way to keep touching and kissing and tempting Juliana.
Well, there was Friday, when he hoped to corner her in a treatment room. But that was four days away. Entirely too long to wait.
"If we go somewhere I've never been," he told her, "I'll need you there to provide guidance."
She mulled that over for a moment, and then she said, "Very well," just as he'd expected. He'd known he could appeal to her meddling nature. She'd probably never in her life come to believe he was capable of fending for himself, but he could live with that.
In fact, he looked forward to living with that. He rather liked having her look after him. It was a never-ending source of amusement, one of her many quirks he loved best.
"I think we should go see the new Battle of Waterloo panorama in Leicester Square tomorrow," she said. "I've heard it's very romantic."
Having witnessed war himself, James didn't think it was very romantic, and he had never heard the term romantic attached to the Leicester Square Panorama building, either. But he had heard it was rather dark, and he supposed darkness could lead to romance, and while he was well aware that Juliana expected him to find romance with Lady Amanda while she found romance with that ass Castleton, he knew that wouldn't happen, so her false expectations didn't dampen his spirits in the slightest.
"I believe it closes at four," he said, "so I shall return to fetch you and Lady Amanda at one o'clock."
"And Aunt Frances," she reminded him.
"And Lady Frances." Even that didn't dim his cheer. "Invite Lord Malmsey, too, will you?" he said, reaching into his pocket. "Here are your gloves, s—"
He cut off, turning the last sound into a very long s, as though there were more than two gloves.
He'd almost called her sweetheart.
He'd best be more careful; he wanted to tempt Juliana, not scare her away.
"Thank you," she said, taking them and going into the house.
James was in an excellent mood as his carriage continued on to Stafford House. Once there, he remained in an excellent mood as he searched the morning room and the music room and the Palm Room for his mother. He took the stairs two at a time, still in an excellent mood when he finally found her in her sitting room, reading a Minerva Press novel.
He'd never seen his mother read a Minerva Press novel. They were torrid romances, and he didn't quite know how he felt about her reading such a thing, but that didn't affect his excellent mood.
"Yes, James?" she said, shutting it quickly and setting it upside down on the table beside her. "How was your evening?"
"It was rather pleasant," he said, perhaps the greatest understatement of his life. "I want to renovate my bedroom."
"You cannot change that room. It was designed by Henry Holland!"
"I don't care who designed it. Brown and plum are too somber."
Cornelia loved redecorating, but James's father had never let her touch Stafford House, so she'd had to content herself with overhauling their manor house in the countryside. James had known she wouldn't argue long. Clearly excited, she rose, belted her dressing gown more tightly, and walked over to sit at her feminine writing desk.
"What colors would you like, then?" she asked, dipping her quill in the inkwell.
"Red," he decided.
"Your favorite color. Yes, I should have guessed." She scribbled. "Any other requests?"
"And yellow. Red and yellow." He'd noticed Juliana often wore yellow, but he wouldn't explain that to his mother. The last thing he needed was her figuring out he'd finally decided to remarry.
"We'll do stripes," she said, still scribbling. "Wide red and yellow stripes on the walls above the wainscoting."
"I want the wainscoting gone. It's dark wood, and I don't want anything dark in the room."
She frowned, then brightened. "We'll paint the wainscoting white, then. Bright white enamel. And use narrower stripes on the upholstery. But solid red bedclothing, I think. Perhaps with yellow pillows."
"Fine." Henry Holland's design had used floral fabrics, so stripes sounded perfect. As different as could be. "And get rid of that monstrous old-fashioned bed, will you?"
"It's been in the family since the sixteenth century."
"It looks it."
"Nine Stafford earls were
