"I want something modern. Without a canopy or stifling curtains."
She looked up. And then she gazed at him for a very long moment, while he wondered if she'd make the connection, if she'd realize that the bed, the curtains—all of it—held too many memories.
"Very well," she finally said. "If you insist, we'll move it to a guest room."
THIRTY-ONE
"IT'S THE rheumatism, I fear," Lady Avonleigh said the next afternoon.
"It's dreadful," Lady Balmforth added. "The two of us ache every morning."
When James had fetched Juliana and the others for their outing, he'd explained that he needed to stop by his aunts' house on their way to Leicester Square. Seated in his aunts' drawing room on a peach sofa, Juliana watched him walk them toward a large picture window.
"I'm afraid some morning stiffness is to be expected at your age," he said sympathetically. He lifted Lady Balmforth's narrow hand and examined it in the window's light.
"Don't you need to use your quizzing glass?" she asked.
"Not for this. I see no evidence of swelling, and your joints don't look reddened or feel overly warm. If the achiness wears off before noon, that's a good sign." He flexed her elbow. "Does this hurt?"
"He's patient," Amanda said quietly, sitting beside Juliana.
"Yes, he is," she whispered back, lifting an embroidery hoop one of James's aunts had left on the table. It wasn't a simple sampler but an amazingly detailed scene—a cottage in the woods with animals among the trees. Oddly enough, though, it seemed to smell faintly of camphor. "Isn't this exquisite?"
"I wish he'd be a little more impatient. We're going to be late."
"There's no need to worry." She sniffed the embroidery hoop before she set it back down. Definitely camphor. "The rotunda doesn't close until four."
"But the duke will be waiting."
"Not for so very long." Juliana raised a half-finished crewelwork seat cover and ran her fingers over the pattern, a veritable field of flowers. "Lord Stafford's aunts are very talented."
"Lord Stafford is on his knees," Amanda said. "That cannot be good for his injury."
James was crouched on the floor, obligingly examining Lady Avonleigh's plump ankles. Juliana didn't think about his injury much—it didn't seem to stop him from doing anything, so she couldn't see where it mattered. But apparently it mattered to Amanda.
"There's nothing Lord Stafford won't do for someone he cares for," Juliana told her, returning the crewelwork to the table. "You're lucky to have someone so wonderful courting you." Honestly, it was a bit annoying that Amanda didn't seem to realize how truly lucky she was. "It's nice of you to be concerned for him, though. Just remember to let him kiss you."
"What if he doesn't try?"
"He'll try. Parts of the rotunda are rumored to be very dark." James would take advantage of the darkness—Juliana knew this from experience.
"What if I don't like his kisses?"
Poor Amanda seemed even more afraid of kissing than before. The failed trick must have traumatized her. "You'll love his kisses," she assured her. Another thing she knew from experience. In fact, just thinking about that particular experience made her stomach feel all queer again.
Why was that?
Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, because the next thing she knew, James was standing over her, looking concerned. "Is something wrong?"
"No, not at all," she assured him—and herself. "Are you finished?"
"I've prescribed hot, damp towels for my aunts' aches. I'm certain they shall be fine."
She rose and walked over to where his aunts sat while their maids obligingly applied the towels. "I hope you'll both be feeling better soon."
"Oh, we shall," Lady Balmforth said as her maid wrapped one of her wrists. "Our James always knows what to do. I'm sure we'll feel better by the time Cornelia comes to fetch us in an hour. We're going to Gillow's to look at some new furniture for her house."
"Your needlework is lovely. I'm having a little sewing party tomorrow afternoon, to make some baby clothes for the Foundling Hospital. Would either of you be interested in joining me?"
"Cornelia told us about your sewing parties," Lady Avonleigh exclaimed, appearing better already. The odd camphor smell was hers—along with a rather strong scent of gardenias. "They sound delightful, my dear. I should love to attend."
Lady Balmforth clasped her hands together so enthusiastically she lost a towel in the process. "I should love to attend, too."
"Thank you so much. Shall I send my brother's carriage at one o'clock?"
"Oh, no," Lady Avonleigh said. "We have our own carriage, and John Coachman has much too much time on his hands."
"He naps," Lady Balmforth added. "Even more often than we do."
Juliana noticed James and Amanda both inching toward the door. "Excellent," she said before going after them. "I live at forty-four Berkeley Square, and I very much look forward to seeing you."
"That was rather presumptuous," Amanda said as they walked out to James's carriage where Frances and Lord Malmsey were waiting.
"I disagree," James said. "I think it was kind. My aunts were thrilled to be invited."
Juliana smiled. "They're very sweet."
"And very healthy," he said dryly. "Such a pity they don't know it."
"They just need something else to occupy their minds. That's why I invited them to my party—well, besides the fact that I do need their help. And I'm thinking I should introduce them to a few more charming gentlemen."
"I don't believe either of them is interested in gentlemen, charming or not."
"Have they never been wed?"
"Oh, yes. Aunt Bedelia was married four times."
"Four!" Amanda exclaimed.
"A baron, two viscounts, and an earl. They all died," he added as a footman opened the carriage door. "That sweet old lady must be toxic."
Juliana began to laugh, but ended up gasping instead. Inside James's opulent carriage, her aunt was kissing Lord Malmsey.
"Gracious me!" Amanda cried, clearly scandalized. Not because she cared that Lord Malmsey was courting Frances, Juliana thought. After all, Amanda wanted to marry James; she'd given Lord Malmsey permission to court other women; she'd told him she was going
