"Who was that you were dancing with?" Alexandra asked as she approached.
"Lord Stafford."
"He's very handsome."
"His hair is too dark." At Alexandra's blank look, Juliana shrugged. "Can you come to the Berkeley Square house this Wednesday afternoon?"
"I expect so. Why?"
"I need help making clothes for the Foundling Hospital babies."
"Your newest project, I take it?" Alexandra's brown eyes sparkled with mischief. "What have you got yourself into this time?"
If only she knew. "Corinna wanted to see the Hospital's art gallery, but oh, the poor foundlings were heartbreaking. And their mothers." Just thinking back on the balloting, Juliana wanted to cry. "I must do something to help them."
"Of course you must," Aunt Frances said. "With you, it's always something."
That much was true; Juliana couldn't deny it. "And what does that make me?" she wondered. "Impulsive? Melodramatic? Judgmental, overwrought, overemotional?" She stopped there, knowing she was all of those and more. Honestly, she could go on and on.
Which was why she wanted to hug Alexandra when she said, "No. That makes you compassionate, giving, hopeful. Kind and unselfish and vulnerable." Her perfect, responsible, married sister gifted her with a quiet smile. "It makes you lovable, Juliana. That's what it makes you the most."
She did hug her sister then, and her aunt, too, her heart not broken now but aching with warmth and affection instead. Yet all the while she was wondering: If I'm so lovable, why can't I find a husband to love?
FOUR
"THIS PINK IS pretty," Emily said Monday at Grafton House, a draper's shop in New Bond Street.
"It is," Juliana agreed, watching a snooty woman give the girl and her ever-present snake a wide berth. "But silk isn't sturdy enough for babies. And pink won't do." She fingered a length of thick white wool. "The Governors want white, so all the clothes will suit both girls and boys."
Emily cocked her golden head. "Won't the babies be overly warm in frocks made of that?"
"I'm considering this for the blankets. We'll buy linsey for the frocks."
"I'll look for linsey, then," Emily said and walked away.
Juliana nodded absently, deciding the wool would do fine. She was about to ask the price when she heard a little shriek, followed by a familiar voice. "Gracious me, Miss Neville! Are you still carrying that varmint everywhere?"
Juliana turned, surprised to see another Berkeley Square neighbor, Lady Amanda Wolverston.
Young Emily looked much more affronted than surprised, however. "Herman isn't a varmint," she protested, returning to slip her hand into Juliana's. "He's a pet."
"Not a very proper one," Lady Amanda said.
Although she agreed, Juliana squeezed Emily's hand. Amanda could sometimes be a bit too proper. But she and Amanda had grown up as neighbors and played together as small children, so Juliana considered her a good friend.
"I'm so glad you've come to town," she told her with a smile. "I've invited my sisters to a little sewing party on Wednesday afternoon, to make some clothing for the Foundling Hospital babies. I do hope you'll join us."
Juliana's tall blond friend was slouching—a habitual posture for her. But she seemed to be slouching even more than normal, and she looked uncommonly pale.
Blinking, Juliana peered up at Amanda's wan face. "Where have you been hiding all season?"
"In the countryside. My father is still excavating the Roman ruins he found on the estate." Amanda gestured toward a chair in a corner of the shop, where her aunt sat primly. "Aunt Mabel came with me, which was very kind. She didn't want to come to town this year at all."
A slight, pinch-faced woman in a baggy gown, the poor lady was as pink-cheeked as Amanda was pale. She seemed to be wheezing a little. "You know she's always suffered from asthma," Juliana said sympathetically, vaguely musing that Amanda must have inherited her fashion sense—or rather, lack thereof—from her aunt. "The London air doesn't agree with her. However did you persuade her to come?"
"Father persuaded her. Or rather, he ordered her." Amanda took a deep breath. "Because…" Her gaze slid to Emily and back, wordlessly telling Juliana she had something to confide.
Dying to hear the news, Juliana squeezed the little girl's hand again. "Could you do me an important favor, sweetheart, and see if you can find that linsey?"
"All right," Emily said, happily wandering off.
"Well?" Juliana asked when Emily was out of earshot.
Amanda's voice dropped to a whisper. "Father has arranged my marriage. He sent me and Aunt Mabel to put together a trousseau, which is why I'm here at Grafton Hou—"
"He's arranged your marriage?" Juliana interrupted. "To whom?"
Amanda closed her blue-gray eyes for a moment and released a slow breath before she reopened them. "Lord Malmsey," she said despondently.
"Lord Malmsey?"
The man was shorter than Amanda, quiet, mild-mannered, and meek. But the predominant image in Juliana's mind was that of a creased forehead beneath a receding hairline.
"The man must be forty, at least!"
"Forty-five," Amanda corrected. Nearly twice her age. She was a year older than Juliana, which made her all of twenty-three. "I met with him last evening—not that either of us had much to say to each other. We're to be married four weeks from Saturday, in a private ceremony by special license."
The same day as the next Foundling Hospital intake, when Juliana had to have all the baby clothes ready. Amanda looked to be in the dismals, which was no wonder. "Can you refuse to wed him?"
She shook her head. "Father has made it clear that if I fail to go through with this wedding, he'll disinherit me—which would leave me slim chances of ever wedding at all."
It was on the tip of Juliana's tongue to argue the point, but she wasn't one to lie—not outright, anyway—and Amanda was only stating the truth. In five seasons, no one else had offered for her, and without her substantial inheritance, it was unlikely any man ever would.
"I'm miserable," Amanda added unnecessarily.
One thing Juliana was sure
