How was she supposed to go on when the man she loved was marrying another woman? When four people's lives had been ruined? When it was all her fault?
Emily had stopped stirring. "You're crying," she said. "You are sad."
"I guess I am." Setting down the chocolate and the grater, she forced a smile. "I think we're finished here."
"What's wrong, Lady Juliana?"
What wasn't wrong? She couldn't marry the man she loved. She'd doomed him to a dreadful future with a woman reserved beyond belief, a future full of chess and antiquities and very little else. She was exhausted and overwhelmed—she hadn't slept last night at all—and somehow, some way—God only knew how, and apparently He wasn't telling—she had to produce sixty-two items of baby clothes in the next three days even though she'd made less than three times that many in the last month and a half.
"What's wrong?" She could barely push the words through her tight throat. "Everything, it seems."
"Is it about Lord Stafford?"
She blinked. "What makes you think that?"
The girl rolled her big gray eyes. "It's obvious you like him. I've known that for ages. And he likes you."
How ironic that the truth had been obvious to an eight-year-old but not to herself. Then again, Emily always had been rather precocious for a girl her tender age. "Well, he doesn't seem to want to see me right now."
"Then you must go see him. You have to talk to him. You cannot just stand here and mope. You have to do something, Lady Juliana."
Dear heavens, Emily was right. Juliana had never before just stood by and let things happen without trying to influence the outcome, and she couldn't imagine what had made her do so now. Melancholy, she supposed. But she couldn't allow melancholy to rule her.
Thank goodness she was making chocolate cream.
"Oh, you dear, dear child." She dashed the tears off her cheeks and wrapped Emily in a hug. "I'm supposed to be helping you, but you're helping me instead."
"Are you going to go see Lord Stafford now?"
"Not right now. I sent notes asking all the ladies to come sew today even though I've never held any parties on a Tuesday before. They'll be here in less than an hour, and I cannot get to the Institute and back in that short time." Dear heavens, James would be at Parliament by the time her sewing session was finished. "I shall have to go see him tomorrow. You'll stay for the sewing party, won't you?"
"Is there any more cutting to be done?"
"No. The cutting is all finished."
"Then I'm going to play with Jane, Susan, and Kate." When Juliana opened her mouth to protest, Emily held up one of her small hands—the one that wasn't stroking her snake. "You don't really want me to sew, do you? I'm sure to end up bleeding."
No, Juliana didn't want Emily to bleed. The mere thought of that made her feel sick. And the last thing she needed now was to spew a stomachful of chocolate over a stack of her hard-won baby clothes.
"Go ahead and play with the Lambourne girls. You have my blessing."
"Can I eat some chocolate cream before I leave?"
"I need to put it on ice first to make it cold. I'll bring you some tomorrow."
Emily helped her transfer the sweet pudding into three dozen cups before she departed to visit her friends across the square. After that, Juliana had just enough time to steal upstairs to her bedroom and wash her blotchy face before her guests arrived. She brushed on a little powder and went down to seat herself in the drawing room. As she picked up her sewing and Corinna kept painting without comment, she congratulated herself on how calm and composed she must seem.
Rachael was still ill, and now Claire and Elizabeth were, too. As were Lady Stafford and Lady Balmforth. Lady Avonleigh was feeling better, though, and she arrived first.
"Oh, my dear," she cried, "I'm so sorry." And she rushed across the room to enfold Juliana in her arms.
Juliana rose from the sofa and let herself be comforted by James's aunt. Except the embrace wasn't comforting. The harder Lady Avonleigh hugged her, the harder she had to fight to keep the tears from falling again.
"I wanted you to marry my nephew," Lady A murmured, tears in her voice, too. "I wanted you to be my niece."
"I wanted you to be my aunt. I wanted Lady Stafford to be my mother." It seemed forever since she'd had a mother, and Juliana knew no one warmer or more motherly than Lady Stafford. She shuddered in Lady A's arms, inhaling camphor and gardenias. "There has to be something we can do."
"Our James doesn't believe there's anything to be done. But if anyone can think of something, it's you, my dear." Lady Avonleigh pulled back and wiped the moisture from Juliana's cheeks with gentle fingers. "You keep thinking, and I will, too."
"Thank you," Juliana said wanly.
She was about to say something more, but then Aunt Frances came downstairs, and Alexandra arrived, and Corinna reluctantly abandoned her painting and came over to join them all and sew. And the talk turned to Frances's pending marriage and Alexandra's burgeoning belly. Not that Alexandra's belly was actually protruding yet, but she kept rubbing the dratted thing as though she could feel the baby inside, which made Juliana insanely jealous.
Yes, jealous.
James had been wrong when he'd said she was jealous before—when she'd first learned of Alexandra's pregnancy—but she was jealous now, because God only knew when she'd have a child of her own…the way things were going, probably never. And now Aunt Frances was talking about having a child. In her mid-forties! While Juliana doubted that would actually happen, she had to admit it was a possibility, since Frances still complained about her monthlies on a regular basis. She wondered if she'd have a child before forty. Probably not. But all the
