"Countless times. My protests fall on deaf ears. Nothing I can say will make him breach a contract. His honor is more important to him than my happiness."
Lord Wolverston had always been rather emotionless and uncaring, but this went beyond that. It was downright cruel. "There's nothing at all honorable about putting his reputation before his own daughter. He should want to see you in love."
"He believes that when it comes to marriage, there are much more important matters to consider."
Juliana couldn't disagree more—concerning her own marriage, at least. Her parents had wed for practical reasons, and her mother had never known true happiness. While she did realize that much of society had other priorities for evaluating matches, for her, love came first.
Amanda slouched even more. "He's pleased beyond belief to have an offer for my hand at all, let alone one from a baron. I suppose he's right when he says I'm lucky Lord Malmsey is willing to marry me."
"Amanda!"
"I'm a confirmed wallflower, Juliana."
Amanda did look rather plain, but Juliana had always assumed that was because her mother had died giving birth to her. Much like little Emily, she'd grown up without anyone to offer guidance. Her Aunt Mabel was certainly no help. Amanda wore dowdy clothes in all the wrong colors, her brows were too heavy, her blond hair was pulled back into an excruciatingly tight braided bun, and she never met anyone's eyes—not even Juliana's now. Her blue-gray gaze was focused in the vicinity of her unfashionably shod feet.
In short, Amanda was a project just waiting to be tackled.
"Who else knows about your engagement?" Juliana asked.
"We arrived only yesterday. You're the first one I've told."
"Excellent." Lord Malmsey wasn't the type to spread news, either. Although the man was a fixture at society gatherings, Juliana couldn't recall more than a dozen words ever leaving his mouth. "Don't tell anyone else. I shall save you from this dismal fate."
The older girl glanced up. "How? Do you truly believe it possible?"
"Without a doubt." Juliana had never been one to disregard anyone in need. "Let me think on the matter."
"Look here, Lady Juliana!" Emily returned, holding forth Herman coiled upon an armful of white fabric.
"Perfect, sweetheart." Juliana smiled, hoping the clerk wouldn't faint when she asked for a length to be cut. Or maybe hoping the clerk would faint, because that might convince the girl, once and for all, that carrying a snake around wasn't a good idea. She looked back to Amanda. "You'll come to the sewing party Wednesday, won't you? One o'clock. By the time you arrive, I'm certain to have a solution."
FIVE
"WHERE IS Amanda?" Juliana said Wednesday afternoon in the drawing room.
Rain pattered outside the windows. "You've asked that more times than Emily's pricked herself," Alexandra observed as she patiently knotted a thread.
Alexandra could afford to be patient, Juliana thought, stitching a tiny frock more frantically than patiently. Alexandra wasn't the one who'd promised to deliver twenty dozen articles of baby clothing in one short month. "Amanda said she'd be here."
"No, she didn't," Emily pointed out, rearranging Herman on her shoulders. Unfortunately, the clerk at Grafton House hadn't fainted. She'd only glared, which had done little toward convincing Emily to part with the dratted snake. "You invited her, but she never actually said she would come."
"Perhaps not in so many words. But she'll come." Amanda had to come. Juliana had devised a plan. An excellent plan, which she couldn't wait to explain—
"Ouch!" Emily exclaimed for the fifth time, sticking her pricked finger in her mouth. She really wasn't very good with a needle. "This blanket is turning out dreadful."
Juliana leaned over to inspect the girl's handiwork. "It isn't that bad." The hem was rather uneven, but it wasn't dreadful. Luckily babies couldn't criticize. "The blanket will keep an infant warm no matter what it looks like."
"But I want it to look good."
"With more practice, it will," Corinna said. "You need to practice to become good at anything." She stopped sewing long enough to gesture toward an easel set up by the large picture window. Even in the dim rainy-day light, the scene on the canvas—a man pushing a laughing lady on a swing by a reflective lake—conveyed movement, vibrancy, a sense of life. "My first painting didn't look like that."
Still patiently working her own needle into the little cap she was making, Alexandra smiled. "If I recall correctly, your first painting was a willow tree that looked more like a haystack."
"We're none of us expert seamstresses, Miss Emily." Aunt Frances squinted at her own handiwork through her spectacles. "We've only ever done samplers and embroidery. After a few more practice blankets—"
"This isn't practice," Juliana interrupted. "Every single item will be used." If she was lucky, today's efforts would produce five or six finished garments. And she needed two hundred and forty! Although it was a bit early to panic, she realized already, less than an hour into her first sewing party, that she was going to have to host many more of them. "Where is Amanda?"
Just then the knocker sounded in the foyer.
"That must be Amanda," she said, the frock falling to the floor as she jumped up and rushed from the room.
Though their butler, Adamson, was nearly as short as Juliana, he always managed to look dignified nonetheless. "Good afternoon, Lady Amanda," he intoned as he opened the door.
"Good afternoon, Adamson," Amanda replied formally.
"Where on earth have you been?" Juliana asked, very informally indeed.
"Playing chess with Aunt Mabel. I couldn't leave in the middle of such an exciting game."
"Exciting?" Juliana could think of little less exciting than chess. She preferred games that were light and relaxing, not so cerebral. Even sewing was more fun. "Come into the library."
Amanda peeked through the open door across the way. "Isn't everyone in the drawing room?"
"Yes.