"I cannot make any promises, but I think she will. She may not get smallpox at all, and if she does, it should be a very light case."
While even a light case of smallpox could be arduous, at least it wouldn't be fatal. And in any event, what would be would be. It was out of his hands at this point, and there were much more pressing matters to discuss.
Yes, he wanted a discussion.
He was ready—he needed—to think.
And after he and Juliana talked, he wanted to kiss her senseless. Or perhaps while they talked. Or before. All of the above wouldn't be a bad plan, either.
Easy, he told himself. Everything was still up in the air. Instead of kissing her, he took her hand. "Lady Amanda isn't Castleton's sister."
"I know. I figured that out." She squeezed his fingers, looking more lively than he'd seen her in days. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"She may not think so," he said cautiously. "A woman who's such a stickler for propriety may be unhappy to learn she's another man's daughter."
"She'll cope with the knowledge. She'll have to. And the best part of it is, you shouldn't have to marry her when there's no good reason for her not to marry the duke." She seemed to be holding her breath. "You won't, will you?"
Much as he wanted to make her that promise, he couldn't. His honor was at stake; there was no way for a man to honorably back out of a betrothal. And while he might back out anyway were it only his own reputation on the line, his mother and aunts would also be affected. "Lord Wolverston may still insist—"
"He can withhold Amanda's dowry and inheritance, but he cannot make her say 'I will.'" Sounding very sure of herself—well, she was Juliana—she finally released her breath. "Amanda won't need Wolverston's money if she's wed to the duke."
"The duke may not agree."
"He wants her. I think he'll agree. Let's find him and ask him now." She started down the steps, then stopped and turned back to him. "Oh, drat. We can't." Her newly recovered enthusiasm disappeared, replaced by something closer to panic. "I still have to make thirty-three pieces of baby clothes before tomorrow morning."
"No, you don't." He took her face in both hands and kissed her softly on the lips. "Relax."
"I cannot. Perhaps my sisters and Aunt Frances made three or four items in the past couple of hours, but that still leaves—"
"You don't have to make any more baby clothes, Juliana." Slowly, while she stood there looking puzzled—or maybe transfixed—he skimmed his hands along her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms. Lacing his fingers with hers, he eased her down the steps and next door, stopping on the pavement in front of the large window that fronted number forty-four's drawing room. "Look," he murmured.
On the other side of the glass, Corinna leisurely painted, a dreamy smile on her face. Behind her, Lady Frances stood with her back to the window, gesturing or perhaps explaining something. On the far side of her, a dozen young women were perched on the drawing room's chairs and sofas, hunched over the needlework in their hands.
Juliana turned to him, a bewildered frown creasing her brow. "Who are they?"
"My former assistants and a few friends they managed to scare up. Some of them may not be able to read and write, but the sort of women who live near the Institute all know how to sew."
She blinked. "How did they get here?"
"When Aunt Aurelia came to assist me today, she had such stories. Poor Lady Juliana is sewing her fingers to the bone, dear Lady Juliana will never finish in time." He shrugged. "So I hired them."
"You hired them?"
He nodded. "Before you summoned me to Emily's house."
"Dear heavens." Her eyes shone with disbelief and gratitude and something else. Something that made his heart sing. "Have I told you I love you?" she whispered through an obviously tight throat.
He squeezed her hand. "Yes, but I'll never tire of hearing it."
"I hope…" She bit her lip. "Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." She squeezed his hand back. "I must go help them now, but—"
"No. Oh, no. You're much too exhausted, and we have much more important things to do."
"James—"
"Go inside if you must, tell them Emily is all right and you've been invited to Stafford House for dinner."
"Aunt Frances might be oblivious, but she's not stupid. She knows your mother is still too ill to be inviting guests."
"I'm inviting you. We'll go there as soon as we've talked to Castleton. Your aunt is needed here to supervise, and this is no time to fret about proprieties, Juliana. I'm starved, and my mother is in bed. We shan't even wake her. Now, go. I'll wait here."
He leaned to give her a soft kiss, wanting so much more but knowing now was not the time. Her sister was ten feet away—thankfully absorbed in her artwork—and there was much that still needed settling.
Everything was still up in the air.
Juliana looked like she might argue for a moment, but then she nodded and went inside. It started raining while he waited on the doorstep, and when she came back out, they dashed to his carriage together.
"They've made twenty-one items of baby clothes already," she reported. "With only twelve to go, they really don't need me." Being Juliana, of course she already had a plan. "The House of Lords is in session. You'll have to go in alone to fetch the duke, but then you should bring him out to the carriage so we can talk to him together."
James sent an outrider to Stafford House to ask his cook to prepare a meal, and told his driver to head for Parliament.
Unfortunately, Castleton wasn't at Parliament.
He wasn't at his Grosvenor Square town house.
And he wasn't at White's, which was the final place Juliana could think to check.
It was rather disconcerting, really. Everything was still
