Dinner was ready when they arrived, and the table was set for two, one plate at either end of the oval table that seated six. "I'm not hungry," Juliana said.
"You have to eat," James told her, "or you'll fall ill."
He moved the dishes at the far end to the spot around the curve from his. And then they sat. Because there was nothing else to do.
James wasn't actually hungry, either. He'd lost his appetite. Everything was so up in the air. They both picked at their food, alternating between silence and spurts of forced conversation through three courses.
There was nothing else to do.
"Maybe we should go look for the duke again," Juliana suggested when they finished an hour later and James was pouring port.
He set down the bottle. "Where?" he asked, taking a rather large swallow from his glass.
"I'm not sure." She took a generous sip herself. "But there's nothing else to do."
Just then, a red-liveried footman walked in. "My lord." He set a letter on the corner of the table, gave a smart bow, and left.
It was a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper, folded in thirds and secured with a large red seal. James and Juliana stared at it for a moment, as though they were both afraid to touch it.
"The stationery is from White's," he finally said, pushing it toward her.
"It's from the duke." Her hand shook as she lifted it. "It has to be."
"Open it."
She turned it over, her eyes green and apprehensive. "It's addressed to you."
Obviously she felt it was his right to read it first, but James suspected she'd snatch it from his hands if he tried. "Open it," he repeated.
She nodded and broke the seal, slowly unfolding the single page. Before she even finished scanning it, she let out a little shriek and launched herself onto his lap, the letter landing on the floor as she wrapped her arms around him and held tight.
So tight he could barely breathe. "What does it say?" he asked, unsure whether her tears indicated happiness or despair. Her only answer was a heartfelt sob. Something tightened painfully in his chest as he leaned awkwardly with her attached to him, picked up the paper, and read it.
Lord Stafford,
I wish to wed Lady Amanda Wolverston with or without her dowry. No horse will be necessary, either. I would appreciate the assistance of yourself and Lady Juliana in explaining the matter, which I expect Lady Amanda will wish to verify with Lord Neville. To that end, I shall present myself at Cainewood's home at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, unless I hear from you otherwise.
Yours sincerely,
Castleton
The pain in James's chest eased as he dragged in two lungsful of the most delicious air he'd ever breathed. Apparently Castleton wasn't quite the ass he'd thought. Everything was going to work out. After the nightmare of the past week, it seemed a bloody miracle.
"No horse." Juliana sniffled into his shoulder. "He said that once before. What on earth could he possibly mean?"
He supposed it couldn't hurt to tell her now. "Your brother promised the duke a horse as part of your dowry if he'd marry you."
She raised her head. "You've got to be jesting. A horse?"
"I believe Griffin was rather foxed when he made the offer. The particular horse is named Velocity, if I'm not mistaken."
"Idiot."
"Griffin? Or the horse?"
"Griffin, of course. Velocity is a very intelligent horse."
He laughed and gave her a quick kiss. "Do you expect I will get Velocity when I marry you?"
"It would serve Griffin right if you insist on it. Although I didn't realize you cared for racehorses."
"I don't, particularly. But the sale of such a fine animal would pay for a lot of vaccinations. I expect Castleton would bid mightily—what?" Juliana had pulled back enough to stare at him, tears streaming down her cheeks again. "What could be wrong now?"
"Was that a proposal?"
He blinked. "I suppose so. But it wasn't a very good one, was it?" He rose and set her on the chair, then dropped to one knee. "Ouch."
"Try your good knee," she said with a watery laugh.
He did. Carefully. And then took both her hands in his. "My dear Juliana, my love…would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"
"Oh, yes!" She launched herself at him again, with such force he fell back onto the floor, which, thankfully, was carpeted, since he banged his head so hard he saw stars. "I'm sorry," she said, crawling over him. "Are you hurt?"
"Not in the least." His head ached like the dickens, but he didn't care. "Are you?"
"No. I know you hate it when ladies cry, but I just can't seem to help myself."
"It's all right," he assured her, "as long as you're crying from happiness." Watching a fat drop fall from her chin to his neckcloth, he added, "You are happy?"
"Oh, yes," she breathed and leaned down to kiss him.
She kissed him. And he wasn't even unbuttoned.
He savored that for a moment, then gathered her close and kissed her back. Her lips first, then both cheeks and her forehead and chin. And then her lips again—
"Lord Stafford? Is everything all right?"
Juliana jumped up, and James turned his head to the side to see his housekeeper standing over him. "Very much so, Mrs. Hampton, I assure you." He pushed himself to sit and ran a hand through his hair. "We were just, um, going upstairs. Yes, that's it. We're going to drink our port in the Painted Room."
"Very well, my lord. Shall I have something brought to you?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all." Scrambling to his feet rather ungracefully, he took both their glasses. "We'll just go up now."
"Should you need anything, do let me know," Mrs. Hampton said. And
