Hoping very hard.
And then he kissed her again and left, and went home and spent the rest of the night with his fingers crossed, even though he wasn't superstitious.
FIFTY-ONE
IN THE END, Amanda was the one who objected.
Shaking like a leaf, she arrived at Juliana's house at quarter past ten. "What took you so long?" Juliana asked. "You were supposed to be here at ten. You only live down the street."
"It was this dress." She brushed at enormous, voluminous white skirts that were at least twenty years out of fashion. Dear heavens, they were so wide there had to be hoops under them. "Have you ever tried to climb down a ladder in a dress this big?"
"Why are you wearing it?"
Amanda looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "It's my grandmother's wedding dress. It's a tradition in my family to wear it."
Fifty years out of fashion, then. The skirts were actually somewhat yellowed, not pure white. "You're not getting married today, Amanda. That's the whole point of going to talk to Lord Neville."
"After I told my father I was getting dressed for my wedding, I couldn't very well not do that, could I?" She looked to the duke. "Besides, we're getting married today, aren't we?"
"Not today," the duke said stiffly. "A ducal wedding generally requires some months of preparation."
"If you love a woman," James said disparagingly, "I should think you'd want to marry her as soon as possible."
Juliana thought she heard him mutter "what an ass" under his breath, but surely he wouldn't say that. Not about a duke. And she worried for a moment that the duke would blurt out that he didn't actually love Amanda, but only held her in some affection, which could ruin everything.
But thankfully that didn't happen. They all walked next door to Lord Neville's house, and James banged the knocker.
The gaunt butler answered. "Yes?"
"We've come to call on Lord Neville," Juliana said.
The old fellow's eyes widened when he spotted Amanda in a wedding dress that his own bride could have worn fifty years ago, assuming he'd ever married, which he probably hadn't since most people required their butlers to remain bachelors. But he was a mannerly sort of butler, so he didn't say anything. About that, anyway. "Wait in the drawing room, if you please," he said instead, "and I shall see if Lord Neville is at home."
Viscount Neville was at home, of course. He spent his evenings with various mistresses or at his club, which meant he was never out and about very early. In fact, he came downstairs looking a bit rumpled, as though perhaps his valet had needed to drag him out of bed.
Juliana could see right off that he was Amanda's father. Amanda fit in age between Emily's two brothers, the one who was married and the other one who was away at Cambridge most of the year. Lord Neville was blond and gray-eyed like both of his daughters, and tall like both of his daughters, too. And as he seemed to overindulge in everything, Juliana wasn't surprised to learn that he'd slept with Amanda's mother.
Or at least not as surprised as she'd have been a few weeks ago. It seemed she lived on a very promiscuous street. Besides Lord Neville sleeping with Amanda's mother, Lord Wolverston had slept with the late Duchess of Castleton when she'd lived in Juliana's house.
It was a good thing she and James would be living in St. James's Place, not Berkeley Square. Assuming everything worked out, that was. She really couldn't wait any longer to find out.
No one was saying anything, and, in fact, Viscount Neville seemed a little mystified to find all these people in his house. He seemed especially fascinated by Amanda in her ancient wedding dress. Juliana was dying to resolve everything, so she figured she might as well just spit it out. "Lord Neville, are you Lady Amanda's father? She has a fleur-de-lis birthmark in the same place as you and Emily."
Amanda gasped and blushed wildly, and Juliana was sorry to embarrass her, because she knew Amanda considered that private. But she figured it was better to come out and say it than to wait and have Lord Neville ask to see it, which would have been even more embarrassing for Amanda.
"I've been wondering about that," Lord Neville said slowly, "for twenty-three years. Please, let me explain."
Lord Neville had been between wives when Amanda was conceived. He'd been very much in love with Lady Amanda's mother, but Lord Wolverston had refused her the divorce she wanted. Unfortunately, it was impossible for a woman to divorce a man, although a man could divorce his wife if she'd been unfaithful. Lord Neville and Lady Wolverston weren't precisely sure that the child she was carrying was the viscount's, so they'd been planning to wait to see if the baby had the Neville birthmark, and if that proved to be true, they'd planned to use it as leverage to pressure the earl for the divorce. He wasn't the sort of man who would have wanted word out on the street that he'd been cuckolded, especially if they'd had the proof to show all of society. His honor meant everything to him. He put his reputation before everyone else's happiness.
"Well, that's certainly the truth," Juliana muttered.
"I'm so sorry, my dear," Lord Neville said to Amanda. Her face had gone rather white, and she was looking at him. Just looking at him. He started walking toward her. "I was terribly distressed when your mother died giving birth and Lord Wolverston refused to let me even see you. He wasn't a very nice man."
"He still isn't," Juliana said.
"I never knew for sure whether you were my daughter," Lord Neville continued, still walking toward Amanda, who was still just looking at him. "I hoped you were, but there was no way to find out. As you grew, I would see you sometimes, and I thought more than once
