APPLE AND ORANGE TART
Peel two Oranges and make into pieces, then peel some Apples into thin slices. Put in a bowle with a smidgen of Flour, a cup of Sugar, some Cinnamon and Ginger. Put into your paste with pieces of Butter all over. Cover with more paste and some Sugar and bake in your oven until browne.
Excellent to bring to a party with friends. As the apples and oranges in this tart go together, so do the people who eat it.
—Eleanor, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1735
"ISN'T THIS A stunning carriage?" Juliana asked as she and Amanda neared Stafford House.
"Lord Stafford is an earl." Amanda absentmindedly ran a hand over the deep green velvet upholstery. "I'd expect him to have a nice carriage."
The well-sprung vehicle rocked, making Juliana tighten her grip on the tart she'd baked that afternoon. Was there nothing about the man that would impress her friend? "He likes chess," she reminded her, and then, even though she'd meant to let Amanda discover they had more in common at the Egyptian Hall, she added, "And you might want to ask him if he's interested in Roman antiq—"
She cut off mid-word as the carriage came to a stop and the door opened, revealing a footman dressed in crimson livery trimmed in gold. "Welcome to Stafford House," he said, offering a gloved hand to help them down.
"Gracious me," Amanda breathed, her eyes widening as she stepped out and stood before the mansion. "I've noticed this house from Green Park, but I had no idea it belonged to Lord Stafford." It was three stories tall, the facade clad in brilliant white Portland stone. "Would you look at those statues on top of that Roman Doric portico? Bacchus, Flora, and Ceres."
Juliana hadn't a clue who Bacchus, Flora, and Ceres were, but she smiled all the same. "Lord Stafford can name ancient gods and goddesses, just like you."
A butler ushered them inside an impressive entrance hall with curved walls, a pale marble floor, and an arched window looking out on a resplendent central courtyard garden.
"Gracious me," Amanda repeated, staring up at a strip of decorations that ran around the room below the carved oval ceiling. "That frieze looks like the one in the Temple of Jupiter." Slowly, reverently, she walked toward a large marble bust that sat on a pedestal before the window. "This is amazing." She reached a hand as though to touch it, then stopped herself. "It must be priceless."
"He doesn't look like a god," Juliana said.
"He isn't. That's Emperor Lucius Verus, the adopted brother of Marcus Aurelius who ruled with him."
Juliana examined the haughty, bearded fellow. "He's very handsome."
"He was said to be weak and indulgent. I understand that his death was rather a relief to the Empire."
"How do you know such things?" Juliana asked.
"From books, of course. My father's library has grown by leaps and bounds since he discovered the ruins on the property. Do you not read, too?"
"Most certainly." Newspapers, because she liked to keep up with what was going on in the world. Magazines by the dozen. Poetry and the latest novels discussed in polite company. And those discussed in whispers, such as the torrid Minerva Press romance currently hidden beneath her pillow. But Roman history and mythology?
She'd had no idea Amanda was so bookish.
After collecting their pelisses and umbrellas, the butler led them through a staircase hall. Or at least he tried to lead them through a staircase hall. Amanda stopped in her tracks, staring at a statue that was larger-than-life.
"It's a centaur," she said.
"Even I know that. My education isn't totally lacking." Juliana was rather fascinated by all the ridges on the creature's bare, toned chest. But Amanda had already moved on, kneeling down by a large fragment of carved stone that sat beneath an inlaid wooden side table.
"Part of a sarcophagus, I'd guess." She ran her fingers across the piece. "First century."
"How do you know?" Juliana wondered.
Amanda just shrugged as she rose, gesturing to two more carved stone pieces on either side of the table. "Funerary altars. Also first century. The flat surface was used for sacrificial ceremonies." She sighed expansively. "This house is just full of treasures."
The butler continued on, leading them down a corridor lined with gilt-framed paintings of Stafford ancestors, then turning into the most gorgeous room Juliana had ever seen. Between arched walls painted a soft pistachio green, gilded columns looked like golden palm trees, their fronds projecting high overhead. In the back of the room, a large alcove was crowned with a domed ceiling, divided into small gilt-edged squares alternately tinted green and pink.
Dressed in a burgundy gown with pink trim, Lady Stafford rose from where she faced Lord Cavanaugh across a chessboard and greeted them with a smile. "Good evening. I'm so pleased you could both come." She moved to take the dish Juliana was holding out. "What is this, my dear?"
"An apple and orange tart. The recipe was my great-grandmother's."
She lifted the lace doily that covered it. "Oh, my. It smells delicious."
"It's supposed to promote friendship," Amanda informed her, gazing down at the chess set.
"Lovely!" Lady Stafford set the tart on a marble side table. "We shall serve it after dinner."
"What a beautiful chess set," Juliana said, amused by Amanda's fascination. "Roman gladiators, aren't they? Do the pieces date back to that time?"
"No, they look much newer," Amanda said. "And besides, chess isn't that old. It wasn't invented until after the Empire fell."
"My father-in-law commissioned the set to be carved." Lady Stafford lifted a crystal decanter. "Would you care for some sherry?"
"A little, please." Juliana took the first glass she poured and perched herself on a pale green satin love seat with gilt palm tree legs that had obviously been designed to match the room. "Thank you so much for inviting us to your home."
"It's my son's home," Lady Stafford said, handing Amanda another glass.
That son walked into the room with the duke, the two of them deep in conversation. Juliana was thrilled to see the men were becoming friends already. She smoothed the skirts of her white dress, which she'd chosen hoping the duke would think it proper and ladylike.
Very pure, as James had said.
Sipping sherry, Amanda sat beside her. "He's so much taller," she whispered.
James was much taller than the duke. Which was why he and Amanda looked so good together.
"And darker," Amanda added.
Yes, James was dark. The duke looked pasty in comparison. Pasty and pale-haired. But only in comparison. And Juliana preferred pale hair.
"And much more handsome."
"It isn't polite to whisper," Juliana whispered back. She didn't want to think about James being much more handsome. And it wasn't true, anyway.
Was it?
"Good evening, ladies," James said, his voice low and chocolate-smooth as always. On hearing it, Juliana felt her knees weaken as always, too, even though she was sitting down.
"Good evening," the duke said in his perfectly normal voice. He smiled at Juliana. "It's lovely to see you again, my dear."
Well, why should a voice matter, anyway? The duke was a duke. And it was obvious he cared for her, even if he didn't touch her.
A footman appeared in the doorway and announced dinner. Lord Cavanaugh offered Lady Stafford his arm. "Shall we?"
The rest of them followed the older couple into a large formal dining room. The extra leaves had been removed from the mahogany table to make it an oval for six. While a footman drew back Juliana's chair, she took a moment to look around. The dining room featured Roman-looking marble columns, a beautiful Turkey carpet, and a carved marble fireplace. But the most impressive thing was the ceiling, a scalloped design with round inset panels representing classical scenes, all decorated in gold.
"This is exquisite," she said as she sank onto her forest green velvet seat.
"My late husband's pride and joy." Lady Stafford sat, too. "It was based on a ceiling in the Baths of Augustus in Rome."
Gazing up at it, Amanda sighed. "This is the most magnificent house I've ever seen. Everything in it is absolutely splendid." She turned to James beside her. "You have wonderful taste, Lord Stafford."
His mother laughed. "The taste was his grandfather's. The man hired the venerable Henry Holland as his designer. Were it up to my son, he'd probably sell the whole lot and use the money to vaccinate every last soul in England."
James frowned. "The sale of this house and its contents wouldn't begin to cover—"
"I was jesting," Lady Stafford broke in with the sort of fond smile a mother gives her exasperating-but-adored son. "I trust you not to sell off the family treasures."
Juliana saw an opportunity to segue into a matter she'd hoped to discuss. "If others would help with Lord Stafford's cause," she said as asparagus soup was served in porcelain bowls with gold Stafford crests on their crimson rims, "there would be no need to sell anything." Lifting her spoon, which was gold, too, she turned to the duke. "Eradicating smallpox is a worthy goal that all should contribute towards, don't you think?"
"All?" The duke raised his own gold spoon. "Worthy or not, I don't expect everyone can afford to donate."
"Certainly you can," she said sweetly.
She thought she heard choking sounds from James. Or maybe a muffled chortle.
Lord Cavanaugh took a sip of wine. "I'd be pleased to contribute."
"Thank you very much," James said with an expression of startled approval. "That would be greatly appreciated."
Lady Stafford looked quite delighted.
Amanda turned a smile on James. "I should like to contribute, too," she said prettily, "but alas, I shall need to ask my father for the funds."
Knowing Amanda's father, Juliana suspected he wouldn't donate a penny. And she was sure Amanda knew that, too. "Time is also valuable," she said. "You could volunteer your aid in lieu of money."
Amanda blinked and pressed a hand to her pale blue muslin bodice. "Are you suggesting I give smallpox vaccinations?"
"No, of course not. Doctors give the vaccinations. But I imagine there are other tasks you could do that would prove helpful."
"Certainly," James put in, setting down his spoon, which Juliana had decided was actually sterling plated in gold, because, really, solid gold spoons were a little much, even for people as rich as the Staffords. "There are always new supplies arriving that need to be unpacked and arranged on the shelves behind the counter, and schedules to be made out in a hand neater than mine, and treatment rooms to be cleaned, and—"
"You're looking for people to clean rooms?" Amanda interrupted. She pinned Juliana with a pointed gaze. "Are you going to volunteer, too, then?"
In truth, Juliana hadn't a clue why she'd suggested Amanda volunteer in the first place. She certainly didn't expect her to clean treatment rooms—she doubted the woman had cleaned anything in her life, with the possible exception of her own teeth. But something about Amanda's disingenuous offer of money had rubbed her the wrong way.
And now she'd backed herself into a corner. "I'd be happy to volunteer," Juliana found herself saying. She lifted her chin. She did like helping people, and while she was quite busy sewing baby clothes, she imagined she could spare a little time. "As I said, it's a worthy cause."
"Capital!" James exclaimed so enthusiastically she half expected him to break into applause. "How about Wednesday at one o'clock?"
"She can't," Amanda said. "She has a sewing party every Wednesday at one."
Drat. "I'll move this week's party to tomorrow."
"Sewing party?" Lady Stafford asked.
"Lady Juliana supports many worthy causes," Amanda said. "She's making baby clothes for the Foundling Hospital."
Juliana had a sudden thought. "It might be a good idea," she suggested to James, "for you to vaccinate the foundlings."
"I already do," he said, which made her admire him even more. "I visit there twice every year. "
Lady Stafford looked to Juliana. "Do you need more help sewing the baby clothes, dear? I'd be pleased to attend your party tomorrow."
"That would be wonderful," Juliana said.
And it was. But she spent the rest of dinner wondering how it happened that she'd ended up volunteering to help at the Institute when she'd suggested Amanda do so, and Lord Cavanaugh had ended up donating money when she'd asked that of the duke.
Maybe she was losing her touch.