"I CANNOT SEE," Frances complained. "I should never have let you talk me into taking off my spectacles."
"But you look beautiful, Auntie." Juliana patted her on the arm. "Just wait until Lord Malmsey gazes into your big blue eyes. You won't be sorry then." Having just arrived at Lady Partridge's ball, she looked around for the man in question, smiling when she spotted him across the room. "There he is."
"Where?" Frances glanced around wildly. "I cannot see him."
"Right there, Auntie. Leaning on the mantel." Since it was quite cold for June, Lady Partridge had ordered the fireplaces lit on both ends of her impressive ballroom. "Come along. I'll take you to him."
Frances drew a deep breath and smoothed her soft peach dress down her sides, eyeing her lower-than-usual décolletage—although it wasn't very low compared to what most of the ladies were wearing tonight. "Do I look all right?"
"You look perfect," Juliana assured her, taking her arm as they started across the room. It was true. Frances looked much younger in the fashionable dress with her hair dyed and styled, and Juliana's skillful hand with the cosmetics had completed her transformation. She seemed to be trembling, but there was nothing Juliana could do to help that.
Standing in the glow of the fire, Lord Malmsey also looked nervous. Well, he should be. Not only was he falling in love for the first time in his life, but he was doing so while betrothed to another lady—and while Juliana knew that would soon cease to be a problem, he didn't.
It was unfortunate a gentleman couldn't call off a wedding, because that would solve everything. He'd be free to marry Aunt Frances, and Amanda's father would have no grounds to disinherit her, leaving her free to find another suitor without so much pressure. But it just wasn't done. Although a lady could back out of an engagement—assuming she was willing to be labeled a jilt—a gentleman had no honorable way to withdraw an offer of marriage.
As Lord Malmsey noticed them approaching, a tentative smile spread on his face. While it didn't quite transform him—it didn't, after all, smooth his creased forehead or improve his unfortunate receding hairline—he did seem more attractive than Juliana remembered. Perhaps it was his stylish suit, which was obviously brand-new, or perhaps it was because what was left of his hair had been neatly trimmed. Or perhaps it was a glow that came from knowing someone of the opposite sex cared for him.
Love could change a person.
When they reached him, his anxious gaze met her aunt's. "Good evening, Lady Frances," he said shyly.
A youthful blush blossomed on Frances's cheeks, making her even more alluring. "Good evening, Lord Malmsey."
"Please," he said, gazing into her big blue eyes, "call me Theodore."
Juliana had never heard the man's given name—in fact, she felt somewhat surprised to hear he even had one. But Aunt Frances stopped shaking, and her lips curved in a timid smile. "Call me Frances, then, please."
Lord Malmsey held out his arm. "Would you honor me with a dance…Frances?"
"My goodness, I'd love nothing more," she gushed, which sounded nothing like the formal words of acceptance she'd practiced with Juliana. But it sounded better, more genuine, and made Lord Malmsey grin in response. Shooting Juliana a disbelieving—and myopic—glance, Frances took his arm and sailed off with him.
Juliana sighed as she watched them drift toward the dance floor. Love was so inspiring.
"Did the macaroons work? Are my eyes sparkling?"
She turned to find Amanda standing beside her, wearing the dress Juliana had chosen because its gray-blue hue intensified the color of her eyes. Alas, those eyes weren't noticeably sparkling, but Juliana wouldn't tell her so.
"You look lovely," she said instead. Amanda did look lovely, actually, whether her eyes sparkled or not. Juliana's hard work with her had definitely paid off. "Are you carrying your new fan?"
Amanda held it up. "And I'm wearing the gloves, like you told me to."
"Excellent. Have you seen James—I mean, Lord Stafford—yet?"
"No. I don't think he's arrived." Amanda's not-sparkling eyes looked apprehensive. "His gifts are wonderful, but what if I still don't like him particularly?"
"You will." How could anyone not like James? He was warm, intelligent, kind, and caring, and even though he didn't have time to go out much in society, Amanda shouldn't care a fig about that. It wasn't as though she was a social butterfly herself.
If anything, Juliana was more concerned about James liking Amanda, mostly because he seemed much more affectionate than Amanda. But soon he would discover they had interests in common—chess and antiquities—and hopefully the macaroons would work to make Amanda warmer than usual. Or at least more receptive to his warmth.
Amanda frowned toward the dance floor. "Is Lord Malmsey waltzing with your aunt?"
"Yes. Isn't it wonderful?"
"He's engaged to me," she said.
It was Juliana's turn to frown. "You're planning to break that engagement, aren't you? Under the circumstances, I should think you'd be happy to see him showing interest in another woman. It's not your goal to devastate him, is it? Besides, you've spent the last week dancing with other men."
In fact, two other men were approaching now. As Rachael had said, Amanda looked to be this season's Incomparable—at least until her novelty wore off.
"Smile, Amanda," Juliana instructed through a fixed smile of her own. "You're not engaged to Lord Stafford yet, so you might need one of these gentlemen."
Before she turned her new, practiced smile on the potential suitors, Amanda at least had the grace to look chagrined. Which was a good thing, because given her earlier attitude, Juliana had been tempted to call the whole plan off. Except then Lord Malmsey would have to marry Amanda, which would hardly be fair to either him or Aunt Frances.
Having multiple projects was proving to be complicated.
As Amanda went off to dance with the luckier of the two men, Juliana sensed a presence behind her and turned to see the Duke of Castleton. "Lady Juliana," he said, his tone cultured and reserved as always, "may I beg the honor of your company for a dance?"
"By all means, your grace." She loved calling him your grace and thinking that someday—maybe someday soon—other people would say that to her. She took the duke's arm and headed toward the dance floor. "A waltz," she said happily, shooting him a smile. "Now you'll have an excuse to touch me."
She'd uttered the words in a flirtatious manner, but although she was an accomplished flirt, the duke didn't seem to take her hint. "You're looking beautiful tonight, my dear," he said, and then he held her at a respectable distance throughout the entirety of the dance, and he didn't touch her anywhere that wasn't strictly necessary.
None of that meant he wasn't enamored. He'd sent her flowers, after all. And he'd called her my dear. But all the same, Juliana had enjoyed the affection she'd received from James, and she wished the duke would loosen up a bit and show a little physical affection, too. Even a smidgen would be encouraging.
Luckily, she'd transferred the handkerchief-wrapped macaroons into the pretty yellow reticule that matched her dress. As they came off the dance floor, she slid the beaded purse off her wrist and opened it.
"Thank you for the waltz, my dear," the duke said very formally.
"It was my pleasure." She pulled out the bundle and handed it to him. "I baked macaroons for you."
He looked startled. "In the kitchen?" he asked, as though there were somewhere else—someplace more acceptable—a proper lady of the ton might bake.
"Yes, in the kitchen. Chase ladies are known for making all sorts of sweets." Since he wasn't moving to do so, she unwrapped the macaroons for him. "Won't you try one?"
Looking discomfited, he selected an especially small one and surreptitiously slipped it into his mouth, then chewed and swallowed thoroughly before stating his opinion. "They're absolutely delicious," he said. "I can see why the Chase ladies are known for their sweets." He held forth the handkerchief with the rest of them.
She didn't take it. "I'm so glad they meet with your approval. I hope you'll enjoy all of them." Seven macaroons might seem a bit much, considering three had made James overly affectionate, but she suspected it could take at least that many to ease a manner as reserved as the duke's. "Thank you for the dance," she added, with a very proper curtsy. Then she took her leave, before he could try to hand them to her again.
Men didn't carry reticules—and the duke was entirely too fastidious to put a bundle of macaroons in his pocket.
He'd have no choice but to eat them.