"THIS PINK IS pretty," Emily said Monday at Grafton House, a draper's shop in New Bond Street.
"It is," Juliana agreed, watching a snooty woman give the girl and her ever-present snake a wide berth. "But silk isn't sturdy enough for babies. And pink won't do." She fingered a length of thick white wool. "The Governors want white, so all the clothes will suit both girls and boys."
Emily cocked her golden head. "Won't the babies be overly warm in frocks made of that?"
"I'm considering this for the blankets. We'll buy linsey for the frocks."
"I'll look for linsey, then," Emily said and walked away.
Juliana nodded absently, deciding the wool would do fine. She was about to ask the price when she heard a little shriek, followed by a familiar voice. "Gracious me, Miss Neville! Are you still carrying that varmint everywhere?"
Juliana turned, surprised to see another Berkeley Square neighbor, Lady Amanda Wolverston.
Young Emily looked much more affronted than surprised, however. "Herman isn't a varmint," she protested, returning to slip her hand into Juliana's. "He's a pet."
"Not a very proper one," Lady Amanda said.
Although she agreed, Juliana squeezed Emily's hand. Amanda could sometimes be a bit too proper. But she and Amanda had grown up as neighbors and played together as small children, so Juliana considered her a good friend.
"I'm so glad you've come to town," she told her with a smile. "I've invited my sisters to a little sewing party on Wednesday afternoon, to make some clothing for the Foundling Hospital babies. I do hope you'll join us."
Juliana's tall blond friend was slouching—a habitual posture for her. But she seemed to be slouching even more than normal, and she looked uncommonly pale.
Blinking, Juliana peered up at Amanda's wan face. "Where have you been hiding all season?"
"In the countryside. My father is still excavating the Roman ruins he found on the estate." Amanda gestured toward a chair in a corner of the shop, where her aunt sat primly. "Aunt Mabel came with me, which was very kind. She didn't want to come to town this year at all."
A slight, pinch-faced woman in a baggy gown, the poor lady was as pink-cheeked as Amanda was pale. She seemed to be wheezing a little. "You know she's always suffered from asthma," Juliana said sympathetically, vaguely musing that Amanda must have inherited her fashion sense—or rather, lack thereof—from her aunt. "The London air doesn't agree with her. However did you persuade her to come?"
"Father persuaded her. Or rather, he ordered her." Amanda took a deep breath. "Because…" Her gaze slid to Emily and back, wordlessly telling Juliana she had something to confide.
Dying to hear the news, Juliana squeezed the little girl's hand again. "Could you do me an important favor, sweetheart, and see if you can find that linsey?"
"All right," Emily said, happily wandering off.
"Well?" Juliana asked when Emily was out of earshot.
Amanda's voice dropped to a whisper. "Father has arranged my marriage. He sent me and Aunt Mabel to put together a trousseau, which is why I'm here at Grafton Hou—"
"He's arranged your marriage?" Juliana interrupted. "To whom?"
Amanda closed her blue-gray eyes for a moment and released a slow breath before she reopened them. "Lord Malmsey," she said despondently.
"Lord Malmsey?"
The man was shorter than Amanda, quiet, mild-mannered, and meek. But the predominant image in Juliana's mind was that of a creased forehead beneath a receding hairline.
"The man must be forty, at least!"
"Forty-five," Amanda corrected. Nearly twice her age. She was a year older than Juliana, which made her all of twenty-three. "I met with him last evening—not that either of us had much to say to each other. We're to be married four weeks from Saturday, in a private ceremony by special license."
The same day as the next Foundling Hospital intake, when Juliana had to have all the baby clothes ready. Amanda looked to be in the dismals, which was no wonder. "Can you refuse to wed him?"
She shook her head. "Father has made it clear that if I fail to go through with this wedding, he'll disinherit me—which would leave me slim chances of ever wedding at all."
It was on the tip of Juliana's tongue to argue the point, but she wasn't one to lie—not outright, anyway—and Amanda was only stating the truth. In five seasons, no one else had offered for her, and without her substantial inheritance, it was unlikely any man ever would.
"I'm miserable," Amanda added unnecessarily.
One thing Juliana was sure of: Griffin would never expect her to wed other than where her heart led her. For that, she was grateful. "Have you told your father how you feel?"
"Countless times. My protests fall on deaf ears. Nothing I can say will make him breach a contract. His honor is more important to him than my happiness."
Lord Wolverston had always been rather emotionless and uncaring, but this went beyond that. It was downright cruel. "There's nothing at all honorable about putting his reputation before his own daughter. He should want to see you in love."
"He believes that when it comes to marriage, there are much more important matters to consider."
Juliana couldn't disagree more—concerning her own marriage, at least. Her parents had wed for practical reasons, and her mother had never known true happiness. While she did realize that much of society had other priorities for evaluating matches, for her, love came first.
Amanda slouched even more. "He's pleased beyond belief to have an offer for my hand at all, let alone one from a baron. I suppose he's right when he says I'm lucky Lord Malmsey is willing to marry me."
"Amanda!"
"I'm a confirmed wallflower, Juliana."
Amanda did look rather plain, but Juliana had always assumed that was because her mother had died giving birth to her. Much like little Emily, she'd grown up without anyone to offer guidance. Her Aunt Mabel was certainly no help. Amanda wore dowdy clothes in all the wrong colors, her brows were too heavy, her blond hair was pulled back into an excruciatingly tight braided bun, and she never met anyone's eyes—not even Juliana's now. Her blue-gray gaze was focused in the vicinity of her unfashionably shod feet.
In short, Amanda was a project just waiting to be tackled.
"Who else knows about your engagement?" Juliana asked.
"We arrived only yesterday. You're the first one I've told."
"Excellent." Lord Malmsey wasn't the type to spread news, either. Although the man was a fixture at society gatherings, Juliana couldn't recall more than a dozen words ever leaving his mouth. "Don't tell anyone else. I shall save you from this dismal fate."
The older girl glanced up. "How? Do you truly believe it possible?"
"Without a doubt." Juliana had never been one to disregard anyone in need. "Let me think on the matter."
"Look here, Lady Juliana!" Emily returned, holding forth Herman coiled upon an armful of white fabric.
"Perfect, sweetheart." Juliana smiled, hoping the clerk wouldn't faint when she asked for a length to be cut. Or maybe hoping the clerk would faint, because that might convince the girl, once and for all, that carrying a snake around wasn't a good idea. She looked back to Amanda. "You'll come to the sewing party Wednesday, won't you? One o'clock. By the time you arrive, I'm certain to have a solution."