It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  Which was very probably true.

  “Emily,” she said carefully, rising from her chair, “you need to give Herman back to me now. I’m going to put him in his box until Lord Stafford is finished.”

  “No!” Emily clutched the olive green snake. “I want to keep him.”

  “Emily—”

  “The other doctor took him, and then he hurt me. I want to keep Herman!”

  “Emily—”

  “It’s all right,” James said, looking pale as paper. “She can keep him.” He drew a deep breath and looked back to Juliana. “Your note said she was ailing?” His gaze flicked to Emily’s bandage and back again. “Did she hurt her arm?”

  “Not exactly. The other doctor bled her. She’s been exposed to smallpox, and—”

  “Where? When?” He walked closer to the bed, seemingly unafraid of the snake. Except his hand was gripping the handle of his leather bag so tightly his knuckles had turned white. “Tell me what you know.”

  “She’s been playing all week with three girls who came down with smallpox today.”

  “How do you know it’s smallpox? Do they have spots, or only a fever?”

  “Spots,” Emily said. “But Susan told me she was hot the day before.”

  “Damn,” he said under his breath. On the other side of the bed from where Juliana stood, he set his bag down on Emily’s night table. “Do you feel hot?”

  “No. Not now. I did before, but Lady Juliana took all the blankets off of me.”

  “The other doctor had her under seven of the things,” Juliana explained disgustedly.

  “Idiot.” James leaned closer to Emily and reached toward her, flinching before he placed a hand on her forehead. “No fever,” he reported, quickly pulling back from the girl and her snake. “That’s a good sign. Smallpox usually isn’t contagious for the first week or two after exposure, but one can never be certain.”

  “If it’s a good sign,” Juliana said cautiously, “does that mean you can do something to prevent her getting it?”

  “Maybe.” He opened his bag and drew out items she’d seen at the Institute. “Very possibly. Vaccination within three days of exposure will usually completely prevent it. Between four and seven days, vaccination still offers a chance of protection, and at the very least should modify the severity of the disease. Has she already been vaccinated?”

  “I don’t know,” Juliana said. “The butler doesn’t know, and Lord Neville isn’t here.”

  “The doctor sent him to the apothecary,” Emily said. “To get more purg—purg—”

  “Purgative,” James supplied.

  “Lovely,” Juliana muttered. “Do you think it’s been less than three days since she was exposed? Since the Lambourne girls became contagious?”

  “We don’t know,” he said. “It would be better if Emily’s friends hadn’t developed spots. But then I suppose we wouldn’t be certain it was smallpox, so…” He shrugged and lifted the quizzing glass that dangled from the chain around his neck. “Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he said, bending closer to Emily.

  He held his breath as he examined her, his lips clamped tight. Knowing Herman must be scaring him to death, Juliana held her breath with him. Maybe it was a bit silly to be afraid of a harmless snake, but not any sillier than to feel ill at the sight of blood. Her heart cracked at the evidence of his bravery, his determination to put the girl’s health before his own fears.

  How could she have ever thought his having a profession was a bad thing? Amanda had better appreciate having such a wonderful husband, she thought fiercely.

  When he straightened, they both blew out a breath. “What were you looking for?” she asked.

  “Small red spots on her tongue and in her mouth. Pocks usually show up there first, although I wouldn’t expect to see any this early, before the fever. In any case, she has none.”

  “That’s good, is it not?”

  He nodded and visibly steeled himself before leaning close again to unfasten the buttons that went down the front of Emily’s nightgown. Herman was draped on either side of the placket, and his fingers shook a little. Regardless, Juliana had never seen anyone unbutton anything so quickly.

  “I want to check the rest of her body. Spots most likely wouldn’t appear there yet if she’s contracted smallpox, but we can hope her friends actually have some other disease that presents differently—”

  He snatched his hands back and froze, staring.

  At first Juliana thought he’d gone rigid due to the snake. Then she noticed he wasn’t staring at Herman, but at Emily’s young, flat chest.

  Or, to be more precise, at an odd, fleur-de-lis shaped birthmark on the left side.

  He frowned and murmured, “I think I’ve seen a birthmark like this before.”

  Emily nodded. “My father has one, too. All the Nevilles have one. In exactly the same place.”

  “Oh,” James said. Still staring at Emily’s bared skin, he frowned again. “But I’ve never seen your father’s chest.”

  “Yes, you did,” Juliana reminded him. “At Lady Hammersmithe’s ball, remember? Lord Neville was choking, and you saved his life.”

  “I removed his neckcloth but not his shirt. I only loosened a couple of buttons. I never saw—”

  He blinked. And gasped.

  “What?” Juliana asked.

  His gaze flew to meet hers. “It’s another birthmark I remember. Because another night—the night I was caught with Lady Am—” He broke off, glancing toward Emily and back again. “With your unbuttoned friend,” he revised.

  Then he paused before concluding, very slowly, “I saw that birthmark on her.”

  Dear heavens, he was right. Juliana suddenly remembered seeing it herself from where she’d been peeking from behind the curtain. A similar birthmark on Amanda’s half bare, hastily covered breast.

  No, she couldn’t have seen it then. She’d been at entirely the wrong angle.

  But she had seen that birthmark on Amanda.

  Her brain felt fuzzy, but she knew she’d seen it. She closed her eyes and pictured it…in her very own bedroom, the night she’d presented the “new” Amanda to society, when she was dressing for Lady Hammersmithe’s ball.

  And that meant…

  Something hovered in the back of Juliana’s mind. Something significant. Across the bed from James, she followed his gaze down to Emily’s chest. If all the Nevilles had that birthmark, and Amanda had that birthmark…

  Then Amanda was Lord Neville’s daughter, not Lord Wolverston’s.

  And that meant…

  “Oh, my heavens,” she breathed.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  JAMES’S EYES met Juliana’s in understanding, and it took everything they had not to voice their conclusions aloud in front of the little girl. Her father arrived, purgative in hand—muttering about hiring some servants young enough to run errands—and James asked him if his daughter had ever been vaccinated.

  The answer was no, which James found rather annoying. If the educated upper class didn’t make vaccination a priority, was there any hope for the common people?

  To everyone’s relief—except perhaps Emily’s, since the last thing she wanted was to be cut again—the purgative was put aside, and James vaccinated her instead. A tiny incision, a little dip into the wound using an ivory lancet tipped with cowpox virus, and a swiftly applied bandage. It all went very quickly, even though James didn’t have a sugar stick. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever vaccinating anyone faster.

  Herman might have had something to do with that, and it seemed the girl preferred chocolate cream, anyway.

  There was nothing else to do but wait. The incubation period for smallpox generally ran seven to fourteen days, but occasionally went as long as seventeen. Emily had most likely been exposed two or three days earlier, which meant it would be at least two weeks before they knew for certain whether she was out of the woods.

  But there was much reason to hope. And for now Emily was healthy, s
o even though she should stay at home to assure others’ safety, there was no reason for her to remain in bed.

  It was almost seven o’clock by the time all was said and done and James and Juliana left the Neville house. As soon as the door closed behind them, she turned to him on the doorstep. “Will Emily really be all right?”

  “I cannot make any promises, but I think she will. She may not get smallpox at all, and if she does, it should be a very light case.”

  While even a light case of smallpox could be arduous, at least it wouldn’t be fatal. And in any event, what would be would be. It was out of his hands at this point, and there were much more pressing matters to discuss.

  Yes, he wanted a discussion.

  He was ready—he needed—to think.

  And after he and Juliana talked, he wanted to kiss her senseless. Or perhaps while they talked. Or before. All of the above wouldn’t be a bad plan, either.

  Easy, he told himself. Everything was still up in the air. Instead of kissing her, he took her hand. “Lady Amanda isn’t Castleton’s sister.”

  “I know. I figured that out.” She squeezed his fingers, looking more lively than he’d seen her in days. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “She may not think so,” he said cautiously. “A woman who’s such a stickler for propriety may be unhappy to learn she’s another man’s daughter.”

  “She’ll cope with the knowledge. She’ll have to. And the best part of it is, you shouldn’t have to marry her when there’s no good reason for her not to marry the duke.” She seemed to be holding her breath. “You won’t, will you?”

  Much as he wanted to make her that promise, he couldn’t. His honor was at stake; there was no way for a man to honorably back out of a betrothal. And while he might back out anyway were it only his own reputation on the line, his mother and aunts would also be affected. “Lord Wolverston may still insist—”

  “He can withhold Amanda’s dowry and inheritance, but he cannot make her say ‘I will.’” Sounding very sure of herself—well, she was Juliana—she finally released her breath. “Amanda won’t need Wolverston’s money if she’s wed to the duke.”

  “The duke may not agree.”

  “He wants her. I think he’ll agree. Let’s find him and ask him now.” She started down the steps, then stopped and turned back to him. “Oh, drat. We can’t.” Her newly recovered enthusiasm disappeared, replaced by something closer to panic. “I still have to make thirty-three pieces of baby clothes before tomorrow morning.”

  “No, you don’t.” He took her face in both hands and kissed her softly on the lips. “Relax.”

  “I cannot. Perhaps my sisters and Aunt Frances made three or four items in the past couple of hours, but that still leaves—”

  “You don’t have to make any more baby clothes, Juliana.” Slowly, while she stood there looking puzzled—or maybe transfixed—he skimmed his hands along her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms. Lacing his fingers with hers, he eased her down the steps and next door, stopping on the pavement in front of the large window that fronted number forty-four’s drawing room. “Look,” he murmured.

  On the other side of the glass, Corinna leisurely painted, a dreamy smile on her face. Behind her, Lady Frances stood with her back to the window, gesturing or perhaps explaining something. On the far side of her, a dozen young women were perched on the drawing room’s chairs and sofas, hunched over the needlework in their hands.

  Juliana turned to him, a bewildered frown creasing her brow. “Who are they?”

  “My former assistants and a few friends they managed to scare up. Some of them may not be able to read and write, but the sort of women who live near the Institute all know how to sew.”

  She blinked. “How did they get here?”

  “When Aunt Aurelia came to assist me today, she had such stories. Poor Lady Juliana is sewing her fingers to the bone, dear Lady Juliana will never finish in time.” He shrugged. “So I hired them.”

  “You hired them?”

  He nodded. “Before you summoned me to Emily’s house.”

  “Dear heavens.” Her eyes shone with disbelief and gratitude and something else. Something that made his heart sing. “Have I told you I love you?” she whispered through an obviously tight throat.

  He squeezed her hand. “Yes, but I’ll never tire of hearing it.”

  “I hope…” She bit her lip. “Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” She squeezed his hand back. “I must go help them now, but—”

  “No. Oh, no. You’re much too exhausted, and we have much more important things to do.”

  “James—”

  “Go inside if you must, tell them Emily is all right and you’ve been invited to Stafford House for dinner.”

  “Aunt Frances might be oblivious, but she’s not stupid. She knows your mother is still too ill to be inviting guests.”

  “I’m inviting you. We’ll go there as soon as we’ve talked to Castleton. Your aunt is needed here to supervise, and this is no time to fret about proprieties, Juliana. I’m starved, and my mother is in bed. We shan’t even wake her. Now, go. I’ll wait here.”

  He leaned to give her a soft kiss, wanting so much more but knowing now was not the time. Her sister was ten feet away—thankfully absorbed in her artwork—and there was much that still needed settling.

  Everything was still up in the air.

  Juliana looked like she might argue for a moment, but then she nodded and went inside. It started raining while he waited on the doorstep, and when she came back out, they dashed to his carriage together.

  “They’ve made twenty-one items of baby clothes already,” she reported. “With only twelve to go, they really don’t need me.” Being Juliana, of course she already had a plan. “The House of Lords is in session. You’ll have to go in alone to fetch the duke, but then you should bring him out to the carriage so we can talk to him together.”

  James sent an outrider to Stafford House to ask his cook to prepare a meal, and told his driver to head for Parliament.

  Unfortunately, Castleton wasn’t at Parliament.

  He wasn’t at his Grosvenor Square town house.

  And he wasn’t at White’s, which was the final place Juliana could think to check.

  It was rather disconcerting, really. Everything was still up in the air. They left notes at the last two locations, explaining all they’d learned, along with their conclusions, and requesting that Castleton notify them of his intentions at his earliest convenience. Then they went to Stafford House to wait, because there was nothing else they could do.

  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 duk
e.” 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.”