Her fingers ached. Her vision was blurring. And she didn't have bad eyes.
"You're crying," Alexandra said sympathetically.
"I'm not. I think I must be catching everyone's sniffles."
"In your eyes?" Corinna asked with a smirk.
Alexandra nudged her. "I think Juliana needs chocolate."
"I'm not hungry." She hadn't felt much like eating the past couple of days, not even chocolate. "There are still cups of chocolate cream left, if you want some," she said, and that was when she remembered. "Oh, drat."
Aunt Frances looked up. "What's wrong, dear?"
Other than a dearth of baby clothes and the man she loved marrying another woman tomorrow? "I promised Emily I'd bring her chocolate cream. Three days ago."
"Take her some, then," Frances said. "The fresh air will do you good."
She couldn't spare the time. Could she? "Maybe I will," she decided. It would take but a few minutes. She set down her sewing, fetched two cups from the kitchen, and walked next door to knock on the Nevilles' door.
Their gaunt butler answered. "Yes?"
"I've come to call on Miss Neville."
"I fear Miss Neville isn't available."
"Is she playing with the Lambourne girls?" The fresh air did feel wonderful. Maybe she'd fetch three more cups and walk across the square to introduce herself. It would take only a few more minutes—a few more minutes she wouldn't be sewing in a melancholy fog.
"I'm afraid not, Lady Juliana." The old retainer looked mournful. "The poor child is in bed."
"In bed?" It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and Emily was well past the age for napping. "Is she ill?"
"Not yet, but she will be. The Lambourne girls came down with smallpox today."
"Smallpox!" Her heart suddenly beat double time. "Has Miss Neville not been vaccinated?"
He shrugged his thin shoulders. "I'm only the butler, my lady."
"I'd like to visit with her, if you please."
The butler, who was pock-scarred himself, eyed her smooth, unmarked skin. "She may be contag—"
"I've been variolated, so I cannot catch smallpox. Please show me to Miss Neville."
Juliana heard Emily's sobs before she even entered the room. In her bed, the girl was buried beneath a mountain of blankets. A fire blazed on the hearth, and the windows were closed and draped, making the chamber dim and stiflingly hot. The air smelled slightly of vomit.
And a man held Emily's arm over a small bowl with her blood dripping into it.
Juliana gulped convulsively. Her mouth felt dry, her breath came short, and her stomach clenched, making her fear she might vomit next. It was silly, and it was stupid, but she couldn't help herself.
She walked closer, forcing herself to focus on Emily's tear-streaked face. "Dear heavens, what is going on here?"
"The doctor is hurting me!" Emily wailed. "I want Herman!"
Her heart pounding, Juliana set the chocolate cream on the bedside table and smoothed Emily's hair back from her brow, seeing no sign of pocks. "Surely she hasn't fallen ill already?"
"Not yet," the doctor said. "I'm preparing her for the disease."
"Preparing her? I think not."
"She must be purged and bled and blistered. The procedures will help her body withstand the infection."
"They will not!" James didn't believe such things. "They will only weaken her." Juliana's gaze jerked back to the bowl of red fluid, and her head swam. She quickly looked away, but not before noticing the doctor's hands appeared none too clean. James wouldn't approve of that, either. He thought cleanliness helped prevent infection. "Please leave. Bandage Miss Neville's arm and—"
"Lord Neville sent for me—"
"Well, I'm sending you away!" Where was Lord Neville, anyway? Did he have any idea what this man was doing to his daughter?
"You have no authority—"
"I have every authority," Juliana lied. She squared her shoulders. "I'm Lady Neville, and I order you to unhand my daughter and leave at once."
She could hardly believe those words had come out of her mouth. And even more than that, she could hardly believe the doctor believed her.
But he did.
"Pardon me, my lady. My apologies." He set down the bowl and dug in his bag, removing a cloth. "I assumed you were naught but a visitor," he explained hurriedly as he pressed it to the cut he'd made in Emily's arm.
"That will teach you to make assumptions," Juliana said tightly, moving to hold the cloth in place. "Hush, Emily," she soothed. "You're going to be fine." At least she hoped Emily would be fine. She had no idea whether the girl might come down with smallpox, but she was certain the doctor's ministrations were of no help. "You may send a bill to Lord Neville," she instructed him, "but I'll thank you to leave now."
She kept herself busy tying the bandage while the doctor quickly gathered his things and left.
"I want Herman," Emily said as soon as he cleared the door. She struggled up to a sitting position and motioned toward a terrarium in the corner. "G-get me Herman. P-please."
Juliana walked over to the glass box, sighing as she reached in to lift the reptile. She'd never actually touched him before, and it really wasn't the thing for ladies to handle snakes. But Herman felt drier and warmer than she'd expected, and she smiled to see the little girl relax as he settled around her neck.
"Th-thank you," Emily breathed. Her sobs had diminished to shuddering sniffles. "I c-cannot believe that doctor be-believed you were my mother."
"I cannot believe it, either," Juliana said dryly. Honestly, she'd have had to have given birth at fourteen for Emily to be her daughter. Apparently the doctor thought she looked either very old or very fast, neither of which made her very happy.
But she was extremely happy he'd left.
"I don't want to get smallpox, Lady Juliana."
"Of course you don't. But I don't believe what that doctor was doing would prevent it."
She had a sinking feeling there was nothing that could prevent it other than luck, but there was someone who would know for sure. Someone who knew more about smallpox than anyone else in London.
"I'm going to send for Lord Stafford," she said. They'd agreed not to see each other until after tomorrow, but really, she had no choice. Emily's health was at stake—maybe even Emily's life. "Wait here while I write a note and give it to one of your father's footmen." She started out the door. "No, make that one of my brother's footmen," she amended. The Neville staff was so old, it would be tomorrow before one of them managed to shuffle to the Institute and back. And besides, she needed to send a note next door in any case, because they'd be wondering what was keeping her so long.
A few minutes later, she returned and peeled all the blankets off Emily. She banked the fire and drew back the curtains and opened the window. Gritting her teeth, she took the little bowl of blood and dumped it into the bushes outside, then rinsed it with water from Emily's washstand and dumped that out, too. When all that was finished, her heart calmed a little and her stomach felt much better. She dragged a chair to Emily's bedside, found a book, and read aloud for more than an hour until James arrived.
When the butler showed him to the room, he paused in the doorway and looked at her. Just looked at her, like he was drinking her in.
"Juliana," he said softly. He looked tired and disheveled, his hair tousled and his neckcloth askew. He'd probably donned that and his tailcoat in his carriage on the way from the Institute.
Her chest ached at the sight of him. "I know we said we wouldn't—"
She cut off, noticing his gaze had shifted to Emily. And Herman. A moment ago his heart had been in his eyes, but now those eyes were glazed, and he looked very much like she'd felt when she'd seen Emily's blood. Like his pulse was thready and his stomach was clenched.
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 finish
ed."
"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, right?"
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.
FORTY-EIGHT
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, so 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—"
Tempting Juliana (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 2) Page 30
