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done so along with them—Juliana lowered her voice. “We shall arrange to get you compromised by—and therefore betrothed to—a man closer to your age than Lord Malmsey. Your father will be forced to agree once the public has seen you and this other man in a compromising position.”
    “A compromising position?” Amanda’s sudden laugh was shrill enough to make Juliana wince. “Gracious me, I’ve never even been kissed!”
    “I haven’t been kissed, either,” Juliana said. “Not that men haven’t tried.” To the contrary, men tried all the time. But she always managed to duck them, because as much as she wanted to experience her first kiss, she wished for it to be with someone she cared for, at least a little.
    “Well, no one’s tried with me,” Amanda said dourly. “And it will take more than a kiss to force my father’s hand. There’s not a chance a young, eligible man is going to compromise me. Not willingly, anyway.”
    “I didn’t mean un willingly.” Juliana would never be party to such a devious plot, and furthermore, such a thing wouldn’t be necessary. When she was finished with Amanda, men would be falling over themselves trying to compromise her. “Not to worry, my dear.” She leaned closer to pat her hand. “Are you free tomorrow and the day after?”
    “To be compromised?”
    “To be fitted for a few ball gowns. You’ll require a new wardrobe, among other things. We’ll need to visit a seamstress as well as comb all the shops.”
    Amanda appeared both dubious and hopeful, if such an expression were possible. “My father did give me leave to assemble a trousseau.”
    “Excellent.” There was little Juliana enjoyed more than transforming an ugly duckling into a lovely swan. “We have a lot of work to do before Lady Hammersmithe’s ball on Saturday.”
    “I cannot attend Lady Hammersmithe’s ball.”
    “Of course you can. I shall summon Madame Bellefleur to trim your hair—”
    “My hair has never been cut.” Amanda’s hands went protectively to her head. “And I cannot attend—”
    “Ouuuccch!” The howl was so piercing, it shot from the drawing room, across the foyer, and through the library’s closed door.
    “That’s Emily!” Juliana exclaimed, bolting from her chair. Lifting her skirts, she dashed out the door. “Emily!” she shouted, running through the foyer and bursting into the drawing room. “Emily, what’s happened?”
    And there she stopped, a sudden sickness in her middle, a disturbing lightness in her head.
    Emily was bleeding .
    “It hurts ,” the girl wailed, bent over her hand. Tiny red spots dotted her pink skirts. Although clearly the injury wasn’t serious—they were tiny spots, not a stream—Juliana knew she should hurry to help. To comfort. To make everything all better.
    But she couldn’t. Because the sight of those red spots seemed to make it hard to breathe.
    Everyone else was helping. Well, maybe not helping, precisely, but at least they weren’t riveted in place. In the scant seconds Juliana stood there—because that’s all the time it was, really—her sisters and Aunt Frances leapt up and surrounded Emily, making all sorts of clucking, compassionate noises.
    At least that hid the sight of Emily’s wound. But all that sympathy seemed to do little but make the girl sob harder. “M-my needle s-slipped. It—it didn’t just poke me this time, it ripped—”
    “Gracious me,” Amanda said in a rather disgusted tone, pushing past Juliana and into the little cluster offemales. “It’s just a little blood. For goodness’ sake. Someone take the snake.” While Corinna moved to do so, Amanda reached for some linsey and tore off a strip, then drew Emily to her feet. “Let’s clean it up and bandage it, shall we?” she said, leading her from the room.
    Juliana walked to her chair, her knees feeling shaky. Which was ridiculous, and she knew it. As Corinna seemed to delight in pointing out to her, it was absurd for any female