by Noël Cades
“It is quite beautiful,” she said, looking back up at her guardian. Then in a fit of delight, she draped the gauzy stuff over her head, letting it fall to cover most of her form, and twirled around in it.
Marcus caught his breath. He could see her only as his bride, and longed for the time when he would have the right to strip each layer of clothing from her. He had a vision of her wearing nothing but the mantilla, twirling before him in his bedchamber.
Jemima, finally looking back at him and misinterpreting his expression for disapproval, recovered herself. “I have never been given anything so beautiful,” she told him. “I do not know how I can ever thank you enough.”
Marcus could think of several ways, none of them in any way appropriate. “I am very glad you like it,” he told her. His tone became brusque again, for it was the only way he could prevent himself from pulling her into his arms and embracing her. “Now be off to bed. We start early tomorrow, as I hope to arrive in London before dark.”
Chapter 25
Halfway along the journey they changed horses. Mrs Owen went to refresh herself while the Earl of Southwell ordered ale and some of the simple fare served by the coaching inn. Mrs Owen’s absence gave Jemima the chance to raise some questions that were troubling her on the subject of her second - or supposedly first - visit to London. Such a conversation could not be held in the presence of her companion, since that lady was unacquainted with the legend of Lady Julia.
"If I am to attend assemblies, might there not be people who will think that I should recognise them? I fear they will be offended if I feign ignorance of who they are," Jemima said.
Marcus tore off a piece of the thick, heavy bread they had been served, dipping it into a dish of stewed turnips. “There will be, I expect, many people who wrongly believe they have an acquaintance with you. But such a thing is not uncommon among family members with a close resemblance to one another.”
“And likewise for you, as the Earl of Southwell? Who had also met… my cousin?"
“I conversed and danced with the Lady Julia on occasion, given my acquaintance with her family through my guardianship of her cousin.” His eyes were grave as he spoke. He needed Jemima to understand the importance of this, in terms of conserving her reputation.
Jemima understood, or believed that she did. In no uncertain words her guardian was telling her that their prior acquaintance was to be forgotten, as though it never happened. She was as dead and gone to him as the fictitious Lady Julia.
She did not respond, instead toying with the food before her, for which she now felt no appetite.
Marcus, sensitive to her change of mood if not the workings of her mind, asked if all were well. “Do you suffer discomfort or fatigue from the journey?”
“No, my lord.” She could not bear to let him know her feeling of disappointment, so invented another excuse. “I was only thinking of Satan, and how I will miss him.”
Marcus smiled. “Even if I were to bring that beast to London, you could hardly gallop bareback on him through Hyde Park. It would cause an absolute scandal.”
At this, an idea flickered within Jemima. “Of course if I were to cause a scandal, Sir Hubert might well wish to be released of his engagement to me.”
Marcus suppressed his amusement. So this was the little devil’s line of thinking! He would need to keep a close eye on her if she planned to expose herself in some way. It was another reason to hasten his confession. “Not only would everyone in sight would be calling for to you be sent to bedlam, but there would not be another suitor on earth who could support such a bride.”
He was joking, but his words resulted once again in a stricken expression on his ward’s face. “No other suitor?” she asked.
Marcus felt a sudden cold fear grip him. “There is another suitor that you have in mind?” he inquired, trying to keep his voice light.
Jemima looked directly at him. She did not dare confess, but she would not lie. "There is, my lord."
Marcus wished he had never asked. "I take it that it is someone I would not approve of?"
Were it not for the gravity of the situation, Jemima might have laughed at the notion of the Earl of Southwell disapproving of himself. She chose her words carefully. "I do not believe it is a match you would consent to."
Her guardian, who had also lost his appetite for the watery turnips and stringy mutton set before him, risked one more question. "Have I met the man in question?"
"I believe so, my lord."
It must be Cherwell or that damned Owen, Marcus thought. He could not see with whom else Jemima could have come into contact. Then he recalled her earlier visit to London. Had she formed a tendresse for one of the many young men she had danced with there? It would not be surprising, he supposed. After all, the whole point of flinging these chits into the bear pit of society was to ensure that they made eligible matches.
Resigned, Marcus regarded his ward and attempted to keep his voice and countenance free of emotion. "If you are able to make the man known to me, I will judge whether he is suitable, or whether he may become so in future."
"Then I would not have to marry Sir Hubert?" She spoke with a pathetic eagerness that made Marcus’s heart twist.
"Then I would not require you to marry Sir Hubert," he said.
The sheer relief that spread over Jemima’s face was a bitter barb for her guardian. If she were so overjoyed at the prospect of this other man, what chance did he have to convince her of the merits of his own suit? She slipped further and further away from him by the day. He was a fool to have rushed away to Spain, he knew that now. Doubtless she had corresponded frequently with her young man, deepening her attachment. For Marcus had not forbidden her to write, and he knew that letters had been franked on her behalf.
If only he had spent more time with her, perhaps she might have developed a fondness for him instead. A regard that was more than the dutiful gratitude of a ward to a guardian.
Jemima, as thrilled as she was by her release from purgatory, still felt a sinking feeling that her guardian was so ready to marry her off to someone else. Still, anything was better than a life at Frobisher Hall, longing every day for widowhood.
Mrs Owen returned. She did not travel well and declined to take any food, accepting only the small glass of ale that Marcus pressed upon her. He knew that to travel on an empty stomach could cause even more discomfort.
Back inside the carriage, Jemima had some success distracting her companion by talking about her son, Mr Richard Owen, and their possible plans for meeting him in London. While this was a subject very dear to Mrs Owen, it proved an ordeal to the Earl of Southwell.
Harbouring the suspicions that he did of his ward’s affection for that man, Marcus found himself forced to agree to each item on a veritable roll-call of Mr Owen’s manifold virtues. Dissent would have been discourteous, but being forced to praise the young man’s bearing, his manners, and the merits of a naval career for a man - was torment. By the time they neared London, Marcus would readily have sunk the entire navy and every sailor in it.
"You have a house in Mayfair, I believe?" Mrs Owen asked Marcus, bringing a welcome change of subject.
"Yes, in Grosvenor Square," Marcus said. It was not far from St James’s Square, where Jemima and Mrs Owen would be staying. Marcus kept only a small staff at his London residence, for he was infrequently there and never entertained. He supposed this may need to change, were he to be in the capital an extended time.
He would miss the intimacy he had enjoyed with Jemima at Southwell, being able to converse with her without the interruption of society. Even if he had greatly abused the situation with his conduct towards her. Marcus knew that he should never have taken advantage of her innocence by embracing her as he had done. But every night he had spent under the same roof as her, the desire to seduce her had grown. Bringing her to London was a way of removing himself from temptation.
Seeing her dance with other men at the various assemblies was going to be a
form of torture. Albeit one that he probably deserved. He regarded his ward now. She was eager to return to London; her eyes shone more brightly the nearer they approached their destination.
Marcus wondered if Jemima might ever speak of him with the same animation and eagerness with which she had praised Richard Owen. In his misguided yet carefully-concealed dejection, he attributed his ward’s excitement to a desire to reunite with her unknown suitor.
In truth, Jemima was increasing elated about seeing Kitty again. Letters were one thing, but four months was the longest absence the two girls had endured. With the proximity of Elstone Court to Harlington House having allowed near daily visits, to be apart this long was a deprivation.
"Is it long since you were in London?" Marcus asked Mrs Owen.
"Mr Owen and I were very rarely in town," Mrs Owen said. "We lived in the west country, and his business did not often take him further afield than Bristol or Exeter."
"It is a beautiful part of the country," Marcus said.
There was a wistful light in Mrs Owen’s eyes. "It is very beautiful. I confess that I miss it very much, though I have been made very comfortable in Hampshire."
The attractions of the various counties were discussed, a conversation to which Jemima could contribute little. There were many places that she longed to visit but had not yet had the opportunity to do so. Her guardian’s requirement that she study the Times every day had only increased her desire to travel and see the places she had read about.
Chapter 26
Kitty was overjoyed to see Jemima again. There was so much to confide in one another, and having to sit through the polite formalities of tea and conversation with Miss Berystede, Miss Pargeter and Mrs Owen was almost unbearable.
The house in St James’s Square was exactly as Jemima remembered, save for being festooned with flowers. There were great vases of colourful blooms in nearly every room. "What are all these flowers?" Jemima asked.
"My father had them sent from Elstone Court," Kitty told her. "I fear the garden and the hothouses must be utterly denuded."
"Why would he send so many?"
"I cannot say. Only to thank Miss Berystede, perhaps, for no one here has celebrated a birthday," Kitty said.
Jemima found the new pretence of being Lady Julia’s cousin very uncomfortable. Miss Berystede greeted her with every courtesy but as a stranger. “My dear Miss Carlow, how glad we are to have you with us, following your cousin’s delightful company."
Ann Pargeter also murmured how good it was to meet her at last, while casting her a glance that was almost a wink.
It all made Jemima ill at ease, though her nervousness seemed quite natural to Mrs Owen. There was no choice but to have this pantomime, of course, given the widow’s presence. So far as Mrs Owen knew, Jemima had never met these people before nor ever visited this house.
The Earl of Southwell did not stay long, being quite outnumbered by ladies. He had his own affairs to attend to and needed to be on his way to Grosvenor Square. The atmosphere became more informal after he had departed, but Jemima was increasingly anxious to speak privately with Kitty.
Miss Berystede was too astute to let the younger women suffer long. Once they had taken some tea, she dismissed them. “Catherine, you may show Miss Carlow to her room. It is the same room that her cousin occupied, and I hope that she may find it comfortable.”
Finally alone together, and back in the elegant bedroom that she had vacated nearly four months ago, Jemima felt near to bursting.
“O! There is so much to tell you!” she told Kitty. “Only I must tell you the greatest thing first. I am saved, I am free! My guardian has agreed to release me from the marriage to Sir Hubert!”
Kitty was so stunned and relieved by this news that she was half in tears. “I had planned so many ways that you might escape your fate. But tell me how this came about? For you had written that he was adamant about it.”
Jemima was reacquainting herself with some of the objects in the room. The same volume of poetry by Spenser that she had not completed reading before her flight. The same engraved silver bowl on the dressing table, that had been a useful receptacle for hair pins. “I do not know what changed his mind. But he seems to consider that any suitor may do. One that meets with his approval, at least.”
Her friend was ecstatic. “But this means that you may have any young man of your choosing! Or rather, any of those that may also choose you. Which I am sure will be all of them, for so many asked after you - or asked after Lady Julia, I should say - since your departure. Only why do you look downcast?”
“It is something else I must tell you, for I do not know what I should do. It is that I think I have fallen in love, Kitty. Or in fact that I do not think, but I know.”
“In love!” Kitty exclaimed. “But with whom?”
“With the Earl of Southwell himself. Who else? A man who looks upon me as nothing more than an annoying brat to be married off at the soonest opportunity.”
Kitty struggled to absorb this revelation. “You are in love with your guardian?”
Jemima lowered her head, feeling miserable. “I do not know how it came to be. He was so angry with me, and then he went to Spain. Yet I have found myself thinking only of him, and missing him very much when he is away.”
Kitty considered the situation for a few moments. “I am not sure that it is so surprising. After all, you had believed yourself nearly enamoured of him before you knew who he was. Likewise he must have been taken with you, to have danced with you so often. And you know, there is that other thing that you told me had occurred between you, on the balcony.”
The kiss that Jemima could not forget, even if her guardian’s subsequent educational embraces had not reinforced the memory.
“If it were so once, it is not so now. I fear he sees me as little more than a child," she said. "He even arranged lessons for me at Southwell, as I have told you.”
The answer seemed quite simple to Kitty. “Then you must present yourself as the most sophisticated woman in London, and seek to kindle his fire anew.”
This image and the turn of phrase made them both laugh. “O! How I have missed you,” Jemima said. “And I nearly forgot! I have met such a young man as I am sure you will be impressed by. He is Mrs Owen’s son, his name is Mr Richard Owen, and he is a naval officer. It is my hope that he will call on us here, for he will shortly be in London.”
Kitty was intrigued. "You must describe him. Is he has handsome as Mr Sangster? Or Viscount Moresby? Or Mr Cannondale - but no, you have not met him yet, have you? For he arrived in London after your departure. There are so many people you have yet to meet!"
"You must recall that they will all be strangers to Miss Jemima Carlow," Jemima reminded her. "It is my cousin with whom they were formerly acquainted."
Kitty sighed. "It will all be so very complicated. I fear that I will make some slip. But tell me more of this Mr Owen."
"He is very amiable, with very fine manners. He is tall, though not quite so tall as my guardian. He is more handsome than any of the men I met before.”
“But not so handsome as your guardian, of course!” Kitty interrupted, laughing. “Very well. I look forward to an introduction, for I own my heart is not yet given to anyone else thus far.”
They moved onto other subjects. Kitty explained that even among Miss Berystede, Miss Pargeter and herself, Jemima was referred to as Lady Julia’s cousin.
“There are times I start to feel I have a cousin in Ireland,” Jemima said. “As though my former time here were but a dream.”
“It was very romantic,” Kitty said. “Now it is all very strange, but I confess to deriving some pleasure from knowing we deceive Mrs Linton-Smythe. Cousin Beatrice mentioned your arrival to her the other day, and Mrs Linton-Smythe could not help remark that the family connection clearly explained your guardian’s ‘unusually close attentions’ to Lady Julia. I think she is relieved that Lady Julia did not ensnare him, for she has ambitions for her daught
er to make a titled match.”
The prospect of her guardian marrying Selina Linton-Smythe appalled Jemima. “I will throw her into the Serpentine before I allow that to happen,” she declared. Still, it raised the notion that the Earl of Southwell might wish to marry at some point, and it was a very horrid notion.
“We had better return downstairs,” Kitty said. “I know that I have so much more to tell you about everyone, but you will never take it all in. Now you are freed from Sir Hubert, we have all the time in the world.”
Miss Berystede took the news of Jemima’s broken engagement with equanimity. "Such an event is of course regrettable, but happens not uncommonly," was her only comment. Miss Pargeter expressed her sympathies and hoped that Jemima was not too distressed.
"I am quite content, for I do not think it would have been a successful match," Jemima said.
Mrs Owen was surprised, for this was the first that she had heard of the rupture. Being aware of Jemima’s discontent over the match, her sympathy for her was mixed with relief.
Conversation moved to the planning of Jemima’s wardrobe, with a discussion of which dressmaking salons to visit later that week. A pleasant discussion ensued as to the latest fashions that season, and which establishments certain society ladies were said to be patronising.
"It is so very different from my day," Miss Berystede remarked. "With the weight and girth of the skirts we wore as girls, I hardly know how we danced in them. Then at supper the tight lacing and the frills and ruffles of the engageantes made dining quite impossible."
Mrs Owen, several decades younger than Miss Berystede, recalled her mother and aunts wearing such garments. "We were very glad, my sister and I, to be spared such intricacies. For court dress was so very costly in those days, and many families could only afford one such gown per season."