by Noël Cades
Even if, in that snow-white garment with her slender neck, and her face currently raised towards his, she resembled such a thing.
“You do not wish to dance with me, my lord?” Jemima asked.
“It is not usually the woman’s prerogative to propose a dance. Besides, you have partners aplenty,” Marcus said.
“But not for the waltz.”
Marcus was torn. He could not decide whether it would be a greater torture to take his ward in his arms for that intimate dance, all the while struggling to maintain his self-control, or to endure the sight of her dancing it with another.
“You might sit that one out then, and rest,” he suggested.
He saw the disappointment pass across her features and supposed she did not wish to appear unpartnered for such a fashionable and popular dance.
“Very well. Miss Carlow, would you do me the great honour of standing up with me for the waltz?”
His mock formality did not please Jemima, who feared he was condescending to her as to a child. “I would be delighted, my lord,” she replied. That she did not look as happy as Marcus might have hoped the object of his affections would look, only sealed his conviction that he was very much a second choice, if not a third or fourth.
They took their positions for the dance, Marcus feeling stiff and restrained as he did so. The sight of her, the aroma of her this close was a form of torment.
Jemima, as thrilled as she was to be dancing with her guardian again, found her pleasure tempered by his new reserve. She felt that he kept more distance than before, and worried that something in her appearance offended him.
“Have I displeased you, my lord?” she asked.
Marcus was taken aback by the question. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I am not sure. I only worried that you were dissatisfied with my conduct,” she said, unable to express how different his dancing seemed. For if she said: “you held me closer before” he might think that she was wantonly encouraging his advances.
Seeing that she was unhappy and wishing to ease the tension between them, Marcus’s gaze softened. “The pearls become you very well.”
Jemima had already thanked him profusely for them when they entered the carriage, but he had not paid her any such compliment at the time. She was far moved by it than any of the flattering words bestowed by the other men she had danced with that night. She felt a glow spread through her, both at her guardian’s words and at the changed look in his eyes.
“Thank you, my lord. It was very generous of you. I don’t know how I can repay your kindness to me.”
Marcus found himself desiring to rain jewels upon her. “As your guardian I should have made you other presents on your birthdays, and I am sorry for my neglect. Also that I did not answer your letters to me.”
“As I have said, those letters were more the words of Aunt Harlington than my own,” Jemima said.
Marcus smiled. “Save for that last one.”
Jemima blushed, though hoped he would not notice. “Indeed, my lord.”
“You need not be so formal with me, my dear. After all you are my ward, and you have lived in my household. It would not be untoward for you to address me by my name.”
“You mean that I might call you Southwell?”
Marcus winced. “Given you are family, you might call me by my Christian name.”
Jemima, considering the form of address she had used for Aunt Harlington, tried the same with her guardian. “Uncle Marcus, then.”
If Marcus had winced a moment ago, he was quite mortified by this. He could not blame her, though. To her, of such tender years and surrounded by far younger suitors, he clearly numbered among the elderly generation. “Just Marcus will be fine. You are no longer in the schoolroom, after all.”
His ward attempted this. “Marcus,” she said, looking up at him with her silvery eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, the pearls glowed around her slender neck, the décolletage of her gown led to the curves that he had shamefully caressed after too much wine.
It was almost more than the Earl of Southwell could bear. To be holding the girl he adored, to hear her name on his lips - albeit moments after she had referred to him as an uncle - was an ordeal beyond human endurance. A muscle clenched in his jaw and it was some difficulty that he managed to speak at all.
“That is better,” he said, though he knew he had just made the situation infinitely worse. He could only imagine George Gresham’s expression if he had ever heard Jemima calling him “Uncle”. He would probably have choked on his own tongue.
Chapter 29
After her success at Almack’s in convincing society that Lady Julia Carlingford and Miss Jemima Carlow were two quite different people, Jemima felt emboldened to relax her guise of shy diffidence.
The young men of her renewed acquaintance were merely happy to have another diamond ornament their society. And all the more so that Miss Carlow, unlike her cousin, remained unclaimed.
Jemima indeed dazzled like a rare jewel. Her own happiness at being in her guardian’s company, and her desire to impress him, heightened her beauty. Her new wardrobe, with several exquisite gowns, additionally marked her as a young woman of style and elegance.
Her new knowledge of politics and world events, gleaned from several months study of The Times as well as various books from the library at Southwell, had also greatly improved her conversation. It had to be acknowledged that Miss Carlow, unlike most of the other debutantes, was no flighty flibbertigibbet. She could converse quite intelligently with an elderly baronet on the subject of the Littleport and Ely riots, and whether the government needed to take action over the rising grain prices. She listened politely as an indignant dowager declaimed on the infamy of the recoinage.
In these matters Jemima was careful not to express her own opinion so much as to receive with interest the opinion of others. For she was aware that young women were not expected to form their own judgements about political matters, but instead to follow the lead of their elders and betters.
Marcus was amused and not unimpressed by this change in his ward. Since meeting her, even as Lady Julia, he had never thought her unintelligent. But the quickness of her mind was an increasing delight. At the same time he was conscious of regret that the pleasure of her conversation might not be his to enjoy forever.
Lady Caroline DeClere was also displaying a more pointed interest in his company. There was a time when Marcus might have considered the widow in a matrimonial light. But now he recoiled at the prospect of any other woman but Jemima. He knew that he ought to marry. He should establish a countess at Southwell and begin the business of getting an heir before he reached forty.
Jemima, trying impress upon her guardian that other gentleman found her worthy of their attentions, in the hope that he might realise her to be worthy of his, spoke merrily of the blandishments lavished upon her. She included the many compliments paid to Kitty, lest she herself appeared vain.
“I hope you are not becoming a flirt, Jemima,” was all the Earl of Southwell said when she repeated a line of verse that Mr Cannondale had composed to her.
She was stung by this, but before she could defend herself, a tall, dark-haired woman approached them.
"Lord Southwell, how delightful it is that you grace society so frequently these days.” Clad in a mauve gown, detailed in brocade of a darker purple, the woman stood in such a way as to turn her shoulder subtly against Jemima. It was sufficient to signal that she took no interest in the younger woman, nor sought an introduction with her.
Marcus made one anyway. “Lady Caroline, may I present my ward, Miss Carlow. Jemima, you have the pleasure of meeting Lady DeClere.”
Lady DeClere’s briefly extended hand and the icy arch of her eyebrows were a chilling greeting. “Ah yes, I had heard your young ward was being presented to society. How charming it is to meet you, Miss Carlow.” Her tone conveyed that it was anything but charming and Jemima wondered at her coldness. Had she done something to offend th
is woman?
Jemima returned the sentiment with due politeness. It was clear from the manner in which the tall woman immediately turned her attention back to the Earl that she wished the younger woman dismissed.
Feeling doubly snubbed by her guardian’s comment and Lady DeClere’s blatant ill will, Jemima excused herself and returned to Kitty. Kitty was in the company of their usual admirers, who were only too glad to welcome Jemima into their conversation.
Across the room, Marcus saw the group of laughing young people, and felt irked by the constraining presence of Lady DeClere.
Lady DeClere noticed the Earl’s eyes wandering over to his ward, and felt equally irked. “I am quite sure that your ward fares well with her friends,” she said. “It is natural that the younger debutantes should wish for the flirtation and flattery of gentlemen. There is no harm in it, and the sharp eyes of their chaperones remain upon them.” Her implication was that it was not Marcus’s place to concern himself with his ward’s conduct.
Marcus tried to fix his attention on Caroline DeClere, but what he had thought were charming attributes in an abstract way no longer held any appeal for him. She was elegant, sophisticated, experienced in the ways of society, and being just past thirty was an eminently suitable age.
Yet even if Jemima were to wed, he could not bring himself to contemplate matrimony with anyone else as consolation.
“I am sure that you are right,” he said.
“You did not finish telling me of your travels in Spain the last time we spoke,” Lady DeClere said.
Marcus began to describe some of the sights and experiences, and was eventually saved by the arrival of George Gresham.
On learning that Mrs Owen’s son was to be in London, Miss Berystede arranged for a small dinner party. She did not, to everyone’s relief, invite Mrs Linton-Smythe. Other than the household, the only guests were to be Mr Richard Owen, Lord Elstone and the Earl of Southwell.
Jemima found herself placed between her guardian, who was seated on Miss Berystede’s right, and Miss Pargeter, for there were unequal numbers of men and women. Richard Owen was opposite Jemima, and at her encouragement, related more of his sea-faring tales. Kitty was a rapt audience and Mrs Owen was always happiest to listen rather than to speak.
Richard Owen, though he had greatly admired Jemima, had not yet committed his affections to any particular female. He had originally understood that Jemima was already betrothed, for his mother had disclosed this in her letters to him. This had perhaps restrained any development of feeling on the occasions he had met Jemima in Southwell Dene.
Faced with another young woman, also beautiful and delighted with his tales, a less sensible man might have had his head turned entirely. But Richard Owen was the product of a wise father and prudent mother, and not one to comport himself like a young rake about town.
He hoped, though, to further his acquaintance with both young women and regretted that he must soon return to port. The massacre of fishermen by the Algerians had heightened resolution to free the Christian slaves in the Barbary states, and there was speculation that Lord Exmouth would lead another campaign later that year.
“Surely the navy must easily crush their forces?” Kitty asked.
“With the help of our Dutch brethren, we would hope for a swift victory,” Richard Owen said.
“Slavery is among the greatest evils of our time,” Miss Berystede observed. “Whether it is Christians enslaved, or Jews, or the black natives of Africa. Mr Fox’s bill did not go far enough. There are many thousands of innocent souls enslaved in the colonies. It is a disgrace to every man and woman in England that such a thing is tolerated.”
Jemima was always impressed on the rare occasions that Miss Berystede spoke her mind. Usually she was circumspect when it came to politics. But there were certain issues when she believed that it was a greater impropriety not to speak out.
Both the Earl of Southwell and Lord Elstone, if not active abolitionists, opposed the continued slave trade and were in agreement with Miss Berystede’s view.
“You serve in a noble cause, sir, to take on those damned corsairs,” Lord Elstone remarked.
Conversation turned to lighter matters, Lord Elstone began a discussion with Miss Pargeter on matters of horticulture.
This left Jemima to speak with her guardian, who was seated on her other side. “Mr Owen’s tales make me long all the more to travel,” she told him.
“Though not near the Barbary Coast, I trust,” the Earl of Southwell remarked.
“If those lands are ever delivered from tyranny, I am sure they would be fascinating places to visit. Were I rich I would travel to the furthest and most exotic lands I could find,” Jemima said.
Marcus was amused. “You may not find it a very comfortable prospect, for the customs in other lands are not like ours. It can be disagreeable enough for a man, let alone a woman.”
A defiant look appeared in his ward’s eye. “Her sex does not appear to have hindered Lady Stanhope from doing what even a man has not yet done.”
Lady Hester Stanhope’s recent archaeological expedition to the Holy Land had been the source of many reports and newspaper articles, as Marcus was well aware. Rumours that Lady Stanhope had dressed as a Turkish man and consorted with heathen rulers had scandalised society.
“I hope that you may carry out your future expeditions in a rather less notorious manner,” Marcus said.
Jemima, feeling infuriated that he was not taking her seriously, stated that she might well stow away aboard a ship as a cabin boy. Whereupon her guardian laughed, and claimed there was no chance she might be mistaken for a man.
“For I have seen you in breeches,” he said, his voice lowered, “and there was no mistaking your femininity at any close distance.”
There was a look in his eye when he said this that sent an odd thrill through Jemima. “You do not think that I would make a satisfactory boy, then?”
Marcus briefly cast his eyes over her, noting the lower neckline of her gown and knowing all too well the curves that it concealed.
“No, Jemima, I do not,” he told her. His gaze fixed hers and his eyes darkened.
Jemima recalled the look from when he had embraced her, and longed to be alone with him. She kept her voice steady. “Then I will have to find a very rich and very tolerant husband.”
The expression in her guardian’s eyes was unreadable. “I cannot imagine a man who would tolerate your gallivanting off abroad, were you his wife.”
Jemima was unsure of what her guardian meant by this, but it gave her the same strange feeling as before. “You do not think I would make a dutiful wife?”
“Increasingly I do not.”
She would have felt dejected by this, but he smiled as he spoke and she wondered if perhaps he were teasing her.
“I have taken all the lessons you required, and Mrs Owen has helped improve my skills in other areas. What more would a husband require of me?” Jemima did not dare to refer to those two other lessons he had given her.
“A recognition that he is your lord and master, and that you should defer to his every command, no matter how capricious it may seem.”
He was teasing her now, and she laughed. “Such a husband would only inspire the very fiercest defiance, and it would be no less than he deserved.”
They were interrupted by Kitty, who had been telling Richard Owen of some event that had happened back home. “You recall, do you not, Jemima? Only think of her consternation when she discovered that he was the curate!"
Jemima, unsure if she were relieved or not at the change of topic, for her guardian’s conversation was unsettling her in new and confusing ways, replied to Kitty that she did. “Aunt Harlington was outraged, and the rector hardly knew what to say.”
There was general laughter and amusement at this, and conversation turned to Lord Elstone’s garden, for it was a subject that everyone knew was dear to his heart.
“I was saying to Miss Pargeter that we might make u
p a party to visit the exotic garden at Kew Park,” Lord Elstone said. “I own I am very interested to see Sir Joseph Banks’s collections.”
This was agreed upon, though Miss Berystede excused herself, due to the fatigue of such an excursion. “I fear I no longer have the strength that you young women enjoy.”
There was concern about Miss Berystede being left alone, though that lady said with some amusement that she was not quite in need of a nurse just yet. Mrs Owen then mentioned that she would prefer to stay in London, disliking longer journeys as she did. But she encouraged her son to go.
“Would you like to go?” Marcus asked, turning to Jemima.
“Very much,” she replied.
“Then we will be six, Elstone,” Marcus announced, privately delighting Jemima for it meant an entire day spent in her guardian’s company.
Lord Elstone was very satisfied, for three ladies and three gentleman seemed to him to be an excellent number. He said that he would arrange the carriages, and they should proceed the following day. “For the weather is fine presently, but may not remain so,” he said.
Jemima wondered what carriages might be hired, and if there were a four and a two, whether she might contrive to travel there in the company of her guardian. For the prospect of two hours intimate conversation with him held great appeal.
Chapter 30
Kew Park was a distance of some ten miles from London, and with the swift carriages that Lord Elstone had procured, was a journey of less than two hours. Disappointingly for Jemima, she found herself travelling with Kitty, Miss Pargeter and Lord Elstone in the coach that seated four persons, while the Earl of Southwell and Mr Owen travelled in the barouche. Lord Elstone was doubtless thinking of her comfort, since the coach was considered the more comfortable vehicle, but she would have preferred the more open carriage..