by Regina Darcy
“That is quite true, Lady Jemima,” he replied, laughing. “Although at the time, I did not think I would ever be particularly grateful for my foolishness.”
Laughing and conversing together as they entered the house, neither Jemima nor Lord Denhaven noticed the face at the window, watching them with a pinched expression and slowly narrowing eyes.
SEVEN
“Things appear to be going quite well for the most part.”
Alexander rolled his eyes as Lord Heber came to sit by him, his expression almost wondrous as he looked across the drawing room. “Yes, Heber, they are going very well,” Alexander stated calmly. It had been almost a week now since he had first welcomed Lady Jemima into his home and, from that day, everything seemed to have been turned on its head. He had thought he would hate every moment that he would be forced to endure her company, as he would have to endure her for the rest of his life, but much to his astonishment, he had found it to be quite the opposite.
“That Lady Smythe is quite eager to claim your attention,” Lord Heber continued, sounding quite disappointed. “Although you have not been going to her as she wishes, I have noticed.”
“Hmm?” Alexander, who had been busy watching Lady Jemima as she talked to his grandmother, did not quite catch what Lord Heber had been saying.
His friend grinned and jabbed him in the shoulder with one bony finger.
“Ouch!” Alexander muttered, shooting his friend a dark look. “Whatever is the matter, Heber?”
“I was saying,” Lord Heber replied with a grin, “that you have not been paying Lady Smythe any attention whatsoever, and she does not appear to be particularly pleased.”
Alexander refrained from rolling his eyes a second time. “Lady Smythe is not the object of my affections,” he replied with a slight shrug. “She should have understood by now that I am pursuing Lady Jemima.”
Lord Heber, who had been appraised of the situation the very day Alexander had been sent back to his townhouse with his tail between his legs, gave a rather solemn nod. “I think, mayhap, she is a little surprised, that is all.”
“Surprised?” Alexander repeated, feeling a ball of tension come to sit in his chest. “Surprised about what, Heber?”
Lord Heber looked somewhat uncomfortable, shifting a little in his chair. “I do not know, Denhaven. I suppose because Lady Jemima is not exactly the prettiest nor the most engaging of ladies. You do have a reputation, you know, and it does not include wallflowers or bluestockings. I would suggest, Denhaven, that Lady Smythe cannot understand why you are turning down her overtures for someone as plain as Lady Jemima.”
A spurt of anger burned through Alexander’s chest. “Lady Jemima is not plain,” he retorted angrily. “She is beauty itself. She has a loveliness about her that must be sought to be seen.”
Lord Heber’s eyes widened a fraction, only for him to throw his head back and laugh, shaking his head as though he could not quite believe what he had heard. “My goodness,” he chuckled, as Alexander felt himself burn with embarrassment. “You have quite taken to the lady, have you not? I did not think I would ever live to see the day!”
“I defend her because I must,” Alexander retorted, ignoring the part of him that stated, quite loudly, that this was not true. “She is to be –” he lowered his voice. “She is to be my betrothed, as well you know.”
Lord Heber’s eyes twinkled. “I doubt that very much, Lord Denhaven. You forget that I know you rather well, old boy. I know that you are not this sort of fellow by any means, that you have never once come to a lady’s defence in such a way before. I also know,” he continued, ignoring Alexander’s murmur of protest, “that you would not attempt to stand up for her in such a way if there was nothing within you that truly cared for her. It may be a little consideration at the moment, yes, but I think that you may find yourself soon on the way to falling for Lady Jemima, Denhaven. You mark my words.”
Alexander closed his eyes with a sigh, rubbing his forehead and ignoring the tight knotting of his stomach.
“You are quite mistaken, Heber,” he said, with as much fervency as he could muster. “Both the Marquess and my grandmother are observing me continually, so I must –”
“But they cannot hear you,” Lord Heber interrupted smugly. “You need not have said a word in Lady Jemima’s defence to me, Denhaven.” He grinned, his whole face alive with interest. “I did not ever think I would see the day when the rogue that is Lord Denhaven would find himself so entwined with love and affection that he cannot even admit it to himself!”
Alexander threw himself out of his chair, growing both angry and frustrated with Lord Heber’s insistent mocking. Lord Heber guffawed at this, but Alexander said nothing, stalking across the room towards Lady Jemima and his grandmother. His mind was burning with the weight of what Lord Heber had said, particularly about how he did not even want to admit to himself that he was beginning to care for Lady Jemima.
No, that could not be so! A gentleman such as he did not ever fall in love, for to do so would be quite ridiculous. He was a rogue, a rascal. He had admired, chased after, and eventually achieved whatever it was he wished with a particular lady, but never once had he allowed his heart to become involved! It was quite ridiculous to think that Lady Jemima would have any sort of impact on his emotions, especially after such a short acquaintance.
“Ah, Alexander.”
“Grandmama,” he muttered, inclining his head as he saw a spark of amusement in Lady Jemima’s eyes. “How are you this evening?”
“Very well,” the Dowager replied, with a kind smile in Jemima’s direction. “I have just been conversing with Lady Jemima over her time in London. I think you much prefer the countryside, do you not, my dear?”
Lady Jemima smiled as the Dowager patted her hand. “I do,” she agreed with a gentle smile. “There is a good deal more freedom in the country, I think. One is less concerned with what one must say or do or even what the latest fashions ought to be for one’s dress!”
The Dowager laughed, nodding her understanding. “It is just as well that Alexander has such a fine estate here then, is it not?” she stated with a warm smile in Alexander’s direction. “There is a good deal of freedom here, Lady Jemima, although I’m afraid my grandson has never quite managed to see that.” She frowned, her lined face filled with concern for a moment as she looked up at Alexander. “I do hope that you will be the one to show him just how happy a life in the country can be, Lady Jemima.” Slowly, the Dowager turned her eyes back towards Lady Jemima, leaving Alexander with the same, usual feeling of disappointment he always got when his grandmother spoke.
“That is very kind of you to say,” Lady Jemima replied, not noticing his dark mood. “It is a very lovely place here, I must agree.”
Clearing his throat, Alexander put on a somewhat stiff smile as he tried to redirect the conversation elsewhere. “Shall we, mayhap, ask someone to play the pianoforte?” he asked, looking down at Lady Jemima and seeing the smile fix on her face. “Mayhap to dance?”
“No, no, Alexander,” his grandmother said at once, waving a hand. “That is not at all the thing. Why do we not sing some carols, given that it is steadily drawing closer to Christmas? We must begin to feel some festive spirit, I think, given that you have refused to decorate the house for Christmas.” She gave another disappointed sigh, which Alexander refused to accept.
“You know very well, my dear lady, that this house party was a little unexpected,” he retorted, a touch harshly. “Besides which, is it not the tradition that greenery is brought in on Christmas Eve? To do so before then is tempting bad luck, I think.”
“That is quite correct, Lord Denhaven.”
Alexander saw Lady Jemima smile up at him, attempting, he thought, to come to his defence.
“Although,” she continued, directing her attention back towards the Dowager. “For myself, I dearly love to make a few Christmas garlands and wreaths. Mayhap we might do so together, perhaps tomorrow? I am sure Lord
Denhaven will not mind asking the staff to find what we will require for such things.”
The Dowager seemed to soften under Lady Jemima’s kind words, her expression now one of contentment. “That would please me greatly, Lady Jemima. Perhaps you and Alexander might go in search of the yule log thereafter, although which room he intends to put it in, I am not quite sure!”
“The drawing room, most likely,” Alexander replied swiftly. “And yes, Lady Jemima, I would be glad to ask my staff to find what you will require to make Christmas garlands and wreaths tomorrow. Although, mayhap in the afternoon I could steal you away in an attempt to find the yule log?”
Her eyes sparkled up at him as she nodded, her brown curls bouncing at the back of her head as one or two small tendrils escaped around her temples. She was, he thought, quite beautiful in her own way.
“Wonderful,” he smiled, suddenly feeling that with Lady Jemima by his side, his grandmother might soon soften her hardness towards him. “Well then, Grandmama, do you wish to lead the carols?”
The Dowager shot him a wry look, although she did not look at all angry with his sardonic suggestion. “You know very well that my voice is not what it once was,” she replied smartly. “Although I have heard that Lady Jemima has a most beautiful voice.”
Alexander turned towards his lady, a little surprised at this, for he had never heard her sing. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
Turning his head, Alexander was surprised to see Lady Madeline and Lord Mowbray drawing near them, although Lady Madeline’s gaze was settling onto her sister.
“My sister does not often sing in company unless pressed to do so, Lord Denhaven,” Lady Madeline continued in an encouraging voice. “Might you press her now?”
“Oh, no,” Lady Jemima interrupted quickly. “You need not ask me to sing, Lord Denhaven. I – I am –”
“You are quite unused to being the object of everyone’s attention,” he murmured, reaching to take her hand so that she had no other choice but to rise from where she sat. “But you need not worry, Lady Jemima. You must fix your gaze upon me and sing to me only. That will, I am quite sure, take away whatever anxiety that troubles you.”
She stood by his side for a moment, her cheeks a little pale, although her eyes sought his for reassurance.
“Only one carol,” he said warmly. “Then we shall all gather near and sing together.”
Lady Jemima swallowed, drew a long breath, and looked away for a moment. “Very well,” she stated, still sounding a little anxious. “What is it you wish me to sing?”
***
A few minutes later, once Lady Madeline had seated herself at the piano and Lady Jemima had come to stand by her side, Alexander encouraged his guests to seat themselves with the promise that they would all come together to sing some Christmas carols together once Lady Jemima had sung first.
He held Lady Jemima’s gaze as the music began to fill the room, acutely aware of her anxiety. Willing her on, he put a gentle smile on his face, seeing everyone else fade from his vision as he watched her. There was no-one else in the room other than her.
And then, Lady Jemima opened her mouth and began to sing.
Had Alexander not been already seated, he was quite certain he would have collapsed into the chair in astonishment. She was singing the “Coventry Carol,” its tune haunting, its words breathtakingly sad. His heart was wrung from his chest, broken apart and then pressed back together again as she sang. It was impossible not to be moved by her performance, seeing the way her eyes closed as she lost herself in the sadness of the song as well as the music itself. Alexander, too, closed his eyes, feeling pain burning deep within him as he realised that Lady Jemima was putting her own grief, her own troubles, in the song itself. He could feel it emanating from her, the pain that seemed to cling to every word.
The last note rang out, the sound reverberating around the room before a lingering silence settled on the gathered guests. No-one spoke for some moments, not even Lady Jemima, who had, by this point, slowly opened her eyes and was now looking directly at him, her cheeks burning with colour.
“Bravo!” he exclaimed, breaking the silence to thunder to his feet and applaud her loudly. “My goodness, Lady Jemima, that was magnificent!”
He was soon joined by his other guests, who all applauded Lady Jemima’s wonderful performance. Even her sister, who had quickly moved away from the pianoforte so that all the attention might be directed towards Jemima, was congratulating her.
Alexander’s heart was full, seeing the slow, beautiful smile that began to cross Jemima’s face. Her eyes darted here and there, taking in every person that had been touched by her song. He could tell just how much this moment meant to her, just how overcome she was by everyone’s attention being solely fixed on her.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Alexander remembered what Lord Heber had thrown at him, how he had laughed as he’d stated that Alexander was falling for Lady Jemima, that he was losing his heart to her. Could he truly deny it? Could all that he felt not be the first stirrings of love in his heart? He had never felt anything akin to this, and much to his surprise, he welcomed it. It was not as though he wanted to turn away from Lady Jemima and promptly return to London and all his foolishness there. No, instead Alexander found that he wanted to draw nearer to her, that he wanted to be able to see her blossom and flourish in the way she was doing. All she needed was his encouragement, his dedication, and his love. But was he truly willing to give it?
EIGHT
Jemima smiled to herself as she waited for Lord Denhaven at the front door of the house, remembering fondly all that had occurred last evening. She had been more than nervous about standing up in front of the room filled with guests, terrified to open her mouth and sing. But when Lord Denhaven had encouraged her to sing only to him, it had given her the courage she needed. The room had filled with the melody and her sister’s beautiful accompaniment, and her heart had filled with the emotion of the song. She had poured herself into the music, forgetting about everyone there, save for Lord Denhaven.
When she had opened her eyes, all she had seen was him. He had been staring at her with a look of shock rippling over his face, as though he had never heard anyone sing before. The next thing she had known, he had been on his feet applauding her, with all the other guests – bar one or two – getting to their feet also. Even Madeline had moved away from her so that she might enjoy that moment in all its fullness, finally feeling as though she was truly being seen by others.
But that had not mattered as much as she had expected. No, instead, she had thought only of Lord Denhaven, knowing that, to him, she had become important. He had been the one to encourage her to sing, had been the one to stand there and applaud her performance whilst shaking his head in astonishment, and she had felt her heart reach out to him.
He was not the gentleman she had thought him to be. His reputation had, of course, preceded him, and she had been more than afraid of what a marriage to him might be like – determined that she would seek a true change in his character before committing herself – but to her surprise, that determination had appeared to be quite unnecessary. Lord Denhaven was not the rake she had expected him to be.
Lady Smythe had, on more than one occasion, attempted to pull Lord Denhaven’s attentions towards herself, but not once had Lord Denhaven shown even the slightest bit of interest. Neither had he attempted to encourage any one of the other ladies in attendance, for his attentions has been solely fixed on her. It made her feel as though, finally, she was of importance to someone.
Her heart overflowed with happiness as she thought of him, a faint stirring growing within her as she sighed contentedly. She was, she knew, falling in love with the handsome Lord Denhaven, but not because of his charms nor his good looks. The kindness he had shown her, the dedication and devotion to her, had all begun to draw her closer to him. Even now, when she thought of how he had kissed her a few days ago, she felt herself fill with heat, her desire to
be kissed again growing steadily.
“And if he were to propose,” she murmured aloud, her eyes roving aimlessly over the wintery view outside the window as she continued to wait for him to arrive, “would you accept him?”
Her smile gave her the answer she required. Of course she would accept him. How could she not? He had done as she had asked and, thus far, proven himself to be accepting of their courtship and had done all he could to dedicate himself to her. Her hopes quickly grew as she remembered how he had looked at her, how he had held her, wondering – praying – that he might feel something for her also.
She trusted him, Jemima realised, her breath fogging the glass as she continued to look outside at the white stillness of winter. There was no concern in her mind that he was playing her for a fool, nor a belief that he intended to go back to his old ways once they were wed. The man she saw, the man she knew, was the man he was. She was quite sure of it.
“Lady Jemima?”
Turning, Jemima was surprised to see Miss Lilian walking towards her, dressed for the cold outdoors. “Yes?” she asked, putting a smile on her face. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Mama,” Miss Lilian replied, setting her cool blue eyes onto Jemima for a moment before turning away dispassionately. “She said she would be in the stables.” Lifting an eyebrow, she shot a quick glance towards Jemima. “Might you wish to accompany me?”
Jemima shook her head. “No, I thank you. I am to wait for Lord Denhaven.”
“Lord Denhaven?” Miss Lilian frowned, her delicate oval face suddenly marred. “I think I saw him walking towards the stables but a few minutes ago.”
“The stables?” Jemima repeated, a touch confused. “Oh, mayhap that is why he is tardy. We are to go out together to find the yule log.”
Miss Lilian ignored this and waited for the footman to open the front door for her before stepping outside. “Are you not joining me, Lady Jemima?”