by Regina Darcy
“You are a changed man, Alexander,” his grandmother said, her voice trailing after him. “Take solace in that. For what is perhaps the first time in your life, you will be able to go to Lady Jemima with the promise that you are entirely besotted with her and no other. How often have you felt such a wondrous emotion before?”
Alexander did not reply but continued to walk towards his own rooms, his grandmother’s words making his heart sink all the lower. What would be the good in telling Lady Jemima such things if, after what she had seen, she did not believe him? What would he do with his broken heart then?
TEN
Jemima sat back against her pillows and allowed herself to luxuriate in the warmth that surrounded her. She was still feeling rather tired, but given all that she had endured, that was, she supposed, quite acceptable.
She had awoken yesterday to find herself swathed in blankets and towels, her hair being rubbed vigorously by one of the maids whilst her sister held her hand tightly. Her eyes had focused on the face of her father, who had been leaning over her bed with an expression of great distress. When she had tried to speak, her voice had croaked terribly, her throat aching, but the relief in her father’s eyes had been immediate.
“How are you feeling this morning, Jemima?”
A little surprised, Jemima saw the door open and her sister step inside, a somewhat tentative expression on her face.
“I am much improved, I thank you,” Jemima replied honestly. “You need not look so worried, Madeline, truly.” The memories of what had occurred suddenly slammed into her mind, and she was forced to close her eyes tightly, just as Madeline took her hand.
“You are still not quite well, I think,” Madeline said softly, as the maid bustled in with a tray in her hands. “Are you still somewhat chilled?”
“No, indeed,” Jemima answered, throwing the memories aside with an effort. “I find that my mind does not always wish to forget what it is that occurred, that is all.”
Her sister nodded but did not smile. “Was it truly terrible?”
Jemima swallowed, her eyes fluttering closed again. No matter how often she remembered it, she could never forget the one man who had been there by her, calling her name, begging her to trust him. Lord Denhaven had come chasing after her, determined, it seemed, to make her believe that what she had witnessed had not been the truth. As the icy water had tugged at her, as the ice slipped from under her fingers, she had not been given any other choice but to trust him. And he had not let her down.
Her sister had told her what she had witnessed, how she had seen the determination in Lord Denhaven’s steps as he had carried her indoors, how he had barely been able to let her go from his grasp. If only he had not dishonoured her by pursuing Lady Smythe, if only he had not lied to her by pretending he was truly a changed man. Her heart was quite broken, and she did not think it would be mended.
“Yes,” she admitted. “It was.”
“Lord Denhaven has sent Lady Smythe and her arrogant daughter away.” There was a faint note of triumph in her sister’s voice, as Jemima slowly opened her eyes. “Lady Smythe made something of a scene, shouting terribly as she walked from the house. She stated that Lord Denhaven was a cruel and heartless gentleman, sending them away when it is only a few days until Christmas.” She smiled at Jemima, tilting her head. “We are to remain here for Christmas now, I think. Will you mind terribly?”
Jemima’s stomach dropped like a stone. “If it is on my account, then there is no need, I assure you. I will be more than ready to return home.”
Her sister sighed and shook her head. “You are practically engaged, Jemima. After what has occurred, surely you must know that you cannot separate from Lord Denhaven now. This will be your home one day soon. Can you not be glad about that, not even a little?”
To Jemima’s horror, tears immediately began to slip down her cheeks.
“I think you misjudge Lord Denhaven, Jemima,” Madeline persisted, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to her sister. “I have never seen a man so distressed!”
Jemima shook her head. “You did not see what I saw, Madeline.”
“I have heard about it,” Madeline replied, surprising her. “Lord Denhaven has not hidden that from either myself or our father. He states quite clearly that it was not his doing and that Lady Smythe set up the situation in the hope of separating you and him. Apparently, it now seems that she is not as wealthy as we might have thought. She was, perhaps, looking for a protector.”
Jemima dabbed at her eyes, wishing she was not so obviously upset. “I cannot believe that, Madeline. I –”
She stopped dead, her mind suddenly recalling something that begged her to question all that she believed about Lord Denhaven. Miss Lilian had been by Jemima’s side, encouraging her towards the stables whilst stating that she simply wanted to take in the view for a time. That was, Jemima had to admit, rather odd for someone to do when it was so very cold outside. Had it been as Lord Denhaven had said? Had she truly been set up to see such a thing, in the hope that she would leave Lord Denhaven’s side?
“I think,” she said slowly, her eyes closing tightly with the sudden pain of what she had remembered. “I think I must speak to Lord Denhaven.”
Madeline grinned, her eyes brightening. “Good,” she said calmly. “For he has been most desperate to speak to you, Jemima. In fact, he has been waiting outside the door for hours.”
Jemima stared at her sister, her mouth going dry. “Hours?”
“I do not think he wanted to leave you for a moment,” Madeline said gently, her hand pressing Jemima’s. “He has sat outside your door all through the night, my dear sister. He has waited there in the hope that you would wish to speak to him.”
Her heart began to thunder. “Then I suppose I must,” she whispered, her eyes drifting to the window as the maid pulled back the curtain to reveal the gently falling snow. The scent of spices wafted towards her from the garland that the maid had hung over the fireplace, reminding her that Christmas was only a few days away. Madeline was right. She would have no choice but to wed Lord Denhaven, regardless of whether she wished to or not. This would be her home, where she would spend every Christmas for the rest of her days.
Besides which, to know that Lord Denhaven had shown her such dedication and devotion did, in its own way, send spiralling questions through her mind. Was there the possibility that she had been wrong about what she had seen? Or was Lord Denhaven, underneath it all, still the rogue she feared him to be?
***
One hour later and Jemima walked into the library, feeling both weak and strong in equal measure. Her body was regaining strength with every step, but the anxiety she felt in coming to meet with Lord Denhaven seemed to sap it almost at once.
Lord Denhaven turned towards her the moment she came into the room, as she ensured she left the door open. He was framed by the warm glow of the fire, having evidently been pacing up and down as he waited.
“Jemima,” he breathed, hurrying towards her. “I –”
His hands reached for her, but then he immediately drew back, his expression growing sorrowful. “How are you?” he asked gently, his hands now behind his back. “Are you much recovered?”
“I am,” she replied truthfully. “Although I have you to thank for my rescue, Lord Denhaven.”
His smile was tight. “I can only apologise for what you witnessed, Jemima. Would that I could convince you that Lady Smythe was attempting to practically force herself on me!” He grimaced, his eyes settling on her. “But I will not attempt to convince you with words, Jemima. Instead, I shall prove to you that my devotion is true.”
She swallowed hard, seeing the pain in his expression and finding herself wanting to believe it. “We are to wed, then?” she asked, a little tightly. “I presume that, after what occurred, there is very little choice.”
Lord Denhaven’s smile was somewhat grim. “A Christmas bride, Lady Jemima. Yes, if you will have me.” His eyes flickered to hers. “
Will you marry me, Jemima?”
There was no explosion of light, no thundering of her heart, nor exclamation of delight that immediately came to her lips. Instead, there was a simple acceptance that this was how things were to be. “Yes, Lord Denhaven,” she replied, calmly. “Yes, I will marry you.”
He looked entirely relieved. Coming a little closer to her, his eyes caught hers and held her gaze firmly. “I will prove myself to you, Jemima, I swear it. I have never felt such a depth of emotion for any other living soul. I look upon my life, such as it was, and see the arrogant, selfish cad that I was – and I am ashamed of it. But no more. You have shown me what it is to love others, to set aside one’s own feelings for the sake of another. You have such a beauty about you, Jemima, that just a smile from you quite overwhelms me.”
Jemima could feel her heart quickening, warmth pooling in her belly. She wanted desperately to believe him, wanted to allow her heart to feel again all that it had once held for Lord Denhaven, and yet still doubts held her back.
“If only you would trust me, Jemima, then we might find a happiness together that neither of us have ever even allowed ourselves to dream of before.”
Those words hit her hard. She stared at Lord Denhaven, her mind working frantically to recall where she had heard them before, only for everything to come back to her. Catching her breath, she put out one hand to him for support, feeling him grasp her readily, holding her tightly.
“Jemima!” Lord Denhaven exclaimed, looking down at her fearfully. “Whatever is it? What’s wrong?”
“I remember,” she whispered, slowly tilting her face up to his. “I remember everything you said to me as you carried me home.”
His expression changed from concern to relief, his eyes seeming to glow like embers in the fire. “I meant every word, Jemima,” Lord Denhaven promised, his free hand gently brushing down her cheek. “I have come to find myself in love, which is a situation I never thought I would discover. It is more wondrous, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined – and I have you to thank for it. This Christmas shall be the most delightful, the most memorable of all my Christmases before and hereafter, for it is the Christmas that I have learned what it is to love.”
Her breath seemed to escape from her, leaving her weak with both relief and hope. She had to trust him, Jemima realised. She had to allow herself to believe that all Lord Denhaven had to say came from his heart. Had he not tried to prove it to her? Had he not shown her such unrelenting devotion?
In that moment, Jemima felt her heart free itself of the chains of doubt and fear that held it, and she reached up to wrap her arms about Lord Denhaven’s neck. A quiet laugh escaped her at the astonishment etched across his face, as though he could not quite believe what she was doing.
“I choose to trust you… Alexander,” she whispered, smiling bashfully. Lord Denhaven tightened his grip around her waist, sending tendrils of heat all through her limbs, her whole body alive with happiness. “My heart is yours. This Christmastime, I will marry you in the knowledge that I love you, that I trust you, and that I want to be here with you.”
His lips met hers almost the moment she stopped speaking, his kiss gentle and sweet. She clung to him as he pulled her tight against himself, his passion evident and yet restrained.
“I love you, Jemima,” he whispered, breaking the kiss so that he might look into her eyes. “My beautiful Christmas bride.”
BONUS CHAPTER 1:
THE CHRISTMAS PROMISE
ONE
Miss Julianna Wade, only child of Viscount St James, looked up defiantly into the eyes of her old, unflinching uncle.
“No, Uncle,” she stated firmly. “I will not be married off to Lord Faversham, no matter what you might think.”
Her uncle chuckled, his expression dark. “You will do just as you are told, my girl. And I shall have a tidy sum for my troubles.”
Julianna lifted her chin. “I refuse. I shall not give my consent.”
Her uncle rolled his eyes and sighed, as though she were simply being a little awkward instead of utterly defiant. Julianna felt herself wither inwardly, all too aware that she had very little choice but to obey her uncle’s demands but still quite certain she would not do so.
“I think, Julianna,” her uncle said slowly, “that you would do well to remember that you ought to be grateful for what it is I am offering you. I can see no gratefulness in your eyes, my dear child, and that displeases me.”
Drawing in a long breath, Julianna tried to steady her resolve. “That is because, Uncle, I do not believe for one moment that you are truly considering me. I think this is nothing more than a selfish ploy to gain some more money for yourself. Why else would you be so willing to marry me off to someone I barely know and who is at least twenty years older than I am?”
Her uncle’s expression changed. Instead of the rather bored expression, his colour began to darken. His grey, wispy brows lowered over his small, narrowed brown eyes. His jowls wobbled furiously as he pointed one chubby finger in Julianna’s direction. his cracked and broken teeth gritting together with rage. “Now you listen here, girl,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing. “You will do as you are told, and you will be grateful for it. Your father left me to take care of you, and that is precisely what I am doing.”
“I do not think, Uncle, that my father ever meant for you to simply marry me off to the highest bidder,” Julianna replied bitterly. “You are doing this for yourself, for your own ends. You need not pretend with me.” She did not see nor expect the hard slap to her cheek, which sent her staggering back across the room.
Her uncle glared at her furiously as she rubbed her face hard, hot tears burning in her eyes as shock overwhelmed her.
“Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,” her uncle bellowed, his voice filling the small drawing room and making her tremble with a sudden, fierce fear. “I am doing whatever I have to in order to get rid of my responsibilities when it comes to you. Do you think that I really want to be laden with a niece who has neither the intelligence nor the inclination to see a good match when it is set out before her?” He waved a finger at her again, his lip curling. “My brother was much too soft on you, Julianna. You should have been married off the first year you came out.”
Julianna dropped her hands to her hips. A sudden, fierce fire replaced her anger. “My mother made me promise to marry for love,” she stated angrily. “My father too urged me towards finding someone who cared for me so that I might have the same, wonderful life as my own dear parents. I believe that my father hoped that you would acknowledge his wishes in that regard.”
Her uncle threw back his head and roared in laughter, as though what she had said was perfectly ridiculous. “Your father was nothing more than a fool,” he replied harshly. “As though love would make any difference in a man’s life. He was not even able to produce an heir, now was he?”
Julianna stood her ground, even as the insults about her parents rang in her ears. Her stomach twisted this way and that, her heart aching terribly over the loss of her beloved mother and now, more recently, her father.
“Your year of mourning has come to the end, Julianna,” her uncle finished, walking towards the door of the drawing room. “You will be wed within the fortnight. And I expect no more complaints or the like, my dear niece. Or it will be all the worse for you.” His small, dark eyes gleamed with a warning, sending a shiver all through her.
Forcing herself to remain exactly where she was, Julianna held her uncle’s gaze steadfastly, although she dared not say anything more to him. To do so would only incite his anger further, and she did not wish him to strike her again. It had come as a shock the first time, and Julianna now realised that her uncle would likely be more than willing to do so again, if not worse, should she continue to be defiant.
“Hmph.” Her uncle pulled the door closed with a sound of disgust lingering in the air behind him.
Julianna collapsed into a chair, her heart aching with grief. This was n
ot what she had ever dreamed would be in her future.
“Oh, Father,” she whispered brokenly. “I do miss you so.”
It had been over a year since her father was reported missing, having been lost somewhere on the continent during an excursion to see his holdings there. She still had the letter in her bedchamber, the letter that had told her the dreadful news that she was never to see him again.
Not that they had ever found his body or been able to confirm that he was gone from this earth, but the fact that they had searched and found no trace of him was enough to write to Julianna and tell her that, as far as they were concerned, her father no longer lived.
Julianna had never felt more alone than in that moment, having lost her dear mother only a few years prior just before Christmas Day. Left alone in the house, surrounded only by her household staff and her companion, one Mrs Black, she had been torn apart. Her uncle arrived a short time later, only to make everything all the worse.
He had dismissed Mrs Black, replaced a good number of the servants, and informed Julianna that, once her year of mourning was completed, she should expect to marry.
She had silently hoped that she would be given the opportunity to travel to London for the Season, but her uncle had never mentioned it, and now that the little Season drew near, she had prayed that this would be her opportunity to find a suitable match.
Her hopes had been dashed the moment her uncle had introduced her to Lord Faversham who, being fat, bald, lewd, and entirely disgusting, had turned Julianna’s stomach. The way Lord Faversham had looked at her, the comments he had made, and the way he had laughed as he saw her disgust had frightened her more than she had been able to say, but her pleas to be allowed to choose her own suitor had fallen on deaf ears. Her uncle had been quite certain that Lord Faversham was the perfect match for his niece, even though the man was surely twenty years older than her own nineteen tender years.