by Regina Darcy
Still holding Lady Jemima’s gloved hand in his own, Alexander waited patiently for the sleigh to move away from them both before letting out a long breath, turning to look at Lady Jemima. She was staring after the sleigh as though she could not quite believe they were no longer sitting within it, her fingers tight in his.
“Thank you for accompanying me, Lady Jemima,” he said, taking her hand and looping it under his arm. “I thought a few minutes alone would benefit us both.
“Oh?” Her eyes lingered on his face for just a moment before drifting away.
“Yes,” Alexander continued, a little more firmly than he had meant. “For I am a little concerned for you, my lady.”
A small, harsh laugh escaped her. “For me?”
“Yes, indeed,” he repeated, turning to face her as they stopped together in the snowy lane. “You need not continue to believe that I am only showing this concern for you, that I am only complimenting you, because I must. That is not the case. I am, I confess, quite intrigued by you. I wish to know you better, Lady Jemima, truly.” He watched her lips tremble slightly, her eyes now down at their feet. “And you can start by telling me why you have been crying.”
SIX
Jemima did not know what to say in response to this, finding her heart clamouring so wildly that she was quite sure Lord Denhaven would be able to hear it. Yes, she had been crying this morning, but she had never once thought that Lord Denhaven would notice. He was not that kind of man, she had told herself as she dashed cold water over her face. The last three days here at his estate had proven to her that Lord Denhaven was a handsome and well-liked gentleman who garnered almost everyone’s attention simply by stepping into the room. It was also more than apparent that the other young ladies, and even some of the older ones, also greatly desired his company and his attentions, and she could see in their expressions that none of them understood why he was being so attentive towards her.
That was why she had been sobbing this morning, why her sister’s gentle words had been unable to soothe her in any way. Madeline could not understand, given that she was both beautiful and popular, although Jemima appreciated that her sister had tried her best to bring her some comfort.
“Lady Jemima,” Lord Denhaven said again, his expression gentle. “Will you not tell me?”
She turned her head and began to walk up the driveway without him. “I do not think it matters, Lord Denhaven.” She did not want to reveal the depths of pain in her own heart to him, not when she was still not quite sure she could trust him. “It was a personal matter.”
“A personal matter that must be very hard to bear, then,” he replied, catching up with her in a moment. “Come now, Lady Jemima, you need not hide yourself from me. We are to become engaged very soon, are we not?” His voice was gentle, his expression kind, and yet Jemima found herself still shying away from him. “This is important, Lady Jemima.”
Her brows furrowed almost at once, sending a rippling tension through her. “What is important, Lord Denhaven? That we share openly with one another?” She saw him nod and closed her eyes, frustrated. “Then you may wish to begin, Lord Denhaven.”
This challenge seemed to confuse him. “Begin?”
“It is not as though you have been entirely open with me, Lord Denhaven,” she stated truthfully. “We have spoken of books, of music, of riding, and all the other pastimes we enjoy, but you have never once told me about your own inner turmoil or the like… although that may be because you have none, I suppose.” Her words became bitter, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. “You have always been able to do whatever you please without any sort of concern, my lord. What a shame for those of us who cannot do the same.”
She had surprised him, she realised as she saw the look of shock in his expression. She did not attempt to explain herself further but turned back towards the house, which was still a good distance away, her boots crunching on the snow.
“Lady Jemima, wait!”
Pain lanced her heart as she turned, seeing Lord Denhaven hurrying after her, his dark eyes a little narrowed.
“What is it that you want from me?” he asked, stepping close to her. “I am doing all I can thus far. I have chosen to accept your hand in marriage and have been attentive and considerate, have I not?”
Her heart ached. “Yes, you have, my lord,” she replied, anger burning within her. “But if you had not entered my bedchamber, if you had not decided to try and seduce my sister, then this situation would not have occurred.” She jabbed one finger into his chest, her fury boiling over. “You need not think of yourself as some martyr, choosing to marry the plain, dull sister when you might have chosen anyone else, for we both know that you have very little choice, my lord. You may be attentive and considerate, but I cannot tell whether or not that is simply a game you are playing, a way of trying to convince me that a rogue can change his ways. Once we are engaged, once we are wed, will the façade drop? Will I see you as you truly are—a rake and a rascal, who will no longer be as attentive and as considerate as you are now?”
Her breathing was ragged as she finished speaking. Seeing the way that Lord Denhaven stared at her, her irritation slowly drained away. To her surprise, he reached up, caught her finger that was still pressed hard against his chest and carefully dropped his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand.
“That is what I want, Lady Jemima,” he stated quietly, his eyes running up towards her own. “I want to know the depths of your heart, your fears, and your concerns. I want to know what brings you joy, what frightens you, what you hope for more than anything. I can well understand your frustration and your confusion, but would that you find yourself able to share those with me.” He let out a long, slow breath, which danced across her cheek.
Jemima suddenly became aware of just how close they were standing, and her heart quickened all the more. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to step away from him, to make sure that she was not falling for his charms. He was a rogue, she reminded herself silently. A rogue able to wind anyone he wanted around his fingers.
“Lady Jemima?”
She had not moved, she realised. She opened her eyes to see Lord Denhaven standing just as close as before. His eyes were searching hers, looking for an answer to a question as yet unspoken. Her throat worked hard, her anger gone from her to be replaced with something that frightened her terribly. She did not want to feel anything for Lord Denhaven, and yet as they stood there together, she felt her heart yearning for him. If he opened his arms to her, she would step into his embrace readily, despite the doubts that plagued her mind.
“Your father was quite right,” he said, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “He told me that there was a depth to your character that not many are allowed to see. You keep yourself quite hidden away, do you not? Is that because you fear that no one will wish to know what it is that you are thinking?”
“I do not fear it,” she found herself saying. “I know it.”
Lord Denhaven shook his head, his smile dying completely. Instead, when he looked back at her, all she could see was sorrow. “That is not the truth, Lady Jemima,” Lord Denhaven promised, now reaching for her other hand so that he held them both. “I care. I see you. You hold so many secrets, and I am determined to pull them from you, one by one.” The corner of his mouth tipped up into a slightly lopsided smile. “That is, if you will allow me to do so, my lady. After all, if we are to be man and wife, then I do not think we will always be able to talk of books or music!”
She could not help but laugh at this, knowing that their conversation had been centred around such things thus far.
“No, indeed,” she admitted softly. “You are quite right to state that I do not speak my mind, Lord Denhaven. It is something I have always held myself back from, for I fear that no one would either notice nor care what I have to say, aside from my sister and my father.” Her mind clouded again as she thought of Madeline, knowing that there was envy within her. “They both care for me very deeply
, Lord Denhaven, in their own way. I would not want you to think otherwise.”
“No, I can see that they do,” Lord Denhaven replied honestly, turning to walk again, one hand still holding hers. “But your sister always manages to command the room, does she not?”
A knife stabbed at her heart. “Yes,” she admitted softly, an ache growing in her throat. “Yes, Madeline has such beauty, such elegance and refinement, that she captures everyone’s eye.”
Lord Denhaven looked at her sharply, but Jemima said nothing more, not wanting to tell him that the reason she had been sobbing that morning was due to her own lack of beauty and grace in comparison to her sister. “I think, Lady Jemima, that you need not compare yourself to Lady Madeline,” Lord Denhaven said slowly, his brow knotted as he tried to explain what he meant. “Your sister is lovely, yes, and I know she has been called a diamond of the first water, but that in itself does not lessen your worth.”
A biting laugh escaped her. “I think you will find, Lord Denhaven, that it does just that. If I am present alongside my sister, then no one so much as glances at me. Why do you think that I remain unmarried, being almost one and twenty?”
Her voice broke but she forced the words out, thinking it best that Lord Denhaven know precisely the sort of lady he was to become engaged to. “I have never once been able to find a gentleman who is eager to know me better. Even when my sister was not out, I remained something of a bookish wallflower, although I have to say that my father encouraged me to remain true to myself and not attempt to mould myself into the same shape as all the other young ladies of the ton.” Her smile was sad. “Mayhap he came to regret that, I cannot tell, but I know that not a single gentleman in the beau monde found that he wished to look at me twice.”
“That only was made all the more evident to me when my sister made her debut.” Closing her eyes, Jemima forced her tears back, a little unsure as to why she was speaking with such openness to Lord Denhaven but still quite determined that she was to continue. “Within minutes, my sister’s dance card was full, whilst mine remained mostly empty. My father has always been careful as to whom we meet with, converse with, and become acquainted with, but it has not been difficult for him to find a suitable gentleman for Madeline.”
“Lord Mowbray,” Lord Denhaven interrupted, as Jemima nodded.
“Yes, Lord Mowbray,” she agreed, recalling how the kind gentleman appeared to be utterly besotted with her sister. “And if not him, then my father could have chosen another gentleman with very little difficulty. You see, Lord Denhaven, my sister is everything a young lady ought to be, whereas I…” she trailed off, looking away from him so that he would not see her glistening eyes, “whereas I am quite unable to be so.” Her throat ached but she forced her final few words from her lips. “That is why, Lord Denhaven, my father has insisted on our engagement. It is because he has no other gentlemen seeking to further their acquaintance with me. This is, I think, his only hope. My only hope.”
These last three words were whispered as she felt her heart break apart, agony and regret flooding her. Perhaps she ought not to have bared her soul to Lord Denhaven in such an open, vulnerable way, but once she had begun to speak, Jemima had found herself quite unable to stop. It was as though the flood of emotions she had held within her for some time had finally come crashing down, ripping through her and forcing her to speak. Lord Denhaven had not said anything in some minutes, which made her cheeks flare with embarrassment, making her fear that she had come across as entirely ridiculous.
“My, my,” Lord Denhaven breathed, as they neared the house. He stopped again, despite the cold wind and the ever-increasing flakes of snow. “That is why you were upset this morning, Lady Jemima? Because you consider yourself lesser than your sister, lesser than, perhaps, everyone else in the room?”
When she did not answer, Lord Denhaven dropped his head and let out his breath in a hiss.
“Oh, Lady Jemima,” he whispered, slowly lifting his head. “That is not so. You must not think so poorly of yourself.”
She held back the harsh retort that came to her lips, knowing that what he said was not the truth. She was lesser than the other ladies of the ton, simply because she was not one of them. She did not fit into their mould.
“You have beauty within you,” Lord Denhaven continued, reaching out towards her gently. To her shock, Jemima felt Lord Denhaven’s fingers tip up her chin, his gloved hand gentle. “Your eyes are captivating, showing me just a hint of what lies within you. Your features are sweet, your gentleness warming.” His fingers were brushing her cheek now, sending shivers down her back as his eyes fixed upon her own, his nearness almost overwhelming her. “The figure that you hide so effectively…” His finger brushed her heaving bosom. She lost her train of thought. “It could rival any courtesan.” He dropped his hand and instead held hers delicately in his palm.
“You may not be a diamond of the first water, Lady Jemima, but what does that matter? To be given such an accolade does not speak of one’s goodness nor one’s kind heart. It is only about the outward appearance, is it not?”
“And yet,” Jemima interrupted, her voice trembling, “the outward appearance is what matters, I think.”
“No,” Lord Denhaven stated firmly, his lips flattening. “It does not have the significance you might think, my lady.”
Her eyes searched his expression, searching to see whether he was speaking the truth to her or if it was, as she feared, simply a way of encouraging her towards him. “Have you not always sought the company of the most beautiful, the most admired ladies of the ton?” she asked hoarsely, seeing him frown. “Have you yourself not seen only them, letting all others fade away?” Her heart burst with a sudden, fierce pain as a bolt of realisation hit her. “I know for certain, Lord Denhaven, that even if we had been introduced, even if we had met back in London, I would never once have caught your attention.”
“But then, Lady Jemima,” he replied swiftly, “that would be entirely my own fault, entirely my own mistake, not yours. You have nothing to do with a gentleman’s failure to notice you. It is a gentleman’s failing, dear lady, not your own.”
This sweet, simple sentiment sent a shock of awareness straight through her, making her gasp as Lord Denhaven leaned ever closer, his handsome face framed by the wintery Christmas scene behind them. She had never once thought of things in that way, always believing that it was her own lack of grace, her own lack of conversation and beauty that prevented the gentlemen of the ton from every truly seeing her. But here and now, Lord Denhaven was setting that straight, forcing her to look at it from an entirely different perspective.
“You are not lacking, my lady,” he whispered, his head slowly lowering towards her, sending a flurry of butterflies into her stomach. “You are not any lesser than your sister, nor the lesser of any other lady of the ton. You are a secret treasure, hidden away for only the most discerning eyes to find.” A wry smile tugged at his lips, his eyes glinting with humour for a moment. “Or for a ridiculous gentleman, such as myself, to have placed directly in his path so that he has no choice but to find it.”
She laughed, her heart suddenly freed from its chains of fear, doubt, and failure. Lord Denhaven had, in one swift moment, helped to break them, and whilst they still coiled about her, they did not have so strong a hold.
Slowly, Jemima realised that something had changed between them, something that she had allowed to grow simply by speaking the truth to him. It was as though a tiny flicker of trust had grown in her heart for him, as though there was the beginnings of what could become a very strong bond.
On top of which, Jemima knew, she suddenly wanted desperately to kiss him. Having never been possessed by such a feeling before, she forced herself to remain completely still, allowing Lord Denhaven to move closer to her. She did not run, did not try to turn her face away, but continued to look up into his handsome face, seeing the gentleness in his eyes and the small, warm smile still on his lips.
Her hear
t was beating fast, her stomach pooling with warmth as Lord Denhaven finally let his lips touch hers. It was as though she had been thrown into an icy river, such was the shock that ran through her entire frame, chasing away her breath. Lord Denhaven’s arms encircled her waist as he lifted his head, his forehead resting against her own for just a moment. It had been a delicate touch, a feather-light kiss that was there and then gone in a moment. And yet, for all its swiftness, it was sweetness itself, the heat of it seeming to brand her as his own.
“I should take you inside now,” Lord Denhaven murmured, letting her go and stepping back, his hands falling by his sides. “I hope I did not…” He cleared his throat, looking away. “I hope I did not upset you, Lady Jemima.
“Upset me?” she repeated softly, reaching for him so that she might take his arm, feeling a little unsteady. “No, indeed not, Lord Denhaven. You have, I think, brought me a good deal more happiness than I ever expected.” It was as though she was seeing him all over again, as though she were truly beginning to understand the kind of gentleman he could be.
Lord Denhaven’s smile was one of relief. “I am glad,” he said, patting her hand with his free one as they walked the final short distance towards the house. “This is entirely new for me, Lady Jemima, I must confess.”
She looked up at him, a trifle confused. “What is, my lord?”
He gestured towards her. “This. You. Finding that I am intent on pursuing a deeper acquaintance with you, that I am determined to prove that I can change the man I am to become the man you require.” Shaking his head, his brows lowered as though he were puzzled by this strange new desire running through him. “It is quite extraordinary, truly. And I suppose I have you to thank, Lady Jemima.”