Jemima glanced around the room and satisfied herself that all her protectors were still otherwise engaged. She swallowed, thought of Ros’s warning and almost lost her courage. Almost. But someone had to do something, she reminded herself, before Ros’s father’s laudable efforts were derailed. Before her own father was forced to resign from a position that he had worked so hard to attain. To obtain justice for her sister.
Aware of Quinn still watching her, she sauntered through the open French doors, took refuge on the terrace, and waited.
Chapter Seventeen
Her wait was a short one. She had been outside, enjoying the feel of the cool air on her upturned face for no more than a few minutes before she sensed a presence behind her. She pretended not to notice that she was no longer alone and continued to lean on the balustrade, looking up at the sky. The stars were concealed behind the murky smoke belching from the city’s chimneys and the factories that lined the wharf not so far away, but Jemima could still see the constellations clearly in her imagination. Plotting their position kept her mind focused and her nerves in check as she waited for Quinn to speak. The Irish were not known for their ability to maintain silences.
‘The plough would be to your left,’ said a lilting voice.
Jemima turned slowly and frowned. ‘Are we acquainted?’ she asked haughtily.
‘We have not had the pleasure of being introduced, but I know who you are.’
Jemima turned away from him again with a shrug of disinterest. ‘Then you have the advantage of me.’
‘I am—’
‘Intruding upon my solitary reverie. Please leave.’
She heard a small intake of breath, as though he couldn’t quite believe that he had been rebuffed. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Are you still here?’
‘It is very impolite to hide oneself away at a party. Do you not think that we all have a duty to mingle, much as we might wish to remain taciturn and turn our noses up at the stupidity of it all?’
‘You accuse me of being impolite but insist upon bothering me.’ Jemima kept her back to him. ‘I cannot help wondering which of us is the more impolite, especially since we are strangers and I am more than happy for that situation to endure.’
‘My, but you are outspoken!’
‘And you, sir,’ she said, turning reluctantly to face him. ‘Whoever you are, you have the hide of a rhinoceros.’
‘Fergus Quinn at your service, ma’am,’ he said with a sweeping bow.
‘Well, Fergus Quinn, since you claim to know my identity, there seems little point in my telling you my name. There, now we are acquainted. I hope that will satisfy you.’
‘Not nearly.’
She gave a frustrated sigh. ‘Please leave me to my thoughts. I noticed you inside and there are dozens of people anxious for your society, which makes you the impolite one for denying them that questionable pleasure. I, on the other hand, will not be missed.’
As she knew would be the case, Jemima’s dismissal of the arrogant man ensured his continued presence. ‘You underestimate yourself,’ he said.
She clenched her withered hand and sent him a harried look when he walked up beside her and leaned on the balustrade. A respectable amount of space separated them, but she felt a chill run through her when she became conscious of him scrutinising her profile.
‘You are the Irishman who is causing such a stir,’ she said absently.
‘If trying to right the wrongs done to my countrymen creates a stir, then perhaps someone should have stirred that particular pot years ago.’
‘Anarchy is not the answer.’
‘Then what is?’
‘Why ask me?’ Jemima lifted one shoulder. ‘I am a woman, so it follows that I cannot possibly have two successive sensible thoughts.’
‘You are not at all like your sister,’ he said in a considering tone.
‘So I have been told on more than one occasion.’ She paused. ‘I was not aware that you are acquainted with Annabel.’
‘Oh, we are quite intimate. Is she not here with you this evening?’ he asked in what was probably supposed to be a casual tone. But Jemima took heart from the fact that there was an anxious edge to his voice.
‘She is indisposed.’
‘Nothing life-threatening, I trust.’
He was deliberating goading her, wanting to know what she knew, or else hoping to trick her into indiscretion. Nice try! ‘Why ever should it be?’
‘Do you ever answer a question directly?’
‘The Irish do not have a monopoly on prevarication, Mr Quinn. As far as I am aware, the state of my sister’s health is no concern of yours, but if you are worried about her, I suggest that you call at our home and enquire after her in the customary manner.’
‘Ouch! You are very direct.’
‘I told you that I didn’t want your company but you refuse to leave me alone. That, as far as I am concerned, permits me to be as direct as I please. If you require sycophants, then go back to the party. I am sure you will find more than enough of them to satisfy your vanity.’
‘I wish I had met you first and not your sister. You are infinitely more interesting.’
‘You are not very constant, Mr Quinn. One minute you declare yourself an intimate of my sister and yet after five minutes of stilted conversation with me you claim to prefer my company.’
‘What can I say?’ He spread his hands and sent her a puerile smile that probably saw most women wilt in appreciation. It made Jemima want to vomit. ‘I bore easily.’
‘You seek to ingratiate yourself with me by denigrating my sister’s ability to hold your interest.’ Jemima shook her head. ‘I have had quite enough of this. If you will not leave me in peace, then I shall return to the party. Pray excuse me.’
‘Not so fast.’ He grabbed her left arm in a vicelike grip, his congenial smile giving way to a hard, merciless expression. ‘I need to see your sister. I know she is in the house and you are going to take me to her.’
‘Let go of me! You are hurting my arm.’ Jemima struggled but it made no difference to his grip. ‘Even if Annabel was here, I cannot take you to her without your dragging me through the middle of all those people.’ She sent him a derisive look. ‘What would they think of their hero then?’
Quinn’s responding laugh owed little to humour. ‘There will be a way through the kitchens,’ he said, dragging her towards the other end of the terrace, where steps led down to the lower floors. ‘I mean your sister no harm but I will hurt you very badly if you continue to resist me.’ Jemima didn’t doubt it. He was nothing more than a street thug dressed in fine clothing who had learned how to speak in a refined manner, even if he had not lost his accent. But then again, perhaps he had deliberately retained it, thinking it made him seem more authentic. ‘And there’s no point trying to scream. No one will hear you over all that pointless chatter coming from the drawing room.’
Jemima cursed her stupidity in ignoring Ros’s warning, luring Quinn towards her in the mistaken belief that she could get him to admit to his wrongdoing. Even if he had, there was no one else to bear witness to such an admission. Where was Ros? She had been out here, probably not for more than ten minutes, but it seemed like a great deal longer. He was supposed to be keeping watch over her, as was her father and Lord Torbay. Why had no one come to look for her? Why hadn’t anyone else come out to take the air? The evening air was distinctly chilly, but even so…
With no other choice available to her, Jemima allowed herself to be dragged along. She recalled that Annabel’s door was locked and that a footman had been placed on guard outside of it. He wouldn’t be able to get to Annabel, but wouldn’t then release Jemima either. He must already realise that she would not keep quiet about it. Besides, as Ros had rightly pointed out, for bargaining purposes she would be as useful to him as Annabel.
Foolish, Jemima! Foolish, foolish, foolish.
Jemima had been dragged halfway along
the terrace when, finally, another figure appeared from the direction of the kitchens. A servant perhaps? Jemima had never been more pleased to see anyone in her entire life but before she could call for help, Quinn pulled her closer and she felt a dagger piercing her side.
‘One word and it will be all over for you.’
Jemima didn’t think he would have the nerve to go quite that far, at least not in the middle of a society party. But she sensed his desperation and wasn’t prepared to take the risk. She fell obediently still, watching as the approaching servant noticed them. There was something familiar about her, about the gown she wore. Jemima squinted, attempting to decide what it was. It took her a moment to realise that the gown looked familiar because it was the one that she had worn all day.
But it was now being worn by Annabel.
‘Fergus!’ she cried, throwing herself at him and forcing him to loosen his grip on Jemima’s arm as he instinctively caught her. ‘I knew you would come for me.’
*
Called from the party by Parker, Ros glanced at Jemima, and decided that it would be safe to leave her for a moment or two since she was in the company of Lady Torbay. He went into the hall to see what news his man Field, recently returned from his family emergency, had to impart. As hoped, it was a telegram from his agents in Boston. He read its contents quickly and gave a satisfied nod.
‘Thank you, Field. You were right to bring this to my attention tonight.’
At last he has some information to use against Quinn. But how best to do so? He returned to the party, so deep in thought that he failed to notice a particularly determined matron bearing down on him, her insipid daughter in tow, and it took him several minutes to extricate himself from her tenacious clutches. When he did so and was finally able to look for Jemima she was nowhere in sight. Her father was in deep discussion with a group of men and clearly hadn’t given a thought to Jemima’s whereabouts. He noticed Jake and Isaac standing together at the side of the room and joined them, explaining the news he had just received and asking their advice on how best to make use of it.
‘But first we need to find Jemima,’ he said, an edge to his voice. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘No,’ Jake replied. ‘Not recently, but I can’t see Olivia either. They are probably together.’
‘Quinn seems to have disappeared too,’ Isaac pointed out.
The three men shared a look.
‘I don’t like this one bit,’ Ros said. ‘Damn it, Aitken’s supposed to be watching her.’
‘Don’t panic quite yet. Nothing can happen to her in my house,’ Jake said, giving a subtle indication to Parker to join them. ‘Check upstairs to make sure Miss Aitken is where she is supposed to be and see if her sister is with her.’
Parker nodded and, despite his bulk, disappeared between the throng of tightly packed bodies as stealthily as a wraith.
‘She might have gone outside,’ Ros said, unwilling to remain idle until Parker returned. ‘She did so yesterday and told me she enjoys taking the air at night.’
The three men headed for the terrace without bothering to alert Aitken to the fact that his daughter appeared to be missing. For all he cared about Jemima, they would be better off without him. They strolled casually through the open French doors, trying not to draw attention to themselves. At first glance the terrace appeared to be deserted. No one else had ventured outside, it seemed. Then they heard voices, raised voices, coming from the furthest reaches and made a cautious approach, keeping to the shadows. Ros’s heart stalled when he recognised one of those voices as Jemima’s.
‘What the devil’s going on?’ Isaac asked, in an undertone.
Ros held a finger to his lips to silence Isaac and placed a hand on his arm to prevent him from interceding. Jemima and her sister were there together with Quinn. He had known deep down that Jemima was plotting something and would disregard his caution. Damn it, after he had rescued her, she wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week!
Neither of the ladies appeared to be in any immediate danger, Ros realised once he regained a modicum of composure, and he would very much like to hear their conversation. He indicated a nearby alcove and three men moved silently into its shadowy protection to listen, ready to intercept when the time was right.
‘What are you doing out here, Jemima?’ Annabel, who had thrown herself into Quinn’s arms, asked.
‘I might ask you the same thing. How did you get out of your room? The door was locked.’
‘The stupid maid you left guarding me fell asleep.’ Annabel shrugged. ‘So I slipped into your room through the bathroom. I knew Fergus would come to find me, and saved him the trouble of coming upstairs to search for me.’
Ros rolled his eyes. He hadn’t known there was a bathroom connecting the sisters’ rooms. Clearly, no one had thought to lock the door on Jemima’s side.
‘I have been so worried about you, my love,’ Annabel said passionately. ‘They are spreading the most vicious lies about you, and Jemima is the worst culprit. She says you do not love me. That you poisoned me and did other unspeakable things before leaving me for dead. But as you can see, Jemima, he came for me.’ Annabel’s face glowed with misplaced pride. ‘I knew he was here. I sensed his presence. I was proved right and you are just a jealous, spiteful shrew who doesn’t want me to be happy.’
‘What are you going to do to gain revenge this time, Annabel?’ Ros had never heard Jemima speak with such venom before. ‘Push me down the stairs again and break my other wrist?’
Ah, Ros thought, so that was the history of Jemima’s injury. He had been wondering if her sister had somehow caused it, accounting for the animosity between them.
‘I did not push you. How many more times. It was an accident.’ Annabel tossed her head, sending her unbraided hair spiralling over her shoulders. ‘Why would I push you down the stairs?’
‘Because I was about to be presented, you felt excluded and couldn’t bear not to be the centre of attention.’
‘Nonsense!’ Annabel treated her sister to a scathing look. ‘You have never been able to hold a candle to me.’
‘Actually, you did me a favour. I was not looking forward to being launched, as Mama would insist upon describing the ordeal. She made me sound like a ship. Or a brood mare being presented for inspection.’ She shuddered. ‘Anyway, you gave me the ideal excuse to avoid the torture, so I suppose I should in some perverse way be grateful to you.’
Explaining, Ros supposed, why she had never had the wrist properly set. That was something else he would insist upon, once he had instilled some obedience into her.
‘We have to go, Annabel,’ Quinn said, an edge to his voice.
‘Go? Oh no, my love, there is no need for secrecy now. Not anymore. Papa knows of our understanding. I cannot pretend that he is happy about it, but when he sees how much in love we are, he will soon come around. He cannot bear to see me unhappy.’ She smiled up at Quinn, whose gaze was focused speculatively upon Jemima rather than his intended. Ros clenched his fists but Jake’s hand on his arm prevented him from intervening. The girls were not in danger—at least not yet—he realised, and it would be interesting to hear Quinn’s response ‘In fact, we could announce our engagement this evening, in front of all these people. We have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to prevent us.’
Annabel had finally assured herself of Quinn’s full attention. He looked appalled, and Ros knew why. For once, the loquacious Irishman appeared to be lost for words. Ros shared a glance with Jake who gave a grim nod.
‘It would be better to wait for a more suitable occasion,’ Quinn said eventually.
‘But I cannot leave with you, dearest. Last time was different. You saved me from being accosted. But I am not in danger here.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’
Ros suppressed a groan when Jemima spoke, attracting the attention of Annabel and Quinn. The former would want to know why. The latter knew all too well. Fortuna
tely, Annabel ignored her sister’s comment and ensured that the conversation remained focused upon her.
‘Mama is distraught, you see. She doesn’t yet know that I am safe and well. The message you sent assuring them that I was didn’t arrive, which seems odd.’ Annabel wrinkled her brow. ‘I expect the stupid boy got the wrong address. Or else just took your sixpence and didn’t bother to deliver it at all. I want to wed you openly and honestly, dearest, with no scandal attaching to my name. Is that so very bad?’
Quinn gave Annabel an absent smile. ‘I really don’t have time to argue with you, Annabel. It would be best if you both came with me now.’
‘Both of us?’ Annabel’s eyes bulged. ‘What possible need can you have for Jemima?’
‘Ask Glynde.’ Quinn looked directly at Jemima. ‘I admire his taste. If I had known beforehand—’
‘Lord Glynde? That’s ridiculous. He is attracted to me, although I did not encourage him, I can assure you of that. Anyway, he is barely acquainted with Jemima.’ Annabel gave a shrill little laugh. ‘You cannot possibly think that…’
Damn it! Ros thumped his thigh with his clenched fist. He has stood too close a guard over Jemima for too long earlier. Quinn would have noticed, of course, and in trying to protect her, Ros had played straight into the conniving man’s hands. He would indeed persuade his father to give in to any of the rogue’s demands in order to have Jemima safely returned to him. It was at that point, when she was in peril, that he finally accepted what he had known for days.
He had lost his heart to the chit and would give his own life to keep her safe without a second’s hesitation.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jake said in an undertone. ‘Jemima won’t go willingly. Besides, he can hardly drag the pair of them through the house.’
‘He knew Annabel was here. He must have thought ahead about getting her out unobserved,’ Ros hissed. ‘It’s time to intervene.’
Before they could do so, Quinn gave three low whistles and two men appeared from the shrubbery.
Elegance and Grace Page 21