Jemima laughed, throwing the cushion up in the air in relief and light-headed pleasure. To have money and yet to have no husband or father commanding her behaviour…It was almost too good to be true.
She thought of Rob Selborne, with his aristocratic looks and his courteous manners. He was what the sweeps would call a swell, a real gentleman. He was so nice that he was asking to be robbed blind.
Jemima shook her head. It was lucky that Rob had made his bargain with her, for she would never cheat him where others might. He was a real gentleman and, though she was only a counterfeit lady, they had made a deal. A marriage convenient to both.
She remembered the current of attraction that had run between the two of them and put the thought aside with another shake of her head. Physical desire was a snare that brought unhappiness. The hard-headed cynicism she had learned as a child on the streets told her that. It would be foolish in the extreme to build too much on the feelings that she already had for Robert Selborne, to build on the respect—and the attraction. Their arrangement meant that they would be spending very little time in each other’s company, married or not. Rob would go directly to his estate in Oxfordshire after the wedding and she would go to Twickenham, and very likely they would only communicate via Rob’s man of business. And after a year or so, the marriage would be over.
Jemima felt a pang of disappointment that she could not deny. She knew that she wished to spend time with Robert Selborne. She wished to know him better. He was to be her husband and, ironically, she would know nothing of him at all.
She got to her feet and moved over to the window. The early morning mist had lifted and the sun was coming through, pale and golden. It looked like being a lovely day.
Jemima picked up the wedding veil and draped it over her head. She was just twirling in front of the mirror, smiling as she watched her reflection, when her mother came in. Mrs Jewell smiled too when she saw what her daughter was doing. For a moment mother and daughter stood before the mirror, united in their happiness but dreaming very different dreams. And against Jemima’s skin Rob Selborne’s signet ring felt very warm.
Chapter Five
‘You’ve gone mad,’ Jack Jewell said flatly. ‘Stark staring mad. You should be locked up in Bedlam.’
Jemima and her brother were standing on Blackfriars Bridge, side by side, leaning their elbows on the parapet as they ate their dinner. Below them the river flowed, brown and ponderous at low tide. The mudlarks skipped across the exposed flats looking for pieces of coal and the seagulls screamed overhead.
Jemima scooped a piece of hot eel out of the packet in her hand and swallowed it whole. It was salty and smooth. She licked her fingers. Mrs Montagu had always said that food tasted better served on a plate and eaten with a knife and fork, but then Mrs Montagu had probably never eaten fresh, hot eels in spiced gravy direct from the stall, nor oysters at four for a penny. There were some experiences that gentility could not buy.
The breeze off the river was chilly and the food was cooling quickly. Jemima gulped down another slippery piece of eel.
‘I know you think I am unwise—’
‘No, I don’t. I think you’re idiotic. I’ve just told you.’ Jack scowled. ‘You are going to marry a man you do not know, and all because you cannot bear to wed Jim Veale.’
‘It isn’t that simple.’ Jemima crumpled up the empty packet and wiped her fingers clean. ‘You don’t understand—’
‘Oh, yes, I do. People always say that when they know you understand perfectly.’ Jack’s scowl deepened. ‘You haven’t thought any of this through, Jem. Who is this gentleman? Is he straight or will he swindle you?’ He turned round to face her abruptly. ‘Will he tell you this is a business arrangement—and then demand his married rights and privileges?’ Jack drove his hands into his pockets. ‘Because if he does, Jem, there’s not a hope in hell that you can avoid it.’
Jemima sighed. She understood her brother’s concern—appreciated it, even—but she was not going to let his scruples stand in her way.
‘You are making this a deal too complicated, Jack. Lord Selborne and I have made an agreement. My name on a marriage certificate in return for his money.’
‘Suppose he doesn’t come through with the money?’ Jack said. ‘I thought he was supposed to be poor? When he has what he wants he’ll leave you high and dry. And how would you explain that to Father when you run crying home?’ He smashed his fist down on the stone parapet. ‘He’s using you, Jem! And you are so blind to everything but your desire for an independent life that you are prepared to accept it!’
Jemima turned away, staring out across the water. The cold breeze stung her cheeks. Jack could always be relied upon to speak his mind and there was a lot of truth in his words.
‘We are both using each other, Jack. It is a means to get what we both want. I want my independence and the chance to set up a school. Rob—Lord Selborne—wishes to gain his father’s fortune—’
‘A fortune hunter!’ Jack looked disgusted. ‘Why can he not marry an heiress, one of his own kind?’
Jemima sighed. ‘I have explained all this to you. He had to marry one of the ladies at the wedding and none of them was suitable.’
‘They probably all turned him down, more like. There must be something wrong with him.’
‘No, there isn’t,’ Jemima said. She smiled a little. ‘Indeed, Jack, he is…a very personable man.’
More than just personable, in fact, but she was not going to tell Jack that.
Jack snorted. ‘Even so, there must be something wrong with him. It’s just that you don’t know it yet. But you’ll find out quick enough.’
‘Maybe I will.’ Jemima folded her arms against the cold wind, huddling a little deeper into her coat. Now that the warming effect of the eels had worn off she was feeling chilled. Inside and out. Jack had planted the doubts in her mind and they were growing. It was three days since Rob had called and she had been carried along by excitement and anticipation—until she had decided to confide in her brother and he had made her see the truth of her plans. At best it suddenly looked like a tawdry bargain and at worst she could be making a huge mistake.
And yet she had trusted Rob Selborne. She had no notion why, but she was convinced that he would not cheat her. He had given her his word, and shown her great kindness. Perhaps I am easily bought, Jemima thought. Speak kindly to me and offer me something that I truly want…
‘You seemed glad enough of his help the other night,’ she said crossly. ‘You know that you could not have broken that door down on your own.’
‘I would’ve fetched an axe,’ Jack said, scowling. ‘I didn’t trust the man then and I don’t trust him now.’
‘You thought he wanted me to be his mistress then,’ Jemima pointed out. ‘You should be glad that it’s marriage he’s offering me.’
Jack made a noise of disgust. He turned so that he was leaning back against the stone parapet. ‘Of course, there is another explanation for your behaviour,’ he said casually.
Jemima raised her brows, suspicious of his bland tone. ‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. You have fallen in love with this Selborne fellow, or think you have, and are therefore prepared to do anything he asks. You’ve read too much about love in those books of yours, and now you want to experience it yourself.’
Jemima glared. ‘That is not funny, Jack. What has love got to do with it? You know I have no time for that nonsense. Rob Selborne and I have met less than a handful of times.’
‘And the first time you met, he was kissing you as though he meant it.’ Jack gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘And then he wants to marry you. Funny that.’
‘I…he…’ Jemima floundered. ‘He was kissing me for good luck at the wedding. Just as you were kissing the bride, if you recall.’
‘I wasn’t kissing her as though there was no tomorrow,’ Jack said bluntly.
‘No,’ Jemima said, feeling defensive, ‘you save that for Lady Alford, do you not?’
> Beatrice Alford was the widow of a City Alderman and had had Jack’s undivided attention for almost a year. Jack always said that chimney sweeps had unrivalled opportunities for seduction. They had access to the entire house—including the bedrooms.
Jack shifted, blushing as much as one of his swarthy complexion was able. ‘That’s at an end.’
‘Is it? Why is that?’
‘For the same reason that you cannot be happy with your flash gent. I was sick of being a backstairs lover.’ Jack scowled down at the cobbles. ‘Oh, I was welcome in milady’s bed, but not to grace her table.’
‘I did not think that was what you wanted from her.’
Jack flashed her a black look. ‘Don’t be stupid, sis. I didn’t want to sit down to eat with her. But I needed to feel that I could if I had wanted. Do you understand? It’s all about respect—and knowing one’s place.’
Jemima wrinkled up her brow. She knew what Jack meant. It was demeaning to be treated as though you were not good enough. ‘Yes, I do understand.’
‘Then don’t go getting any silly ideas about being Countess of Selborne. You’d never be accepted. You’d be nothing better than a backstairs wife. Everyone would turn away when you walked by. They’d put their parasols up in your face like they did to Lady Denbigh.’
‘She was a circus rider.’
‘Circus rider, chimney sweep’s daughter—where’s the difference?’
‘It is different when the daughter of a rich cit wishes to marry into the nobility.’
Jack drove his hands into his pockets and started walking. ‘Of course that’s different. Usually they are several generations away from the smell of the shop. Or if not, they are so rich it can be overlooked. But we don’t even smell of the shop, Jemima. We smell of soot. We’re way down the pile, and not even Mrs Montagu’s scented parlour can change that for you.’
They were walking towards Westminster now and Jack set a brisk pace. Jemima trotted along beside, trying to keep up.
‘I would agree with you if I was secretly desiring the sort of match you describe. But I have no thoughts in that direction.’ She paused, feeling the tiniest pang of guilt. Perhaps that was not quite true. She had allowed herself a very small dream about being the Countess of Selborne in reality and not merely in name only. It had been delightful when Rob had kissed her and it had started to undermine all her cynical beliefs about love. But to think like that was foolish. Love was a luxury that was not for the likes of her.
‘Neither Lord Selborne nor I look at the marriage in that way, Jack,’ she said. ‘I keep telling you that there is no sentiment involved, only business.’
‘And does your self-respect not revolt at that, Jem?’ Jack glared at her. ‘You would take the money of a man who would not wish you to grace his table—or his name, for that matter, since the truth of this marriage is to be kept a secret?’
Jemima flushed. She raised her chin. ‘Evidently my self-respect is not such a delicate thing as yours is, Jack. I will take Lord Selborne’s money and be grateful for the chance it gives me!’
Jack swore under his breath.
‘And,’ Jemima added crossly, ignoring him, ‘it seems I cannot do right for doing wrong in your eyes! Firstly I am a fool for apparently falling in love, and then I have no self-respect for accepting an arranged match! Make your mind up, Jack!’
There was a silence between them until they reached the corner of East Chepe, then Jack spoke again.
‘And you are quite happy to cut yourself off from your family in this way?’
Jemima sighed. This was the aspect of the case that made her the unhappiest, for clearly she would have to keep her whereabouts a secret from her father, at least until his anger had had time to abate. She had no real regrets about that, but she was sorry to hurt her mother.
‘I shall not be utterly cut off. I shall have you.’
Jack gave her an exasperated look. ‘And our mother? She does not deserve this of you, Jem.’
‘I know,’ Jemima said, unhappily. ‘But in a little while, when Father is resigned to it, I may come back and see you all.’
Jack was shaking his head. ‘You are living in a fool’s paradise. He will cut you off, Jem. He will forbid Mother to see you. There is no generosity in him. This is a man who still sends small children up the chimneys even though there are machines that will do the work instead. He is not quick to change—or forgive.’
‘Nor am I.’
Jack sighed. ‘No. You have a great deal in common, you two. Perhaps that is why you can no longer live together.’
They had argued themselves to a standstill. Jemima could see the stubborn lines settle about Jack’s mouth, then he relaxed on a sigh.
‘Very well. Since you will not listen to sense, do you still wish me to be your bridesmaid?’
Jemima gave a little squeak and threw herself into his arms. ‘Oh, Jack! Thank you! You will be the most handsome bridesmaid in the whole of London!’
Jack grinned. ‘I still think you are making a monumentally stupid mistake, Jem,’ he said, as he hugged her back. ‘It will all end in tears. Just you see.’
‘No, it won’t,’ Jemima said. She stepped back. There was something that she wanted to say, but it was a great risk.
‘Jack, I thought that, once I was established in Twickenham I might arrange to visit Tilly.’
Jack’s expression was suddenly as remote as stone. ‘So that’s what you intend to spend your new-found fortune on? Don’t be stupid, sis. Tilly is content and settled. She doesn’t need an interfering aunt—nor a father neither.’
Jemima wrinkled up her face. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground here, opening old wounds. Jack never spoke of his daughter, but that did not mean that he never thought of her.
‘I wanted to know for myself that she was well and happy,’ Jemima said hesitantly. ‘For Beth’s sake.’
Jack’s eyes were black with fury now. ‘Well? Of course she’s well! She is the ward of a nobleman and far better placed in the world than we have ever been. There is nothing we can give her. Leave her be…’
There was a silence. ‘I thought that you would want to know,’ Jemima said.
‘Well, I don’t want to know,’ Jack said. ‘Let it go, Jemima. If you must marry your fancy lord, do it for any reason you like, but don’t do it for this.’
‘You are taking a very great risk, my lord,’ Jemima observed. Some fifteen minutes previously the maid had brought a note from Rob Selborne into the office at the back of the premises in Great Portland Street and five minutes after that, Jemima was in a hackney carriage with him driving through the streets of London.
Rob raised a lazy brow. ‘Why is that?’
‘Because someone might see you,’ Jemima said. ‘I thought that we were not to meet until the wedding?’
Rob shrugged. ‘I wanted to talk to you. I did not wish simply to summon you to the church like some sort of servant.’ He frowned. ‘That’s too shabby, Jemima.’
Jemima felt a warm glow of pleasure at his words and quelled it at once. He had wanted to see her, to talk to her. That was precisely the sort of behaviour she should be discouraging. The two of them were destined to go their separate ways and they might as well start now. Even so, she did not demand to be taken straight back home.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked. ‘Do we drive around London until we have finished talking, just to make sure that no one notices us together?’
Rob shot her a look. ‘I had not quite decided where we could go.’
‘What about the Tower of London? Only tourists go there.’
Rob shook his head. ‘It is not the most pleasant of days for walking outside. Besides, I wished to sit down and talk to you properly.’
‘Then I have the very place,’ Jemima said. ‘The Hoop and Grapes in Drury Lane.’
Rob looked a little startled. ‘Is that not a flash house?’
‘It is.’ Jemima gave him a challenging look. ‘I thought that you wished to b
e unrecognised? I assume no one would know you there?’
Rob sat back with a grin. ‘I imagine not. We shall go there if you wish.’
The taproom at the Hoop and Grapes was almost full, but Jemima found a small table in a corner and slid along the bench, leaving Rob the seat on the old settle that faced outward into the room. The air was thick with the fug of smoke and the smell of ale, and although the conversation did not stop when they walked in, Jemima knew that everyone was watching them. She could see that Rob knew it too. There was a faint smile on his lips but it was belied by the watchful look in his dark eyes. Jemima was not surprised. There were half a dozen men there who would slide a blade between your ribs first and ask questions later.
‘Do you come here often?’ Rob asked, raising a hand to summon a serving girl.
Jemima watched in mixed surprise and chagrin as two girls converged on their table and started to squabble over who should serve them. It was rare enough to get any service in the Hoop, let alone the undivided attention of two of the servants.
‘A jug of ale, please,’ Rob said, giving a coin to the nearest girl. She held on to his hand for a moment and giggled. Jemima felt extremely irritated.
‘Yes, sir.’ The girl dropped a curtsy, her expert gaze assessing him. ‘Yes, my lord,’ she amended. ‘And if you’re wanting anything else, my lord…’
Rob gave her a smile that made Jemima’s irritation levels soar. ‘I’ll be sure to let you know,’ he said.
Jemima set her lips into a straight, disapproving line. It was her own fault for bringing Rob here. It had been a childish impulse, to show off and also to see if he would object. So far he was passing the test with rather more aplomb than she had imagined.
‘Regretting it yet?’ Rob asked affably.
Jemima looked at him sharply. ‘Regretting what?’
‘Bringing me here.’ Rob gestured around the taproom. ‘Did you want to scare me?’
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