They fell into step behind Letty, Augusta and Bertie. Augusta showed every sign of falling back and trying to eavesdrop, but Letty marched her along the pavement like a sergeant major. Rob slowed his steps to put a little distance between them and the rest of the party.
‘What an extraordinary resemblance that child bore to you,’ he said pleasantly, quite as though he was discussing the weather. ‘I believe that she is Merlin’s ward although I have never seen her before. But evidently you knew that already.’
Jemima felt his impenetrable gaze on her like a physical touch. She shivered under it.
‘I…yes…I did know.’ Jemima groped for words. ‘The Duke of Merlin—’ she began.
‘Yes? I collect that you already know my godfather,’ Rob said ironically.
Jemima cast him a quick look. ‘We met some time ago.’
‘I see.’
‘I had not seen him since. We—’
‘And the child?’ Rob interrupted her.
It was so unlike him to interrupt that Jemima’s gaze flew to his face. She stammered a little.
‘I am sorry that I did not tell you about her.’
‘So am I,’ Rob said, a little grimly. ‘I am sorry that you saw fit not to tell me anything at all.’
Jemima could sense his tension for it was implicit in every line of his body. He had his hand on her arm, steering her along the pavement, and she was grateful to him. The town seemed crowded, but she could not seem to focus properly on the people who passed by.
‘She is a connection of yours, I infer?’ Rob continued.
They had almost reached the door of the inn. Jemima could see Letty practically dragging Augusta over the doorstep whilst Augusta craned her neck to try and see what Rob and Jemima were discussing behind them.
Jemima stopped. Rob was watching her very closely and suddenly she could read the expression in his eyes and all her emotions came alive, for under the huge self-control that she could see he was exerting was an anger burning bright and hot. In that second she realised exactly what he was thinking—that Tilly Jewell was her own child and that, intolerably, the Duke of Merlin could well be the child’s father…
Jemima withdrew her hand quickly from his, feeling the colour come into her face, a colour that she knew would make her look even more guilty.
‘Oh!’ she said. She pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Rob. You think that Tilly is my daughter—’
There was a step beside them and Ferdie’s jovial voice cut the atmosphere like a knife through muslin.
‘There you are, Robert! Wondered where you’d got to! The others are all ready to go. The fellow with the piano is positive that it is going to rain and he suggests that he sends it over to Delaval on the cart when the weather is dry.’ Ferdie grinned, apparently oblivious to what he had interrupted. ‘Has Rob been telling you about the purchase he’s made for you, Jemima? A grand piano for a wedding gift!’ He clapped Rob on the shoulder. ‘Told him he must be besotted to go to the trouble of transporting it all the way to Delaval on these roads!’
Jemima pulled herself together. Rob was looking impassive again, but she could see the muscle that twitched in his cheek. She wanted to cry.
‘A wedding gift,’ she said slowly. ‘How…very generous of you, my dear. Thank you for remembering that I was interested in music.’
She saw Rob make an equal effort to match her composure. ‘You are very welcome, my love,’ he said.
Lady Marguerite and the rest of the party were emerging from the inn and the carriages were being brought around. Everyone was acting as though there was nothing wrong, and yet it felt to Jemima as though they were all caught in some horrible pretence. Lady Marguerite’s expression was wooden, Letty looked frightened, Augusta had a high, angry colour and Bertie Pershore simply looked embarrassed. With a flash of insight, Jemima realised that Augusta must have made some loaded remark about the encounter with the Duke of Merlin and that Lady Marguerite must have put her in her place.
Jemima closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. She did not for one moment delude herself that Lady Marguerite had any sympathy for her. It was simply bad ton to make a scene in public.
She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. She knew that Rob would protect her in front of his family, but she had no notion what would happen once they were private together. She remembered the flash of fury she had seen in his eyes. Even if she explained to him that Tilly was not hers, would he still be furious with her? She had knowingly kept her previous connection with the Duke of Merlin a secret from him. She wished fervently now that she had not kept any secrets, for suddenly she was left feeling very alone.
It was starting to rain as they left Burford, big drops falling from fat grey clouds, but Rob did not notice. The gentlemen were all on horseback whilst Jemima had the Delaval carriage to herself and Lady Marguerite, Letty and Augusta shared the carriage behind. Letty had tried to insist that she should accompany Jemima, but Rob had overruled her. He thought that his wife probably needed some time to collect her thoughts. Seeing the child had evidently been a shock to her. Or perhaps, Rob thought, clamping down on his violent fury, seeing the Duke of Merlin had been the greater surprise.
He tried to be rational and go over the facts as he knew them. Jemima and his godfather were evidently acquainted. What was not clear was the extent of that acquaintance. If it had been straightforward, Merlin would surely have cleared up the situation there and then. The fact that he had not suggested that the circumstances were delicate. Rob tried not to jump to conclusions and found himself positively leaping ahead, despite his best intentions. Jemima had been Merlin’s mistress and the child was the outcome of their liaison.
He stopped his runaway thoughts very deliberately, allowed his anger to abate and tried not to pull on the reins too much in case he damaged Arrow in the process. The others were giving him a wide berth and he did not blame them. He knew he must look grim. What was intolerable was the thought that all the party knew as much as he and must be speculating along much the same lines. He had been cuckolded before marriage; his wife had had an illegitimate child; he would be a laughing-stock…
This last hurt less than the thought that Jemima had not trusted him. It threw a great many of his assumptions into confusion. Despite the fact that they had known each other but a short time, he had thought that he understood her. He had thought her honest. It seemed that he had been mistaken.
His anger and his disappointment were stark and painful. He had wanted his virginal bride to be precisely that. He had thought that this wooing of her, which had been progressing so agreeably in the last few weeks, would have a particularly sweet end.
He had been taken in by her innocent protestations. When he had kissed her she had withdrawn with a modesty that had seemed entirely genuine. Over the past week or so he had been leading her step by step towards exploiting the natural sensuality that he sensed within her. Except she might already have explored that all too well…
Rob frowned. Beneath his anger some shame stirred. He knew nothing of Jemima’s life in the Jewell household or the circumstances that might have led her to throw herself on the mercies of a rich protector. He was also making assumptions about his own godfather, a man he admired and whose integrity he had never questioned until now. He was condemning Jemima unheard simply because the facts looked bad. And because he was jealous. Damnably jealous.
‘Oh, Rob. You think that Tilly is my daughter—’
Rob frowned. He had seen the precise second that Jemima had woken from her shocked trance, had seen the guilty colour that had come into her cheeks and the horror in her eyes. It had seemed quite clear. And yet…
The child had looked exactly like her. The same heart-shaped face, the same silky black hair, the same…No. Different eyes. Eyes as black as soot rather than the colour of lavender. It was a small thing, but it made him wonder.
Rob became aware that the rain was pelting down now, running in rivulets down his face. Fe
rdie brought his horse alongside.
‘I say, old fellow, would you mind awfully if we all put up at Delaval, just until the storm eases? It’s closer than Swan Park…’
It was about the last thing that Rob wanted, but he did not have much choice. With a gruff word of acquiescence he urged his horse forward so that he could give instructions to the coachman.
His mind returned with inevitability to the puzzle in hand. If the child in Burford was not Jemima’s daughter, then who was she? He needed to talk to his wife. Very urgently. And now he would have to fight his way through a crowd to do it.
Rob had no opportunity for a private word with Jemima before dinner, and as the rainstorm had not abated by dusk, it was agreed that their guests should stay the night.
It seemed the worse possible time for them to be hosting their first visitors. Not only was the house still in a state of upheaval and the servants flustered by the arrival of unexpected guests, but as time wore on he could feel the chasm between himself and Jemima widening whilst his sense of impatience almost got the better of him. He wanted to pick her up and carry her out of the dining room under the noses of their guests. He wanted to shut the two of them away and ignore their visitors until the secret that lay between them was explained. Neither option was possible.
Rob watched his wife all through dinner, whilst he answered what felt to be an interminable series of questions from his grandmother about the restoration of Delaval and chafed at the need for propriety and good manners. He felt very uncomfortable. All the family were behaving as though nothing was amiss and yet they all knew that there was something very wrong. He felt as though he was acting a part in a very bad play.
Jemima was also putting on a sterling performance, but occasionally her shoulders would slump and she would look tired. Rob thought that she looked small and vulnerable and he could not help feeling a pang for her.
Jemima looked up and caught his eye. She did not look away. Rather her gaze seemed to convey an urgent need to talk to him. Rob felt slightly better. At least she still wanted to speak to him. She was not trying to avoid him. That had to be a good sign.
Chapter Thirteen
It was late before Rob had the chance to speak to his wife alone. Ferdie and Bertie had escaped to the local hostelry as soon as they decently could and the ladies had retired, full of tea and gossip. Rob and Jemima had fulfilled their role as hosts admirably, but Rob was profoundly relieved to see his visitors safely to their rooms. He spent a long time over his own toilet, waiting to be sure that all his guests had retired and that Jemima would be alone, then he went along the corridor to her chamber, knocked at the bedroom door and went in. The room was empty, but from the dressing room came the murmur of voices. After a second’s hesitation, Rob went in there as well.
Jemima was sitting on a tapestry stool at her dressing table and Ella, her maid, was brushing her hair. She was dressed in her nightrail and in the candlelight the fine lawn material looked thin and insubstantial. The maid looked up, saw Rob in the mirror, and the hand holding the brush stilled. Jemima was saying something to her, but now she looked up too, an arrested expression coming into her eyes. Ella took one look at Rob’s face, dropped a curtsy and slipped past him, closing the door behind her.
Rob leaned back against the door, feeling the cool smoothness of the panels against his hands. Now that the moment of truth had arrived he felt strangely apprehensive. Perhaps there were things that he did not wish to know at all. But it was too late for that now.
‘May we speak?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’
Jemima sounded very composed, but he saw the anxious way in which she pressed her hand to her throat. She got up and came across to him. The light shone through the transparent cotton of the nightrail. Rob picked up the nearest thing to hand—a silky dressing robe with an oriental design—and passed it to her.
‘You had better wear this,’ he said shortly.
She secured the dressing gown about herself and tied it. Her hands were not quite steady. Then she turned to face him. There was a silence.
‘I do not know where to start,’ she said, and he could hear the raw nervousness in her voice. His heart started to pound, though he kept his tone level.
‘Wherever you prefer. With either the Duke of Merlin—or the child that looks exactly like you.’
‘The child, then,’ Jemima said. ‘For she came first.’ She gave him a faint smile and he realised that his feelings had showed all too clearly on his face.
‘I know that you thought me Merlin’s mistress,’ she said, ‘but I swear it is not so.’
Rob felt his breath coming a little easier. ‘Never?’
‘Never.’ Jemima hesitated. ‘I have been no man’s mistress.’
‘Then the child—’ Rob said.
‘Is my niece.’ Jemima looked up and met his eyes very straight. ‘Tilly is not my daughter. She is my niece.’
‘Your niece?’ Rob stared blankly. He had not thought of this. Something that felt like a crushing weight was lifting from his chest. He felt a little stupid. ‘You have a niece?’
‘I do. Tilly is Jack’s daughter.’
Rob strode over to the window and stood inhaling the cool, rain swept air. He felt inexpressibly relieved. ‘You had best tell me the whole. How old is she?’
‘She is six. Jack was seventeen when she was born.’
‘And her mother?’
‘Beth is dead. She was my friend.’
‘I see,’ Rob said. His mind was spinning.
‘She looks very like you,’ he said.
Jemima smiled a little. ‘I know. It was a shock for me too.’
Rob sat down beside her on the bed. ‘Tell me all about it,’ he said.
He listened whilst Jemima talked; of the climbing days and life in Nutner Street and the camaraderie of the sweeps and Beth, who had been Jack’s girl and Jemima’s friend. She told him what had happened when Beth had died and the Duke of Merlin had offered Tilly a home. The candle burned down, casting their shadows against the wall.
‘I thought that you seemed a little shocked when I mentioned Merlin to you,’ Rob said ruefully. ‘I assumed it was because you were overawed at the thought of the Duke being my godfather whereas, in fact, you were surprised for an entirely different reason…’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, Jemima, why did you not tell me?’
He saw Jemima knit her fingers together. She was shaking a little and he wanted to cover her fingers with his and reassure her. But a part of him was still angry with her and could not quite let it go. He sat still and watched her.
‘I should have done,’ she said, head bent. ‘I should have trusted you.’ She looked up, her expression twisted. ‘When I agreed to marry you, Rob, I knew nothing of your connection with the Duke of Merlin. I did not even know that Merlinschase was close to Delaval. And until today I did not know where Tilly was. So you see…’ she shrugged dispiritedly ‘…I had no reason to speak.’
Rob’s eyes narrowed. ‘But as soon as you heard of my connection with Merlin you must have known there would be a danger.’
Jemima stared past him into the heart of the fire. ‘I knew there was a danger that Merlin might remember me, but I thought it slight. We had only met twice. The other thing that I did not know was that Tilly looks just like me.’ She gave a bitter smile. ‘Or that I look like her.’
Rob took her hand. ‘So you did not deliberately seek her out…’
Jemima looked up and met his eyes. In the candlelit dark she looked very young. ‘No. I swear it. Oh, a part of me has always wanted to see Tilly, to make sure that she was well and happy…’ She shrugged, her shoulders looking thin under the nightrail. ‘But another part knew it might be upsetting and dangerous, and that it was best to leave it be. Jack always said that. Father would taunt Jack with little pieces of information about Tilly.’ She looked at Rob. ‘You know—“I hear that your daughter is already better at her letters than you have ever been” or “It is fortunate I took t
hat baby away from you for her to have any chance of success in life”—that sort of thing.’
Rob’s mouth tightened into a thin line. His opinion of Alfred Jewell, never of the highest, was going downhill more rapidly than a snowball in winter.
‘In the event, Jack was wise,’ Jemima said wryly. ‘I now know that Tilly is happy and healthy, but I wish that I had never seen her. Merlin thinks that I am here to make trouble, I know he does, yet it was never my intention!’
‘We may sort that out tomorrow,’ Rob said, stroking her hand. The release of tension, the relief where the anger had been, was very powerful.
‘I suppose so.’ Jemima’s shoulders still drooped. ‘I am sorry, Rob.’
‘For what?’
‘For being so foolish. And most of all for not telling you before.’
Rob edged a little closer. ‘Why did you not?’
Jemima’s face puckered. ‘I do not know really. I wanted to tell you, but secrecy has been a bit of a habit for me and I told myself that I did not know you well enough.’ Jemima’s lavender-blue eyes were dull. ‘Now you are angry with me, and your grandmother thinks I am a fallen woman and that hatchet-faced Augusta will spread dreadful rumours, and if she remembers where she saw me before it will make matters much worse…’
‘And which of those is the most important?’
Jemima looked at him. ‘That you are angry with me,’ she whispered.
Rob put his arms about her and drew her head down to his shoulder. ‘I am not angry with you.’
‘Well, you should be.’ Jemima sat up and pushed him away almost angrily. ‘You are too nice, Robert Selborne! I thought that the very first time I met you. I thought then that some unscrupulous person would take advantage of you.’
‘It is fortunate then that you caught me first. You may take advantage of me with my blessing.’
Jemima gave him a watery smile. ‘Oh, Rob. But now that everyone has seen me and Tilly as well…I cannot believe I have been so stupid!’
Rob gave her a hug. ‘I shall speak to Grandmama after I have spoken to Merlin. We shall sort matters out.’ He looked at her. ‘Do I have your permission to tell Grandmama the truth? It is the only way, I fear.’
The Penniless Bride Page 18