The Penniless Bride

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘No, wait! It is only six more weeks, Robert! We have waited this long for your fortune—’

  ‘Yes,’ Rob said, ‘and I am not prepared to wait any longer for you.’

  Jemima gave a little wail as his busy fingers pulled one of the diamond-headed pins from her hair, then another, then another. He stowed them on the nightstand whilst the mass of her hair came tumbling down.

  ‘No, Rob, you mustn’t! It isn’t worth losing the money.’

  ‘That, my love, is where you are most profoundly mistaken,’ Rob said. He ran his hands through her hair, slipping his fingers through the shining strands, then entangling his hand in it and pulling it to one side to allow him to kiss her exposed throat. Desire swept through him in an irresistible tide. She was sweet and warm and soft. She was his and she loved him. That was all that mattered.

  His lips brushed the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse hammered, his teeth nipped the lobe of her ear, and Jemima gave another wail, though this one was already half-hearted.

  ‘Robert—’

  Rob started to loosen the row of tiny buttons on the front of the bodice of the velvet ball gown. ‘What sort of a man would I be if I said that I was in love with my wife, I wanted to make love to her, but I wanted the money more?’

  ‘A practical one,’ Jemima sniffed, trying to capture his marauding hands. ‘You have done so much for Delaval already—do not risk it all for this.’

  Rob seized her and gave her a vigorous kiss. ‘Jemima, sweetheart, I can forgive your lack of enthusiasm now—just—if you make up for it later…’ He drew the bodice of the dress apart to reveal the crisp chemise and petticoats beneath and bent his head to kiss the top of her breasts.

  ‘As for Delaval,’ he murmured, ‘I was in a fair way to becoming obsessed with it until you pointed out the error of my ways. So now I am putting you first, as is right and just.’

  He drew the chemise down slightly and touched the tip of his tongue to the cleft between her breasts, brushing his fingertips over the sensitive pinpoints of her nipples, where they hardened through the cotton shift.

  ‘Robert,’ Jemima gasped, ‘pray reconsider.’

  ‘Too late. I am decided.’ Rob took a deep breath. ‘How the devil do I get you out of this dress?’

  It was a tussle, but the amusement and the struggles soon gave way to genuine passion as the green dress crumpled to the floor to be swiftly followed by Jemima’s stays. She took a deep breath as she was released from their restraining hold and spread her arms wide, whereupon Rob took full advantage to peel the chemise down to her waist and take one hard nipple in his mouth. Jemima arched against Rob’s gentle, questing lips and tongue as he drove her mad with longing. His hands were on her bare waist and he held her still for his mouth to take its pleasure—and to pleasure her as well. It was intense and exquisite, and the touch of his mouth on her breasts and the caress of his hands on her stomach made her squirm with desperate need. She needed to touch him back; she needed to feel the smooth skin and taut muscle of his body pressed against hers. No concerns of modesty or reticence could stop her now. She tugged fiercely at his shirt and sent it flying across the room, and reached out to pull him against her with all the pent-up desire of abstinence.

  A little shudder went through both of them as their bodies finally made contact, skin on skin, warm and smooth, hard and soft, rough and gentle…Jemima’s blood fizzed with sensual arousal as she turned her face up to Rob’s again and they kissed, their tongues tangling in intimate fusion.

  And then Rob had sent his boots crashing to join the pile of clothes littering the floor, and he had tugged Jemima’s chemise down over her bottom and tossed it aside, and he was unfastening his breeches and Jemima thought that she would melt with love and longing and wild desire. He looked down at her and she caught her breath at the heat and hunger in his eyes.

  She lay back and held her arms out to him.

  ‘You still have time to leave me and take the forty thousand pounds instead.’

  Rob did not even hesitate. He took her in his arms and rolled her beneath him, his hands caressing her stomach and sliding over her hips until she opened to him, urgent and ardent as he.

  He bent over and brushed the tumbled hair from about her face with a gentle hand, bending his lips to the damp hollow of her collarbone, tracing the pulse there as Jemima’s body jumped beneath his touch.

  ‘Not for a million pounds,’ he whispered, and then she reached out to him and he took her and Jemima’s mind splintered into a blinding pleasure and her body tumbled into boundless, blissful delight.

  ‘Robert, I have been thinking,’ Jemima said, as they walked slowly up the oak staircase at Delaval that evening. ‘It is about the forty thousand pounds.’

  Rob raised his brows. ‘I see. Would you care to go somewhere more private to discuss this?’

  ‘No, I do not think so,’ Jemima said. She fiddled nervously with the fringe of her shawl. ‘That would be a very bad idea. You see, I think that we should avoid any opportunity for intimacy for the few next weeks, and that way the situation may be retrieved…’

  Rob gave her a look that brought the colour into her face. ‘I do not think so,’ he said drily. ‘Not unless your recollection of the events of this morning and my own vary fundamentally.’

  Jemima blushed. ‘Yes…No—what I mean is that if we keep to the letter of the agreement from now on, we might be forgiven one small aberration.’

  Rob started to laugh. ‘One small aberration? Is that what you call it? Jemima, we made love three times—’

  ‘Hush!’ Jemima besought. She looked over her shoulder. ‘Come into the bedroom where no one can hear you!’

  ‘Besides,’ Rob continued after the door had shut behind them, ‘who is to forgive us? Churchward? The poor man would die of embarrassment if I vouchsafed to him the events of this morning.’

  ‘I thought, perhaps, that as it was left to your own conscience…’ Jemima dropped her shawl onto the chair and went across to the dressing table. She started to unpin her hair, watching Rob’s face in the mirror.

  ‘I mean, no one knows except you and I, and Churchward will accept whatever you tell him.’

  Rob was watching her too. He lay back on the bed and put his hands behind his head. ‘What would you do in my position, Jemima?’

  Jemima paused. ‘I suppose that I would tell the truth,’ she said, after a moment.

  ‘Yet you think that I should lie?’ Rob sounded almost hurt.

  Jemima swung round on the stool. ‘No, of course not. It is merely that I know how much you care for Delaval and how important the money is for the restoration.’ She sighed, her shoulders slumping. ‘Of course, I see it was a silly idea. You shall just have to tell Churchward that you were unable to fulfil the terms of the will.’

  Rob held out a hand to her and she came to sit beside him on the bed. He entwined his fingers with hers.

  ‘There is another reason why it would be a bad idea,’ Rob said softly. Looking up, Jemima caught his eye and blushed hotly.

  ‘I rather enjoyed this morning,’ Rob said, ‘and now that I have already broken the terms of the will I intend to continue doing so at every available opportunity.’

  ‘Robert!’ Jemima said, trying to sound shocked. She smiled a little and rubbed her fingers over the back of his hand.

  Rob sat up slightly and started to unfasten the silver filigree clasp that held up her gown.

  ‘Go and lock the door,’ he said softly.

  ‘Robert!’ This time Jemima was a little shocked, but she was intrigued as well. She went across and turned the key in the lock. When she turned back, Rob was still lying there, watching her with bright, speculative eyes.

  ‘Robert, it is only early evening—’ she began.

  Rob smiled. ‘And we have plenty of days to make up for,’ he said. ‘I intend to keep you up for the whole night.’

  Jemima’s eyes widened. A delicious languor was warming her veins. ‘The wh
ole night? Surely not actually all of the night?’

  ‘The whole of the night,’ Rob repeated, as he started to undo his cuffs.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘I am very sorry to have deceived you,’ Letty said, as together she and Jemima strolled through the shrubbery at Delaval a few days later. The crisp autumn leaves crunched beneath the soles of their boots. ‘It was very wrong of me.’

  Jemima smiled. ‘I knew that you liked Jack, I simply did not realise how serious it was. I thought—forgive me, Letty—that you were just taken with his handsome face…’

  ‘Oh, I was,’ Letty, said, dimpling, ‘but more besides.’

  ‘And Jack loves you too,’ Jemima said. ‘He says that he did from the start. I have never seen anything quite so instantaneous.’

  ‘Maybe you have,’ Letty said slyly. ‘How did you feel when you first saw Rob?’

  Jemima raised her brows. ‘Dizzy, shaken, light-headed…’

  ‘There you are, then,’ Letty said, satisfied. ‘And now?’

  Jemima’s smile grew. ‘Dizzy, shaken and light-headed…I was slow to realise that I loved Rob, I do admit that.’

  Letty laughed.

  ‘Do you think that Lady Marguerite will agree to the match?’ Jemima asked cautiously.

  Letty looked pensive. ‘I think so. She was very cordial to Jack the night of the ball and she has permitted him to call since. She told me that she always admired a man who could make an entrance.’

  Jemima’s lips twitched. Jack had certainly done that. ‘And then she did not turn him over for the highway robbery,’ she pointed out.

  ‘No, and she said the other day that he would make a very good gentleman farmer. I think,’ Letty said, ‘that it will be all right.’

  Jemima nodded. Certainly it would not be easy for an illiterate sweep to become a gentleman farmer, but Letty had such an air of quiet determination about her that Jemima was almost convinced that matters would work out.

  ‘Ferdie will be going back to Town today,’ Letty said. ‘Now that Augusta is gone and Bertie has gone to Merlinschase for a while, I do believe that Ferdie is quite bored!’

  Jemima was thinking about Ferdie’s confession. She and Rob had discussed the letter and Rob had felt very strongly that he did not wish to raise the matter with Ferdie now that the business of Naylor was sorted out. He had argued that sleeping dogs should be left to lie, and Jemima had agreed with him. What virtue was there is stirring up an old incident that had clearly caused Ferdie so much grief at the time?

  She thought of this when Ferdie came to see them later to say his farewells.

  ‘I came to say goodbye,’ Ferdie said. He sat down, smiling at them. ‘I say, you two look very cheerful this morning! Glad to see that country living agrees with some people. Can’t wait to get back to Town myself.’

  ‘Would you care to join us for luncheon?’ Rob asked. ‘You are very welcome if you wish.’

  Ferdie shook his head. ‘Truth is, old fellow, there is something that I have to tell you and I’d prefer to get it over with. I’ve been working up to this since before Letty’s ball.’ He put a hand out as Jemima started to get to her feet. ‘No, please stay, Lady Selborne. I would like you to hear it too. I need a witness.’

  Jemima and Rob exchanged a look. ‘Then pray tell us, Ferdie,’ Rob said.

  Ferdie shifted in his seat. All the lines were drawn tight on his face and he was gripping his hands together so tightly that they were a pale blue. Jemima almost expected to hear them crack.

  ‘Fact is,’ Ferdie said conversationally, ‘it’s to do with Naylor and old Lord Selborne and myself. Y’see, when old Lord Selborne died, it was I who pulled the trigger and Naylor and I were the only two who knew of it to this day.’

  His moustache drooped like a mournful dog’s ears. ‘It was an accident, naturally, but the fact remains that it was my fault. We said that my grandfather had tripped and his gun gone off and killed him, but I was the one who tripped—and who shot him. Shot my own grandfather.’ He shook his head. ‘Cannot quite believe it myself.’

  ‘Who is “we”, Ferdie?’ Rob asked.

  ‘Harry Naylor and myself,’ Ferdie said. ‘Here’s the thing. Naylor was my beater that day and he was the only other man present when I shot Grandfather. I was all to pieces. Couldn’t believe what I’d done, trying to raise the old man, only it was too late. Half his head blown off.’ He saw Jemima wince. ‘Not pretty. So next thing I knew, everyone was coming running and Naylor was telling everyone that it was an accident and the old man had fallen on his own gun. I didn’t say a word. Everyone thought that I was too shocked to speak, and the truth is I was—at the enormity of what I’d done. Anyway, Naylor kept up the pretence and I kept silent and it went on and gradually I began to believe the story myself.’ He stopped. ‘Dash it, you don’t seem very surprised, Rob. Thought I would set the house by the ears!’

  Rob shook his head slowly. ‘I confess I suspected something of the sort. I remember overhearing Papa say at the time that the angle of the bullet seemed all wrong for Grandfather to have done it himself. The rumours were soon suppressed but I did not forget them. Then Jemima found the diary.’

  Jemima got up and went across to the bureau. She turned the key in the lock and opened the draw, extracting the old tin with its pitiful, charred pages. Ferdie had turned very pale as he saw the manuscript. He held out his hands and they were shaking. ‘My diary! I thought Naylor had it! He told me he’d hidden it.’

  ‘He did,’ Jemima said. ‘Up the chimney. Maybe he never had the chance to retrieve it.’

  Ferdie turned the flimsy pages over between his fingers. One tear plopped on to the paper, then another.

  ‘Devil take it,’ he said shakily, ‘I’m as weak and unmanned as a kitten! Beg pardon, Lady Selborne.’

  ‘Dearest Ferdie,’ Jemima said, abandoning etiquette and going over to give him a big hug, ‘pray do not regard it. My brother Jack always says there is no shame in a grown man crying.’

  ‘Jack Jewell crying?’ The image so struck Ferdie that his shoulders stopped heaving. ‘Can’t see it myself. Man’s built like a house.’

  ‘Well, you would be surprised,’ Jemima said.

  ‘Why did you never say anything before, Ferdie?’ Rob asked quietly. ‘Why carry that burden all these years?’

  ‘Thought it had all gone away,’ Ferdie said miserably. ‘Least said, soonest mended, what? Naylor had gone to the wars, y’father had inherited…Thought it was all right and tight. Couldn’t quite forget it, though.’

  Rob shook his head. ‘And then Naylor came back. And touched you for money, unless I miss my guess. Had he been blackmailing you for many years, Ferdie?’

  Jemima remembered Jack saying that Ferdie had seemed unconscionably shocked to see Harry Naylor and that they had quarrelled at some point in the evening.

  ‘Naylor was never supposed to come back,’ Ferdie said. He sounded aggrieved. ‘I paid him to stay away. Paid more that I could afford. Fellow didn’t even have the decency to get himself killed in the Peninsula. And then to come back and touch me for money again! Damned disgrace.’

  ‘But you didn’t kill him,’ Rob said. ‘Beaumaris said it was an accident.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ Ferdie agreed, ‘but I was dashed grateful to the man who did! And now it turns out it was all an accident. Pity, really.’ Ferdie’s shoulders slumped. ‘Couldn’t stand it any more, old fellow. Had to tell you. Should have told you all years ago. Finally got around to it now.’

  Jemima squeezed his hand. ‘You have punished yourself so much over the years, Ferdie, have you not? But it was only an accident.’

  Ferdie squeezed hers back gratefully. ‘Thank you, Jemima. I confess I feel much better having spoken of it.’ He looked across at Rob.

  ‘Will you…I suppose that you will have to tell someone? Report it, I mean…’

  Jemima met Rob’s eyes. She did not say anything.

  ‘I cannot see what purpose that would serve
,’ Rob said slowly. ‘Both our grandparents are dead now and nothing can alter that. And you have lived with it for a long time, Ferdie. Best to let it go, now.’

  Ferdie stood up. There was an odd, blind look in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Robert. Think I’ll go away now, if it’s all right with you. Your servant, Jemima.’ He gave Jemima a neat bow. ‘I hope to see you soon in Town.’

  ‘I hope Ferdie isn’t driving his curricle,’ Jemima said, after he had gone out. ‘He is like to end up in the ditch if he is.’

  ‘I think he was riding,’ Rob said, with a grin. ‘And his horse knows its own way.’ He looked at her. ‘Did I do the right thing?’

  Jemima put her hands into his. ‘I do not know, Rob. But you did what I would have done.’

  She freed herself and went across to the sofa where Ferdie had discarded the sheets of the diary. Picking them up, she handed them to her husband. ‘What do you want to do with these?’

  Rob paused for a minute, then looked towards the fireplace.

  ‘It’s a good fire, isn’t it?’

  ‘The best.’ Jemima smiled. ‘I built it myself.’

  ‘And it draws well.’

  ‘Of course. That chimney is clean as a new pin.’

  Rob tossed the diary sheets into the flames and drew his wife into the crook of his arm. ‘That’s that, then,’ he said.

  It was the fifth of November when Mr Churchward arrived at Delaval after a long and arduous journey from London. The nights were drawing in now and a spell of poor weather had turned the road into a rutted mire. Mr Churchward was tired, hungry and extremely apprehensive.

  As he drew close to the house he saw that there was a huge bonfire in the long meadow. The orange light lit up the murky sky and the sparks were flying, caught on a stiff autumn breeze. Mr Churchward raised his eyebrows. Perhaps Lord and Lady Selborne had tired of trying to instil some order into their estate and were burning it down instead. The he realised that it was Guy Fawkes’ Night and his heart sank. He felt like the perfect candidate to be on top of the bonfire. But he could not let his courage fail him now. He had come all the way from London to break the news and that was what he would do. He ordered the carriage into the stable yard.