To Bed the Baron (Girls Who Dare Book 9)

by Emma V. Leech

  “You know nothing of the situation,” he said, hating how cold his words sounded, but she had to know. “You do a blameless lady a disservice by speaking of her so.”

  There was a taut silence.

  “You still love her.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Solo considered it all the same. It was strange to think of Hyacinth now as a woman he’d loved. He had loved her passionately, had longed for her when he was away, fighting. The letters he’d sent had been filled with such sentiments, his loneliness at being away from her, his desire and regard for her. Now, all he felt was grief and loss and guilt, his love overwhelmed by the force of more powerful emotions, by the way he’d let her down. How could he have let himself fall in love with Jemima, when he knew all he was guilty of? How could he have forgotten his promise to honour Barnaby’s memory? He had been close to her brother too, had loved him as he would his own sibling, had fate gifted him such a thing. Barnaby had been impossible not to love, the kind of charming, good-natured fellow who never said a bad word about anyone and thought the best of everyone he met. If only Solo had never crossed his path, but Barnaby had admired him beyond reason, like a beloved older brother. He had begged his father to buy him a commission so that he might follow Solo to war. Hyacinth had pleaded for Solo to talk him out of it, and Solo had tried so hard to do so, all too aware the boy was not fit for such a life, but he’d failed. So, he promised Hyacinth he would keep him safe for her, and he’d failed to do that too. He’d wanted to die when he’d heard the news, had wished it had been him. He remembered the hatred in her eyes when he’d told her, and had hated himself far, far more.

  “My feelings are irrelevant. I lost a man I regarded as dearly as my own brother and, in so doing, I failed her. I vowed never to marry as penance for that failure. She could not bear to look at me after what happened, and I could not blame her for that. I had offered for her, though, and it was my fault she could not go through with it. It seemed only right.”

  He dared to look back at Jemima, to see her staring at him with such pity in her eyes he had to look away.

  “I’ll pack my things,” she said, her voice dull. “I’ll need a little time to arrange a place to stay, but if you could give me until the end of the week….”

  “What?” Solo spun around, disbelieving. “No. You cannot go, there is no need for you to go.”

  She gave a surprisingly bitter laugh and that he had made such a sound come from her made his heart contract. “Our agreement is at an end, my lord. I am of no use to you. I will not stay under false pretences.”

  “No, Jemima. I need you to stay. Please. I cannot… I need your friendship. Can you not give me that much?”

  She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I could give you everything I have, if you would only let me.”

  Solo shook his head and then turned away as she tied her garter and got to her feet, putting her pelisse and bonnet back on.

  “You’ll stay?” he asked, hating the pleading in his voice but unable to stop it. He’d get on his knees and beg her if he must, pride be damned. “Please, Jemima, don’t leave me alone here.”

  “Very well,” she said, her voice dull, and then walked to the door and left, without another word.

  Chapter 14

  My Lord Marquess,

  Thank you for your reply. Please do not regret for a moment your actions in exposing such cruelty. Any hurt I have suffered is merely to my pride and pales into insignificance when I consider what those people have endured. I should like to visit the mills one day and see all that has been accomplished there. I shall happily write to the excellent Mr Wheatcroft and discover what I may, for I notice that you still have not revealed the name of the anonymous benefactor who has done so much to restore the mills and the fortunes of all who work within them. Yet I feel certain I know who is responsible. Will you not confide the truth in me?

  I am staying with my brother at present and intend to remain here for some weeks. His wife, one of my dearest friends, is awaiting the arrival of their first child and I have come to lend my support as best I may. As you can see, I am not so very far from Dern.

  As the weather has been so fine of late, I’ve taken to walking around Hever Castle. The owner, Mr Waldo, is well known to my brother and has given us leave to visit the gardens whenever we desire. As it is barely a ten-minute walk from my brother’s home, it has become my favourite destination on a sunny afternoon.

  Please give my very kindest regards to Miss Barrington. I hope she is well and that I may have the pleasure to see her again. I am certain our paths will cross, sooner or later.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu.

  20th February 1815. Briar Cottage, Mitcham Village, Sussex.

  “She’s not here.”

  Solo felt his heart plummet to his boots at Mrs Attwood’s terse comment. His shock and disappointment must have shown on his face, for the woman’s expression softened just a tad.

  “Oh, it’s only for the day. She’s gone to visit a friend over Edenbridge way.”

  He let out a shaky breath, only then realising his lungs had stopped working. He nodded at Mrs Attwood. “Thank you. Please tell her I called.”

  He handed her his card, which Mrs Attwood took from him with an impatient sigh, clearly irritated by such formality.

  She folded her arms and gave him a hard look. “I don’t much care for what’s going on here. Don’t understand it none, either.”

  Solo stiffened, glaring at the insolent creature. How dare she presume to judge him when he was trying to do the best by Jemima?

  “I do not pay you to pass judgement upon me, madam. I’m certain there are higher powers to do the job quite adequately. I thank you.”

  The woman snorted and shook her head. “I don’t suppose my notions of sin and morality are the same as most people’s, I’ll give you that, but I do know you’ve broken that girl’s heart. How her spending her days weeping is supposed to do either of you a mite of good is beyond me, but I assume an educated man such as yourself would know better than I. Good day to you, my lord.”

  With no further ceremony, she slammed the door in his face.

  He’d broken her heart.

  The words were a weight in his chest, at once a burden and a comfort, for if he’d broken her heart his own had been torn to shreds. She had wept for him, for the pain he’d brought her. Solo turned on the spot, still standing on the doorstep of her cottage, unsure of what to do. He must leave, of course. He’d come to the front door this morning, and to be seen dithering there would do neither of them any good. Forcing one foot in front of the other, he returned the way he’d come, walking the long way around rather than using the hidden path through the garden. Though the day was sunny and bright, there was a cold wind. It chilled him, making his bones ache and his leg protest more than usual. All his aches and pains had seemed worse since he’d made his decision. Why was it that doing the right thing, the honourable thing, was bringing them both so much pain?

  Cursing, Solo made his way back to the house. He would lose himself in his books. It had been his escape from the world ever since he’d returned here, too brittle with grief and guilt to cope with reality, with people and inconsequential chatter.

  Yet, when he returned to his study, the first book that came to hand was Undine. He turned to the page where her husband, the knight, betrayed her by unthinkingly lamenting not having married a normal woman instead of a water nymph. Undine returned to the water, heartbroken. He gazed down at the beautiful illustrations but did not see them, seeing only the pain in Jemima’s eyes when she had told him she loved him. Solo slammed the book shut, breathing hard. He would not regret it. He would not regret meeting her. She had brought him joy. For a brief moment he had known what it was to feel alive, part of the living world, to feel loved. He would not regret that. No matter the price.

  ***

  Jemima regarded her
friends and tried to find pleasure in their company. She had known that Matilda would be here, but Harriet and her brother Henry had come to visit, too. Harriet looked marvellous, decked out in a jaunty yellow carriage dress. It must have been chosen by her husband as it was indulgent and far more frivolous than anything Jemima had seen her wear before, or perhaps happiness had given her the confidence to dress with more flair. Her laughter filled the room as her brother teased her and Harriet returned the favour. It was so wonderful to see them, yet Jemima felt somehow removed from the gathering, like a ghost, not fully present.

  Alice was glowing, plump and resplendent, reclining on an elegant chaise longue, propped up with silk cushions. Nate looked on, grinning, every bit the proud father-to-be. Happiness and love radiated from him, and it was so obviously returned that Jemima had to batter down a surge of jealousy. Despite telling herself she was every kind of fool imaginable, she could not help but daydream about Solo, about being his wife, carrying his child. Would he fret and fuss over her like that? Yes. She knew that he would. He had a kind and gentle heart, despite the violence he’d experienced in his career. Even the pain she felt now—the pain he was inflicting on them both—was imposed because he wanted to do what was right for her. Foolish man. How strange to wish he would let her ruin herself, but she didn’t care much for anything else now. What was the point of being thought a lady when any joy had been taken from her life?

  She wanted to share a life with him, and if she must leave respectable society behind for that, so be it. Now that both Minerva and Matilda knew and had not judged her harshly, she felt certain she would still have her friends, and that was all she truly cared about. If the rest of the world wanted to believe her a fallen woman, well, what did it matter? With a jolt, Jemima realised she had been staring into her teacup in silence and was being a poor guest. She forced herself to smile and attend the conversation.

  “I swear it wasn’t my fault,” Henry was protesting as his sister rolled her eyes at him.

  Harriet set down her teacup and levelled him with a look over the top of her spectacles.

  “It’s always your fault. I never met a man more likely to get into a daft scrape than you.”

  “Harry, that’s not fair. I was only trying to help the wretched woman retrieve her cat and all I got was scratched to bits and attacked with an umbrella. I ask you, Nate, where’s the gratitude? Women today don’t appreciate a gentleman’s efforts, I swear.”

  Nate looked up from the plate of biscuits he was perusing and shook his head. “Don’t drag me into it. Alice is very fond of cats.”

  “So am I!” Henry retorted, though it was clear he was reconsidering.

  “You were just trying to show off for her,” Harriet said, not bothering to hide her amusement. “The cat was perfectly capable of getting itself out of the tree, but no…. You had to go playing the hero and climb up after it.”

  Henry flushed. “The blasted woman stood there, wringing her hands, tears in her eyes and all but wailing. What the devil was I supposed to do?”

  Harriet gave a snort. “Tell her the foolish creature was quite all right and would be down presently.”

  “Well, I wish I had!” Henry folded his arms, indignation written all over his handsome face, a face Jemima now noticed bore several fine scratches. “The blasted animal ruined a cravat and one of my best shirts, and I’ll likely be scarred for life!”

  “Oh, do hush,” Harriet said, shaking her head with all the concern one would expect from a sibling. “I can’t believe you are still complaining. It was days ago.”

  Henry huffed and sat back with his arms folded over his chest. Jemima glanced over to see Matilda struggling not to laugh. She caught her eye, and Matilda grinned at her. The conversation returned to whether Nate and Alice’s child would be a boy or a girl, and Matilda shifted closer.

  “Are you well, Jemima?” she said, keeping her voice low. “You look pale today.”

  Jemima forced a smile and nodded. “A bit of a headache is all. I shall take a walk before the journey back home. I’m sure some fresh air is all I need.”

  Matilda studied her for a long moment but said nothing else on the subject, for which Jemima was grateful.

  “I was right, by the way. Nate knew Miss Jackson, as she was then.”

  Jemima’s head snapped around so fast it was a wonder she didn’t strain something.

  “He did?”

  Matilda nodded and set down her cup and saucer. She leant towards Jemima, murmuring in her ear. “Ask him about her in private, before you leave. I’m sure he’ll tell you more.”

  Jemima’s heart jolted and it was all she could do to keep her hands still and her mouth closed, the desire to question Nate was so strong. What if the woman had been unworthy of Solo’s affections? Then she could convince him that she did not deserve the vow he’d made, that she was punishing him out of cruelty? Though she felt herself to be a wretched friend, she was only too glad when the visit ended. She hung back as Henry and Harriet took their leave, Henry escorting his sister back to Holbrook House.

  Matilda gave Jemima a hug before she turned to her sister-in-law. “Come along, Alice. I’ll help you upstairs for your afternoon nap.”

  Alice laughed as Matilda hauled her off the chaise longue with some difficulty. “Everyone has become so bossy these past weeks. I swear, Tilda, you’re as bad as Nate.”

  “Oh, this is nothing,” Matilda said, winking at Jemima and Nate. “I can be far bossier than this. Just wait until the baby comes.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Nate said, ducking as his sister took a swipe at him.

  “Wretch,” Matilda replied, though there was laughter in her eyes.

  “Come, Miss Fernside,” Nate said, giving her a courtly bow and then offering his arm. “Allow me to escort you for a short walk. Matilda said you wished for some fresh air before you left, so we shall take a turn about the garden.”

  Jemima gave Alice a fond hug goodbye and sent Matilda a look of gratitude before she took his arm and followed him outside.

  “What a lovely garden,” she said as they walked out into a large expanse of neatly tended ground broken up with large borders trimmed with formal topiary hedges.

  “It doesn’t look much at this time of the year, but come the spring, it will be a riot of colour. Alice loves flowers,” he said, turning to grin at her. “She’s been working hard with the head gardener, and I fully expect the place to be magical once she’s done.”

  “It’s lovely to see you both so happy.” Jemima could not help the wistful sigh that accompanied her words, and she flushed a little as Nate turned his blue gaze upon her.

  “We are happy. Happier than I deserve, no doubt. I’m sure your time will come too,” he added, giving her a warm smile.

  Jemima laughed a little but could not bring herself to say anything.

  “You wanted to know about Hyacinth Jackson?”

  She avoided Nate’s enquiring glance, wondering exactly what Matilda had told him. “I do,” she said.

  To her relief he didn’t question her, simply nodded.

  “I’ve not see her much of late, but Hyacinth Jackson was, and is, a beauty. She had men falling over her the year of her come out, but Baron Rothborn won her hand. Of course, the war was raging, and he was forced to leave his fiancée to return to the fighting. She was a vivacious sort though and was still popular and much seen at social events in his absence.”

  “I’m sure Lord Rothborn would not have expected her to sit at home,” Jemima said, striving to be fair when, in her heart, she wanted to hear the woman was a conniving temptress.

  Nate looked at her and returned a sad smile. “No, from what I have heard of the fellow, I don’t suppose he would have.”

  Jemima held her breath, wondering if Nate knew more than he was saying. “Matilda has told me this information is important to you”

  She gave a jerky nod. “I love him,” she said, and then flushed scarlet, wondering what on earth had made h
er blurt such a thing out. “Lord Rothborn, I mean. He loves me too, but he won’t marry me because… because he made a vow and…” She snapped her mouth shut, aware she’d said too much. This was not her story to share. Jemima looked up as warm hands took hers and squeezed.

  “There were rumours about her, about an affair. I saw them alone together myself, but… but that is not necessarily proof, though I always assumed… All I do know for certain is that man married her as soon as she was out of mourning.”

  “Oh.”

  Jemima’s heart thudded, an odd sensation in her stomach. Was it coincidence, were the rumours just the ton’s usual ill-natured gossip, or was there more to it? Nate had seen them together, after all.

  “Miss Fernside?”

  Jemima looked up to find Nate watching her with concern.

  “Be careful what you do with this information. A man does not like to be made to look a fool.”

  Jemima nodded, her head buzzing. “Where does she reside now?”

  Nate studied her for a long moment. “They have fallen on hard times. She likes to live lavishly, and her husband has taken to drinking and gambling, but has no talent for the game. I barred him from Hunter’s two years ago. The last I heard Viscount Kline and his wife were renting rooms in Hans Town, but whether they are still there, I cannot say.”

  “Thank you,” Jemima said.

  He nodded, but did not look altogether happy about the information he’d given her. “Have a care, Miss Fernside. I found her to be a spiteful woman when she was young and wealthy. I do not know what kind of woman she is now, but in my experience time and reduced circumstances don’t often improve people.”

  Jemima nodded, knowing this was a warning she ought to heed. “I understand, and I do thank you for everything.”

  Chapter 15

  Dear Miss Hunt,

  Thank you for asking after me. I am very well. I would like to see you too. Can you come and visit me? I cannot ask you to come and visit me at Dern even though I want to. It isn’t proper as Uncle isn’t married. That seems silly. Can you marry my I have drawn you a picture of the horse, like the one in the gallery, except mine is pink. Mine also has ribbons. And it has a hat. Do you like it?