“Never,” he choked out.
“Did you want to see me cry? Fall to pieces?”
“Jemma, no. God, no.”
“Then, get. Out. Unless you want to take more of my pride than you already have.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she turned her back to him.
Her grandfather came into view, his lips pressed together tightly. “You need to leave, Harthorne,” he growled.
Philip was pleased the man would stand up for her, even though it was against him. He liked to think she was loved so much by the duke that he’d do all he could to protect her. Philip nodded. “I’ll be back.”
“Not inside my home,” Rowan clipped while motioning to the footman to open the door. “Not without an invitation from my granddaughter.”
“That will never come again!” Jemma called as Philip stepped outside, the door slamming behind him.
He turned and stared at the door for several long minutes, warring with himself to go, though it wasn’t what he wanted. He would be back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. He would come back until she relented and listened to his whole story.
Philip lay awake in his bed all night, sleep evading him and memories of Jemma tormenting him. When the sun rose in the sky, so did he. He eschewed the morning meal for fencing, and he would have skipped his midday meal except Amelia showed up and demanded he eat something. He told her what had happened and about his plan to return to Rowan’s house until Jemma would see him, and for once, his sister agreed with him. She even offered to go see Jemma for him, but he declined. He was certain Jemma would simply turn Amelia away the minute she tried to talk about him—if Jemma agreed to see Amelia at all. They may be friends, but Amelia was his sister, and Jemma despised him at this moment.
By the time he reached Rowan’s home, determination flowed through Philip’s veins as thick as blood. The footman answered the door but stepped quickly out of the way. Rowan himself was there. He motioned for Philip to move aside so he could come outside. Philip did as instructed and the front door was once again shut to him once the duke stepped out, leaving Rowan and Philip standing on the stairs at the front of the house.
“She does not wish to see you,” the duke said simply. “You need to leave.”
“I cannot,” Philip replied. “I love her, and I’ll return every day until she agrees to let me explain my actions and intentions. And if she still does not want me—” Philip could not bring himself to say the words. He wasn’t sure if he really would be able to finally leave her be, even if it was truly what she wanted, and he didn’t want to lie to Rowan.
Rowan sighed. “Tell me what it is you wish to say to Jemma. And if I believe you, I’ll allow you to return and continue to make a fool of yourself.”
Philip inclined his head. “Thank you very much, but you could never stop me returning.”
Rowan eyed him for a long, silent moment. “Perhaps not. You do seem determined. I could, however, send her away, somewhere you would never find her unless she chooses to be found.”
Philip wanted to throttle Rowan for suggesting such a thing. But that would not help matters. He cleared his throat, yet his words still came out on a growl. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Perhaps not. But perhaps I would. So tell me. Make me believe you. I want to, you know.”
Some of the tension drained out of Philip at that. He started to speak and told Rowan everything, from his inherited debts to his plan for his future. He paused and took a deep breath. “I was going to tell you this yesterday, but Jemma returned and interrupted our conversation. I was going to refuse to take her dowry. I never planned to accept it.”
Rowan raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want the dowry? With all your debt, you are telling me you do not want the money?”
Philip shook his head. “All I want is her by my side for the rest of my life.”
They both fell silent and stared at each other, the sound of carriages on the street nearby filling the quiet between them. Rowan finally nodded, and the barest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips. “Come back tomorrow.”
Philip’s chest expanded with hope. “You’ll tell her what I told you?”
“No. She’s not ready to hear it. She’s stubborn and prideful.” The duke grinned. “She inherited that from me. At any rate, I should not be the one to tell her. She needs to hear it from you.”
Philip nodded. “And if I keep coming back and she doesn’t concede to seeing me?”
“Then together we’ll come up with a plan.”
“Thank you,” Philip said, relief almost choking him.
“Thank you,” Rowan replied. “Your love for my granddaughter is obvious. All I ever wanted for my daughter and her daughters was for them to find the sort of love I was lucky enough to have. She loves you, too, you know. Your task is to make her accept that her love is greater than her fear of being hurt.”
Philip nodded, and as he turned to leave, he glanced up at the house. Shock rooted him to the spot as Jemma stepped away from one of the windows and its curtain immediately dropped. His chest tightened with hope. She’d come to the window at some point to watch her grandfather talk to him. That was something. And in a sea of despair, he would cling to it.
Once Jemma had watched Philip leave, she raced downstairs to find out what he had said. It wasn’t until her slippered feet touched the landing that the frenzied state she was in struck her. She forced herself to slow her steps and her breathing, just as her grandfather came toward her. She wanted to demand to know what Philip had said to Grandfather, but she didn’t want to seem too concerned. She wasn’t. Except she was, but only because she wanted to ensure Grandfather had made it clear that she did not want Philip to come back ever again.
“What did you say to him?” Was her voice too breathless? Too eager? She cleared her throat. “Did you make certain he knew I did not want him to return?”
Grandfather nodded. “I was perfectly clear regarding how you felt, what you wanted, and how he should not return.”
“Perfect,” Jemma mumbled, feeling as if someone had struck her in the gut. It was perfect, yet it felt anything but. It felt as if she were going to die. “I think I’ll go bake.”
He hesitated, seeming to measure her for a moment. “Do you really think baking will make you forget him?” he asked gently.
Her shoulders slumped. “No,” she whispered. “But if I don’t occupy myself I will go mad.”
He nodded. “Then by all means...”
She offered a halfhearted smile before turning to make her way to the kitchens, but Grandfather’s hand on her elbow stopped her. “Jemma, try to remember things are not always as they seem.”
Anger hardened in her chest. “No, they are not,” she responded without bothering to turn around. “Men are never what they seem.” With those words, she strode off and made her way to the kitchens, where she proceeded to bake batch after batch of tarts until tears stung her eyes and she was crying into her dough.
Suddenly, she felt a soft touch at her shoulder, and she looked up to find Anne standing beside her. Jemma stiffened. She didn’t want her sister here. Jemma was afraid she’d say terrible things to her because she was so angry with her for telling Philip about the dowry. Jemma had avoided Anne since yesterday and had feigned sleep when her sister had come into the bedchamber last night, but now Anne was here and speaking to her was unavoidable.
“Please go away,” Jemma said.
Anne shook her head. “He loves you.”
Jemma narrowed her eyes at her sister. “You told him of my dowry.”
Anne narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I did. Because I’m certain he loves you.”
Jemma stiffened. “You were certain Mr. Frazier loved you, as well.” The minute the words left her mouth, she was sorry. “Oh, Anne!” Jemma hugged her sister. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible, horrible thing to say.”
“It’s all right,” Anne said, but her words were stiff. “It’s true. I was certain of Ian. I tho
ught. So certain I told him I was going to get a dowry.”
Jemma nodded. “I know. He told Philip of our dowry before you did,” she admitted, recalling what Philip had said about not believing Mr. Frazier. “Did you know that?”
Anne’s eyes widened. “No, but Jemma—”
Jemma slashed a hand through the air. “No! No ‘but Jemma’ anything. I won’t stand to listen to another word. I won’t. Do I need to leave or will you please stop talking about this?”
“I’ll stop,” Anne said archly. “For now.”
Jemma raised her eyebrow at her sister, but Anne simply glared back.
“Eventually,” Anne said, “you will become less angry.”
“Never.”
Anne plunked her hand on her hips. “You will. And then you will listen.”
Jemma turned her back to her sister and started kneading the dough for another batch of tarts.
Never.
Jemma could scarcely believe her eyes or ears when Philip arrived on her grandfather’s doorstep first thing the next morning. With a pounding heart, she begged Grandfather to send him away and then fled to her bedchamber, wishing to rid herself of the way her heart felt. It was as if it were shredding within her chest. Yet, the minute her bedchamber door shut, she could hear Philip’s voice all around her. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to drown out the voice in her head, and when she removed them, her jaw fell open.
“Jemma!” he shouted from below.
She scrambled to the window, certain she was going insane, yet there he was, standing on the steps leading to the front door and looking up at her. Her! She jerked the curtains closed and scrambled backward. In her haste, she tripped, tottered for a moment, and fell on her bottom with a resounding thud. A sharp pain shot all the way up her spine, joining the one in her heart.
“Jemma, please!” he called in a loud, clear voice.
“Go away,” she whispered to her empty room, yet he called her name repeatedly, echoing in her ears and causing doubt to torment her. Was she wrong about him?
No!
With a thumping heart, she climbed onto her bed and buried her head under a mound of pillows where the only sound that reached her ears was the frantic beating of her heart.
She had no idea how long she lay there, but when the heat became too oppressive, she finally threw the pillows off her head and tensed. Silence greeted her, and she exhaled a ragged, shaky breath. Not relieved. She was far from relieved. Disbelief and uncertainty twisted through her, making her feel as if her insides were forming a knot. He’d actually come here again. Had he left yet?
She tiptoed to the window and barely slit the curtains to peek out. The doorstep was empty and his carriage was nowhere in sight. He was gone. Hollowness filled her. He’d made a fool of himself for her. It was the sort of gesture one would find in an epic love poem, yet she would never know for certain if it was because he loved her or because of the money he would receive upon marrying her. Bitterness and sadness swept in to replace the emptiness.
She awoke to Philip’s voice in the early morning. At first she thought she was dreaming, but as her grogginess cleared, she realized with a start that he had returned. Warmth flooded her and then horror overcame the feeling. She did not want to be happy that he was back.
Anne huffed as she sat up in her bed and glared at Jemma. “Go to him!”
Jemma shook her head.
“For goodness’ sake, Jemma, at least hear him out. He loves you!”
“Loves me?” Jemma spat. “He loved my dowry, not me.”
Anne shook her head. “He all but admitted he loved you before I ever mentioned that Grandfather was bestowing a dowry on you.”
Uncertainly gripped Jemma, but she shoved it away. “He duped you. And me. He’s very clever.”
“You’re wrong,” Anne retorted. “He told me he could never go through with marrying for money after he met you. Why he—”
“Stop it!” Jemma snapped. “Just stop it! Must I move to another bedchamber to escape this?”
Anne’s nostrils flared and her hands curled into fists atop her coverlet. She looked as if she was going to say more, but she shut her mouth, heaved a breath, then spoke softly. “I’ll say no more. For now,” she said as she rose. She dressed and silently left their bedchamber.
Jemma squeezed her eyes shut as Philip called her name once again. She sat unmoving, but each time he called to her, her heart jerked in her chest and her body trembled. After a time, the room fell blessedly silent. She lay back and pulled her covers over her head, not wishing to get out of bed and face the day or her life.
Anne returned to the room many hours later when shadows danced on the walls and the moon shone bright in the sky through the window. Jemma sat in a chair staring down at the spot where Philip had been earlier that day. Anne’s uneven footsteps tapped against the floor as she came to stand behind Jemma, and she settled her hand on Jemma’s shoulder.
“Grandfather wants to know if you plan to come to supper.”
Jemma shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
Anne squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve not eaten all day.”
Jemma blinked in surprise at her sister’s words. She had no appetite. Love had stolen her appetite, her happiness, her peace. Love was a dreadful thing.
One Week Later
When Jemma saw Philip look up at her bedchamber window from the drive, she hastily dropped the curtain she had pulled open and scuttled backward, bumping into Anne. Her sister grasped at her arm to keep her balance.
“I’m sorry, Anne,” Jemma whispered. Why the devil she was whispering was beyond her. Philip could not hear her from where he stood outside. Of course, any neighbor within a mile had likely heard Philip this past week. He had come every single day.
Jemma’s stomach tightened mercilessly as he called to her once again. Would he ever quit coming? Perhaps she needed to leave Town.
“Go to him,” Anne urged, as she’d been doing every day, giving Jemma a push toward the door.
Jemma scowled. “You’re not making this any easier, Sister,” Jemma hissed.
“I’m trying to,” Anne replied. “You’re acting a fool. You are throwing away a man who loves you.”
“Please,” Jemma scoffed, though she no longer sounded sure, even to herself. She wasn’t, and it terrified her. It made her heart falter and breathing become difficult. She gritted her teeth, but the doubt persisted, as did Philip.
Was she simply so afraid of being hurt that her fear was blinding her and making her unreasonable, or had she finally wised up?
Anne rushed to the window and yanked open the curtain.
“Close the curtain, Anne! He’ll see you!”
“Go to him!” Anne pressed, glancing back at Jemma, her eyes pleading. “How can you stand turning him away yet again?”
Jemma could scarcely breathe, her heart was pounding so hard. She shook her head. She wasn’t sure how she could or if she could. Oh, why did he keep coming?
Anne glanced out the window again. “He’s leaving! Oh, wait! Grandfather has gone out!”
Jemma found herself rushing back across the room to the window. She looked down at Philip, her pulse racing. “What do you think Grandfather is saying?”
The two men stood very close to each other. Grandfather was waving his hands in the air and Philip was nodding, then he, too, was gesturing this way and that, as if in argument.
Anne dropped the curtain so that it brushed Jemma’s nose when it fell into place, and she turned to Jemma. “I imagine Grandfather is threatening him. Grandfather did say at the morning meal that he was tired of his peace being disturbed and that he was going to put an end to this nonsense today if Lord Harthorne returned yet again.”
“He did?” Jemma choked out. She’d not joined in a meal since the day she’d told Philip to go. It was all she could do to force herself to eat anything, and it generally took her most the day to work up the will to take a few bites at supper alone in her bedch
amber.
Anne nodded, turned back to the curtain, and opened it again. “I suppose Grandfather did as he said. Lord Harthorne is leaving. I doubt you’ll see him here again.” Anne eyed her. “Of course, you may see him at the Williamsons’ ball. I imagine he’ll go. Perhaps he’ll dance with other ladies. Eventually bring himself to laugh, flirt...and marry another.”
Jemma’s stomach roiled at the scene in her head. She could not watch Philip with other women. “I’m not going to the Williamsons’ ball.”
Anne pursed her lips while cocking her head. “Likely a wise choice.”
Jemma scooted past Anne to stare out the window at Philip’s departing carriage. He was leaving. Her knotted stomach dropped like a hard ball, landing somewhere near her slippers. She pressed her fingertips to the glass. “Do you really think he’ll not come back tomorrow?”
“I truly do,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “I imagine even a man as in love as Lord Harthorne can only stomach being rejected and humiliated for so long. I’m going to go speak with Grandfather and see what he said to him. Do you want to come?”
She did, but she had too much pride to allow herself to go. “No, I think I’ll just sit here and read.”
“Suit yourself,” Anne snapped and made her way out of their bedchamber.
Jemma shuffled to the bookcase in the adjacent sitting room and selected a book. She sat on the settee, opened the book, and stared at the page, not caring at all that she wasn’t even seeing the words. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a ragged sigh. How long would it take for the pain of Philip’s betrayal to recede? How long until her heart ceased aching and she no longer loved him? All her emotions swirled inside her, making her feel nauseated. What if he truly did love her? What if Anne was correct? But what if Anne was wrong and Jemma forgave him and married a man who had fooled her. She’d not be able to stand it. But could she live with not even hearing him out and always wondering what he would have said?
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