by Wendy Vella
Harry snorted as he turned to greet his guests.
He knew most, and admired children and babies, and congratulated those that had married in the year since he had seen them. He would be married next year, and introducing Jemma as his wife.
“Harry, if we cannot stop Jemma’s marriage, and—”
“Then I will attend the service and stop it. He will not have her, Phillip; Jemma Partridge belongs to me, as I do her.”
Jemma had spent the day following Harry’s revelations walking aimlessly around Lord Crickley’s house. She was a weak fool to have allowed them to make love again, and yet where he was concerned she was just that. Weak to the soles of her feet.
Harry loved her.
She had told her fiancé she had no wish to attend the Harrington festive evening, when the invitation had arrived, and he had thankfully agreed. Telling her he could not understand why anyone would want to mix with those that were beneath them. Jemma’s reasons were vastly different. She had no wish to see Harry again so soon after his declaration of love. Especially not in his home, a home she would never share with him.
Her mother had taken to her bed with a sore throat, and her father had gone into the village of Cartleigh to no doubt find someone to gamble with, and as yet had not returned. She missed Thomas the most, and he had called on friends and would not return until tomorrow afternoon, so she was alone with her husband-to-be. She had managed to avoid him, and had sent word that she had a headache and would take a tray in her room before retiring for the evening.
Jemma had dismissed her maid when she’d dressed in her nightclothes. She could not live out her days in this maudlin state, so she would have to learn to live with the fact that she loved Harry but could not be with him.
Would he dare try and stop the marriage? Jemma feared he would, and a small wicked part of her hoped he did. It was wrong of her, but she longed for it just the same.
A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Jemma watched the handle turn, and was surprised to see her mother appear.
“Is your throat worse, mother? You should have had a maid call for me.”
“My throat is fine.” Lady Partridge entered the room, also dressed in her nightclothes. She wore a heavy dressing gown of rose velvet, and slippers.
“Come and sit before the fire.” Jemma ushered her mother to one of the two chairs and took the other. “Shall I call for tea?”
“No, Jemma. Now please, sit and be quiet; I have something I wish to tell you.”
Surprised at her mother’s sharp tone, she did as she was asked.
“It is true I am not a strong woman, and do not often speak my mind, Jemma. But I fear that now I must be heard.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Tell me why you are marrying Lord Crickley, daughter.”
“Because I wish it,” Jemma said slowly, unsure which direction this conversation was heading in. They had not told her mother the details behind her marriage as she had no wish to upset her.
“I don’t believe you are telling me the truth, Jemma, and to my shame I should have insisted that you did.”
“Mother, there is no need—”
“There is every need, and I should have spoken up sooner. Now tell me the truth, child. Are you marrying Lord Crickley because of something your father did?”
Jemma couldn’t lie, so she nodded. “Yes. Lord Crickley caught father cheating at cards and threatened exposure if I did not marry him.”
Her mother fell back in her chair.
“I thought as much, and it will not do. I married a man I did not love or respect and was unhappy until you came into my life, Jemma. I will not allow that to happen to you.”
Shocked at those words, Jemma stared at her mother.
“I saw you talking with Lord Harrington here the other night. You both had the look of two people in love, and I will not have you marry another knowing that.”
“How can you know how I feel about Harry?” Jemma whispered.
“Because I know you, my love. Never have I seen such longing on your face before.”
“It matters not, as nothing can be done.” Jemma felt the bite of tears just thinking of Harry. “Crickley will ruin us.”
“No, he won’t. That man is just as bad as your father, but hides it well.”
“What?” Jemma got out of her seat.
“There are rumors about Lord Crickley that have not been substantiated, but there is always a thread of truth behind something like that.”
Jemma shook her head, trying to take in what her mother was saying. “Surely it is too late?” A small kernel of hope was beginning to rise inside her chest. “I will not have you hurt by father’s perfidy.”
“He can hurt me no more, Jemma.”
She had never believed her mother strong until today. Right then, looking into her eyes, she saw a determination that had been lacking most of her life.
“Tell me what lies between you and Lord Harrington, Jemma?”
“We love each other very much.”
“Then you will not marry Crickley, and in this I am determined no matter the cost. Harrington is a marquess and a powerful man. I doubt either your father or betrothed would wish to cross him. There will be a way to fix this, Jemma. I have not always been strong for you or Thomas, but I will be now, over this.”
“There will be a scandal, Mother. That cannot be helped,” Jemma cautioned.
“I care nothing for a scandal, and wish only for your happiness.”
Jemma dropped to her knees before her mother. “But what of your happiness?”
Her smile was sad.
“I have lived with your father for long enough now that we are comfortable, even though neither of us cares overly for the other.”
“You will live with us when I marry Harry.”
“I cannot leave your father, Jemma.”
“You will visit for long periods then, and I will not take no for an answer.”
Another knock sounded on her door, and this time, when it opened it was her fiancé who walked through, closing it behind him, also dressed in a dressing gown. Jemma regained her feet.
“My Lord, why are you here dressed that way?”
His eyes ran over her body before going to her mother, who had also risen from her chair.
“What a lovely sight, two beautiful women to greet me.”
“I asked you a question, my Lord, and I would like an answer,” Jemma said, moving to her mother’s side. She did not like the look in his eyes.
“Can a fiancé not wish for the company of his sweet young lady?”
“He can seek that company when the sun is up, Lord Crickley, not at such an hour, when we are dressed in our night attire.”
His face transformed into an angry mask at her words.
“Do not speak to me in such an insolent manner, Jemma. I am to be your master, and will not tolerate it from you.”
“She will not be your wife.”
“Mother.” Jemma squeezed her fingers to silence her, but she would not be quiet.
“I know you forced her into marriage, Lord Crickley, and it will not do. Therefore, tomorrow I am breaking the betrothal.”
He laughed at Lady Partridge’s words. “Don’t be a fool. I could destroy your family’s reputation, and will do so if she does not marry me.”
“I care nothing for that, only my daughter’s happiness.”
Jemma couldn’t believe what was happening. Was it really possible that one day she could marry Harry? Could she allow herself to hope?
“You will do nothing to stop this.” Lord Crickley moved closer to them. “And if I must, then tonight I will ensure she becomes mine.”
He grabbed Jemma, dragging her toward the bed. She fought him, but he was stronger than he appeared, especially for a man of his years.
“Release her!”
Ignoring her mother’s cries, he wrestled Jemma onto the bed.
“I will not let you do this!” Jemma scratched
his face, and he slapped her hard.
“You can do nothing to stop me and your mother will witness this act.” He fell on top of her and she felt the hardness between her legs, pushing against her stomach. She could not let this happen, would not. Harry was the only man who would touch her intimately, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
“Get off my daughter!”
“Go away or join us, Lady Partridge, the choice is yours. In fact, I have yet to lie with a mother and daughter; the thought is a pleasing one.”
His hands tore at her clothes. Jemma heard the ripping of fabric and suddenly her breasts were bare. She felt a hand grab her flesh, fingers digging into the soft skin. Redoubling her efforts, she fought him with everything she had, and then suddenly he slumped on top of her. Jemma’s eyes went to her mother, who stood above them holding a lamp that she had hit him over the head with.
“Quick, Jemma, help me roll him off you.”
She did as her mother asked and then scrambled off the bed and into her arms. Her body shook with the shock of what had just happened. But there was also the rage, and that was what she held on to.
“Gather yourself, Jemma. We must move quickly as I have no idea how long he will be unconscious. Collect up warm clothes and we will go to my rooms.”
“But what are we to do?” Jemma’s mind did not seem to be working properly.
“We are leaving before he wakes.”
She did as her mother asked, and minutes later with an armful of clothes she was following her from the room. Lady Partridge took the key and locked the door behind them, then with Jemma’s hand in hers, they hurried to her rooms. Once there, she rang the bell and when a maid appeared she called for a carriage, stating that there was an emergency, and she and her daughter must leave at once.
“Get dressed now, Jemma,” she said when the maid had gone.
“But where are we going, Mother?”
“We cannot stay here because when Lord Crickley wakes he will be in a towering rage, and there is no knowing what he will do. So we must go to Lord Harrington, and if what you say is true and he loves you, he will protect us.”
“But Father—”
“Is probably lying between the thighs of some woman, and I care nothing for what happens to him when he returns here and finds us gone. He brought this mess upon his only child and I will never forgive him for that. Now dress, daughter.”
Jemma did as her mother asked, her mind whirling with what they were to do, and hope building in her breast. Her fingers trembled as she tried to force the buttons through the holes of her coat.
“It is all right, my love.” Her mother cupped her cheeks briefly. “I will not let that man touch you again, I promise.”
Jemma nodded. The woman before her vastly differed from the one she had known her entire life.
“Come along now, Jemma.”
Her mother took her hand when they were dressed in warm clothes and led her from the room and through the quiet house.
“Can your journey not be undertaken tomorrow, Lady Partridge?” The butler looked concerned when they reached the front door.
“I fear it cannot.”
He opened the door and ushered them through. Snow had started to fall, and the cold bit into her cheeks as they walked. Only when they were in the carriage, and she sat pressed to her mother’s side did Jemma allow herself to take a deep breath. She did not know what the future held, only that there was a chance that Harry was in it, and for now that was enough.
Harry’s tension had been slowly escalating over the last few hours. Yes, his worry for Jemma was always there, but this was something else. Something that had a sharper edge to it, that dug into his ribs and caught his breath. Was she in danger? He felt a need to go to her, almost as if she were calling to him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s Jemma.”
Phillip looked at the old clock beside the hearth in the main hall.
“It’s nearing midnight, Harry. Jemma will be tucked up in her bed.”
“Yes, I’ve been telling myself that for the past two hours, and it’s not working. Thank God the guests are starting to leave.”
He rubbed his neck as it tingled, then walked to the door and began to distribute the baskets and say his goodbyes. The blasts of frigid air that entered whenever the door opened confirmed his belief that the weather was about to take a turn for the worse.
“Is that a carriage coming up the driveway?” Phillip said, joining him on the doorstep after the last guest had left.
“Yes, and I wonder who it is at such an hour in these conditions?” Harry walked down the steps. Snow was falling steadily now and by morning there would be a white blanket covering everything. He reached for the door as the carriage rolled to a stop. Opening it, he looked inside and found Jemma.
“Harry!”
She lunged at him, and he caught her; lifting her into his arms, he held her close.
“What has happened, my love?”
“If you will let me explain, my Lord.”
Lowering Jemma to the ground, he wrapped an arm around her, pressing her to his side, before he reached a hand toward Lady Partridge and assisted her from the carriage.
“You should not be out in these conditions.”
“I am afraid we had no choice, my Lord,” Lady Partridge said.
“Come inside now, and I shall have your story where it is warm.”
He led the ladies forward, his arm still around a shivering Jemma. Harry could not believe she and her mother had traveled in such conditions, and he would deal with whoever had forced them to take such drastic action.
“Phillip, organize tea please, and have it brought to the Cinnamon Parlor.” His brother sent him a questioning look before going to do as Harry bid.
The room was warm when they entered, and Lady Partridge went to the fire, where she took off her gloves and warmed her hands.
“Come, love, let’s get you warm.” Jemma was strangely quiet, almost as if she were in shock. He removed her bonnet, then her coat and gloves.
“Something has happened, Harry.” Her words were high-pitched.
“I guessed it must have to force you out into the cold, Jemma.”
“It is Lord Crickley. H-he got angry when my mother told him she did not want me to marry him.”
Harry could see the shock on Jemma’s face now as he led her toward the fire and lowered her into a seat. Dropping to his haunches, he took her hands in his, studying her pale cheeks.
“Did Lord Crickley hurt you, Jemma?” Because if he did, he is a dead man.
“Yes, he attempted to rape her, Lord Harrington.”
Lady Partridge’s words had Harry gathering Jemma into his arms and holding her close. Anger pounded through him, but he would deal with that later. Right now, Jemma needed him.
“H-Harry.” Jemma sobbed into his shoulder as he held her close.
“Sssh now, love, you are safe here with me. No one will hurt you again.”
“He was unable to complete the act, as I struck him and rendered him unconscious, Lord Harrington.”
“I will be forever grateful to you, Lady Partridge.”
“You can show your gratitude by loving my daughter.”
“You have my word I will always do so.”
Once Jemma’s tears had stopped, she eased from his arms.
“I am all right now, it was just the shock. But now I am here with you I know we are safe.”
“As you will always be.”
She smiled through her tears.
He left her to stoke the fire, then poured a brandy and dropped to his knees before her once more.
“Come.” He tilted her chin up and studied her face. His eyes found the small bruise forming on one cheek. “Did Crickley do this?”
“Yes, he struck her,” her mother answered for her.
“You must drink this for me now, love. It will help warm you,” Harry said, forcing his f
ingers to unclench around the glass he held and lift it to her lips. Crickley would be made to pay for what he had inflicted on her.
She took it and sipped. Harry then continued to hold it until she’d drunk several mouthfuls more and he saw the color slowly returning to her cheeks.
Phillip arrived with the tea tray. Harry ensured Jemma drank a cup, and Phillip saw to Lady Partridge’s needs.
“I fear Lord Crickley will be angry, Harry.”
He cupped Jemma’s cheeks. “Will you let me deal with him, love?”
“I want to help you as my father has brought this on us.”
“Crickley believes women are fools, Jemma, so in this you must allow me to do as I see fit. Trust me to do this for you, please.”
She nodded but said nothing more. Harry watched her yawn and got to his feet.
“Will you allow my brother to escort you to a room, Lady Partridge, and I will see Jemma to hers. Tomorrow is soon enough to deal with Crickley.”
“Yes, and my husband will have returned by then also, and as this is of his making, I want him to be there when you confront Crickley.”
Harry nodded to Lady Partridge, as she followed Phillip from the room, he then bent and picked up Jemma.
“I can walk, Harry.”
“Yet I want to carry you.”
She did not fight him, instead resting her head on his chest until he reached his rooms.
He walked inside and locked the door behind him, then sat with Jemma in his lap before the fire.
“I realized something tonight, Harry, when Lord Crickley tried to force himself on me.”
He made himself stay calm when inside he was seething with rage over Crickley’s behavior.
“What, love?”
“I could never let another man touch me as you had. I am yours, just as you are mine now, and the thought of someone coming between us was more than I could bear.”
“Jemma,” Harry whispered against her lips. “Do you understand how much I love you?”
“As much as I love you.”
“More,” he rasped, “so much more.”
“Is it a competition?”
She gave him a small smile and he felt like the sun had come out on a gray day.
“Now, you need to tell me why you were to marry Crickley.”
