by Noël Cades
Jemima discovered that Mrs Owen was an extremely fine needlewoman, producing the most exquisite embroidery. Such was her art that Jemima was inspired to improve her own handiwork, though it made a very poor comparison with Mrs Owen’s needlepoint.
“I fear I will never manage to make anything of this,” Jemima said, flinging down her work and nursing her finger. Once again a misguided needle had pricked her flesh, causing a half-stitched daisy to bloom into a crimson rose.
“I have many years more practice in comparison to you, my dear. With a little perseverance I am certain you will be able to create the loveliest work,” Mrs Owen said.
Jemima greatly doubted this and the prospect of years of pricked fingers and stained calico held little appeal.
Lessons with the Reverend Norwood were happily less of an ordeal than she had feared. Jemima even found herself enjoying the ancient texts he chose for her to study. Some of them at least, for nothing whatsoever could incline her to relish Thucydides. But Vergil’s third Georgic - which Reverend Norwood, having discovered his pupil’s love of horses, had kindly selected - held much more appeal.
Yet while Jemima had every reason to be content, she found she was not wholly so. Apprehension over her forthcoming nuptials with a dreaded bridegroom might have been the cause of her malaise.
But it was not. As the time passed, Jemima had come to a realisation that troubled her more than anything else imaginable. No amount of freedom could alleviate, nor fear distract from, this devastating truth.
For she had fallen in love with her guardian. Her mystery lord, her nemesis, her jailer. She missed him, and living in his house she was haunted by his absence.
The man who was preparing her to please another suitor was the very man, the only man, she desired to please.
Chapter 20
Southwell, Miss Carlow to Miss Elstone.
Dearest Kitty,
As you will see from my address I am not yet installed at Frobisher Hall, though my guardian’s plans for me remain unchanged.
He - the Earl of Southwell - has sent me to stay at his estate while he is in Spain for some months, after which he has told me the preparations for my nuptials will begin. I am still hopeful that I may change his mind, or that some other event may occur to make such a union impossible.
It is really very pleasant here, at least when I do not think about the future. I have a companion, a widow by the name of Mrs Owen, who is a very good person. She has one son who recently went to sea and has very favourable prospects.
I have lessons in Latin and Greek each day with the Reverend of Southwell Dene, but I do not find them quite so tiresome as I used to, for he is a very kindly and wise gentleman.
My guardian has allowed me the use of his stables and so I ride every day, which is my greatest pleasure of all. If these months are to be the last happy ones of my life, I am determined to make the most of them.
But tell me of your news for I long to know how you are, and also please give my very best wishes to Miss Berystede and Miss Pargeter.
Your ever loving friend,
Jemima
London, Miss Elstone to Miss Carlow
My dearest ever Jemima,
I have been frantic to hear from you and while the news in your letter little eases my distress for you, at least the worst has not yet come to pass.
Only I must tell you that Miss Berystede now knows of our scheme. I was forced to tell her, dear, because there has been such terrible gossip of which Mrs Linton-Smythe is surely one of the main purveyors. She was surprised - Miss Berystede that is - but not nearly so angry as I would have expected. In fact she did not seem angry at all. She and Miss Pargeter have both been very kind to me despite it all.
Mrs Linton-Smythe pays us visits nearly every other day. I can only imagine Miss Berystede is the sole one of her acquaintances polite enough to endure her. I am endlessly forced into the society of Miss Linton-Smythe and find her less tolerable on every occasion. Only think that she tried to insinuate to me that “Lady Julia and the Earl” were fled to Scotland!
But I have news more important than that! I meant to write it first but I am all in a muddle. Your guardian visited here, on his way to Spain! I hardly knew what to say when he was admitted. He spoke briefly with me about nothing much, except how I was enjoying the Season, and then he had a private audience with Miss Berystede, and I do not know at all what it was about. Miss Berystede will only say that she is certain he has your best interests at heart. But she has never met the person whom I shrink to even mention.
My father is also arrived in London, though he does not stay with us. He has decided at last to renovate the house at Cavendish Square. He visited us and asked after you, and I told him of your dreadful fate. I will not write the name for I am sure it distresses you to even read it. My father said he had heard nothing about it in the neighbourhood, but that he wouldn’t send a dog to Frobisher Hall. He asked what kind of a man your guardian must be, and he said many other things on the subject of the man will we not name, but I should probably not repeat them here since you are affianced to him.
Many people have asked after you very kindly, and I am sure that if your guardian would allow you to return to town, you would easily find a suitor that would meet with his approval and induce him to alter his terrible plans.
I remain your dearest and anxious friend,
Kitty
Southwell, Miss Carlow to Miss Elstone
Dearest Kitty,
Scarcely had I received your letter when I saw in my copy of The Times (for my guardian has instructed me to read it) a notice of the marriage of Lord Dalrymple of Dublin and Lady Julia Carlingford! What can this mean? Is it some kind of jest? If only there were a Lord Dalrymple, that I might have been able to elope with him.
I am still quite well here. The poor Reverend Norwood whom I wrote to you of has been taken ill, so I am not sure what is to happen with my studies.
Only imagine! Mrs Owen has never ridden a horse. She owns she is terrified of them. I am determined to coax her onto the gentlest horse for I am sure it will do her the world of good. She will so much more easily be able to visit her sister in the village than walking or waiting for a carriage to be arranged.
At least I am spared that awful Mrs Linton-Smythe. I am sure if I ever encounter again I will not be able to hold my tongue, whether before her or her daughter. For such a thing to be said about me!
As I am sure you will know, dearest, the happinesses I find here are still overshadowed by that dreadful event that looms before me. I am still hopeful that my guardian may reconsider and allow me to find a position as a governess or a companion. Mrs Owen has been very patient in helping improve my needlework, so I am sure that I would make a very excellent companion. I wonder if you might inquire with Miss Pargeter if she knows how a similar position to hers, with some respectable lady, might be obtained?
Give my greetings to your father and my best wishes for his health,
Jemima.
London, Miss Elstone to Miss Carlow
My dearest Jemima,
I confess I am also at a loss to understand the meaning of that notice in The Times or who might have placed it. I was quite shocked to see it, and hardly knew what the reason might be. I drew it to Miss Berystede’s attention at breakfast, for it has become a custom for us to read the society announcements. She merely mentioned that it might serve to “stop loose tongues from wagging”. So I do not know if perhaps your guardian arranged it. You might write to him and ask? Or perhaps it would be better if you did not.
At any rate it has not stopped the speculation of Mrs L-S who declares that it is “all very irregular”, though she will not say why she thinks it is irregular.
One thing I am at least spared is the attentions of Mr Wiverton. He invited me to dance three times at Lord and Lady Montford’s ball, including for the waltz. I hardly knew what to say! It was quite an ordeal as you can well imagine. I do not think Mrs L-S was any more pleased than
I was. She gave me quite a lecture on the impropriety of showing too much favour to one man - as if she had not been encouraging Selina to welcome every last attention and invitation from Viscount Moresby! Now she informs us that Mr Wiverton has been obliged to leave London suddenly. She gave me a sharp look when she said this, but I was nothing but relieved, though I said I hoped that there was not any accident or illness to his family.
I asked Miss Pargeter about finding a post as a companion, and she first thought I meant for myself. She said she did not think it would be suitable at all, and that my father would not approve. Then I told her that I was asking on your behalf, and she said that she was sure such a thing would not be necessary. I said that you were quite determined to remain unmarried, but she said that most ladies sought a companion of more mature years, and the same with governesses. So I do not know what you are to do until you reach your more mature years, which I suppose must mean twenty-five at least, but we will think of something.
My father visits us frequently and dines with us, while his renovations continue. Miss Pargeter expressed an interest in horticulture, and it is true that she is very knowledgeable about botany. For she can name any tree or shrub when we walk in Hyde Park, and knows the properties of all sorts of herbs. The result was that my father spent at least an hour on the subject of his rose garden and I wonder she did not fall asleep, for Miss Berystede had retired and I could barely stay awake.
I am hoping that we may see one another soon, and in happier circumstances,
Kitty
Chapter 21
A fair wind brought Marcus from Bilbao to Portsmouth earlier than anticipated. Three months had passed since he had left England. Months during which he had carried out an operation of extremely delicate diplomacy, with very satisfactory results.
As time passed he had found himself increasingly desirous to see his ward again. His initial report had already been made and sent ahead of him to London, so there was no need for him to make a diversion to town just yet.
Instead, he decided not to tarry a night in port but to ride straight for Southwell.
Having ridden through the night, it was mid-morning when Marcus reached his estate. It was a fine day, fair and bright, and though tired he was in good spirits. His remorse at allowing Jemima to continue to deceive herself regarding Sir Hubert had only increased during his absence. He was resolved to finally reveal his true intentions to her.
His good humour took a sudden turn when he espied a startling sight. Galloping down from the hillside was the huge stallion Satan. From what Marcus could initially make out, some long-haired gypsy lad rode astride on his back. Had the horse been stolen? But no, the horse and rider were coming in the direction of the house.
As they neared and Marcus caught closer sight of them, he was so confounded that for several moments he was frozen to the spot.
For the young lad was no gypsy nor even a lad, but his ward Jemima. Clad in breeches, her hair tied loosely back like any one of the sailors on his ship, she straddled Satan bareback.
His sense of shock and outrage was mixed with though not mitigated by a genuine concern for her safety. Rather, this served only to increase the violence of his emotion. Before he could intervene, his ward had slipped down from her mount and, having petted the damnable beast as though he were a newborn foal, approached him.
She was clearly surprised to see him but her face was radiant with a smile. “My lord, we did not expect you until tomorrow.”
“So I see,” Marcus said.
Jemima suddenly recalled her attire. Glancing down, she disguised her dismay with humour. “We would have been ready to meet you, had we known. Only let me run and give word to Briggs and Mrs Marland.”
“Wait.” Her guardian’s tone was commanding and he had not returned her smile. “What is the meaning of this?”
At first confused, Jemima supposed that he might mean her clothing. “I had no riding habit, my lord, and these have the advantage of being so much more practical for riding.”
They also had the advantage of revealing far more of Jemima’s shapely form than Marcus was currently comfortable with. “I mean all of this. What do you mean by risking your safety and doubtless that of my grooms by attempting to ride that horse? Bareback, no less. A horse that you were expressly forbidden to ride.”
“Forbidden? I recall you advised me to avoid him, but I do not recall your specifically forbidding it,” Jemima said. “Besides, you had expressed concern about his remaining unbroken.”
Marcus regarded the stallion, whose rolling eyes and frothing mouth looked no less wild than before. “He is now broken, then?”
“As much as he will ever be. He is quite mad, I believe, but his nature is a very sweet one. He dislikes the saddle which is why bareback is safer with him. He resists it less.”
A very sweet nature! Hardly the words Marcus would have used to describe the devilish looking equine before him, which his ward had returned to patting.
“You will return him to the stables immediately,” was all he said.
Jemima, who had hoped that her guardian might be pleased by the progress made with Satan, felt downcast. Nonetheless she led Satan back to his stable, while Marcus followed on his own mount.
Another shock awaited him there. Jemima, greeting Juan and handing him the rein, was talking to the boy in Spanish. She laughed as she did so about something the horse had done. Finding her on such familiar terms with his stable boy was one thing, but to hear Spanish pouring from her lips was quite another. If that coarse peasant dialect could properly be termed Spanish, compared to the refined Castilian tongue spoken at court. Marcus could only imagine the reaction of the nobility to be addressed with some of the words that Jemima was now using.
As he thought this, he was taken aback to realise he had just pictured her in Spain. He had, of course, no such intentions for her to travel with him to there or anywhere else. Once they were wed she would live at Southwell, managing whatever feminine matters there were to manage in the household, and in time hopefully raising his heirs.
This last thought led Marcus into dangerous territory so he suppressed it. “You have learnt Spanish?” he asked.
“Juan taught me a few phrases. It was easier than teaching him English. It is a beautiful language, is it not?”
Not with the vocabulary and pronunciation that Jemima was using, Marcus thought, but did not say so. He turned his attention back to Satan, asking Juan for confirmation as to whether or not the horse was broken.
In Spanish, Juan spoke excitedly of the progress made, and the power and agility of the stallion. He clearly worshipped Jemima, enthusing over her bravery and patience with Satan.
“He must be coaxed, not castigated,” Jemima interrupted. “He is not like a normal horse. Some animals are born that way, just as people can be.” She gave an affectionate caress to his muzzle and was rewarded by much nudging, snorting and snickering from the beast.
She might have been petting a kitten, Marcus thought, not several hundredweight of horseflesh.
He strode back to the house with her in silence, simultaneously feeling that she deserved to be both punished and commended for her foolhardiness.
Jemima slipped off to her room to change into more appropriate attire, and Marcus went to bathe and issue orders to his staff.
His ward riding bareback was not the last of the unpleasant surprises he would encounter that day. Stepping into the hall an hour later, he was disconcerted to find a young man recently admitted there. The man looked quite at his ease, if a fraction alarmed by Marcus’s sudden presence.
Jemima appeared at that point. “Roger! I am sorry if I have kept you waiting. I quite forgot the hour, and then as you see the Earl of Southwell is arrived home.”
“Roger?” Her guardian’s tone held more accusation than question.
Flushing at the hostility there, Jemima hastened to make introductions. “My lord, this is Mr Cherwell. He is the curate at Southwell Dene. Roger - I
mean Mr Cherwell - this is the Earl of Southwell, my guardian.”
Marcus was not inclined to greet this interloper with any great civility but gave him the barest nod. The younger man bowed in a manner that was polite but not overly deferential.
“Mr Cherwell has been instructing me in Latin and Greek, since the Reverend Norwood became indisposed,” Jemima told her guardian.
“Indisposed?”
“Reverend Norwood was taken ill and was required to take a rest from his duties. Roger - Mr Cherwell - very kindly agreed to take over his lessons with me. I knew how very important you thought it was for me to continue my study of Greek and Latin,” Jemima said. “Mr Cherwell is also a scholar of English Literature, and has also been so kind as to give me instruction in poetry.”
She said this in an attempt to recommend the curate, and thaw the distinctly chilly atmosphere that his arrival had engendered. It had the opposite effect.
The Earl of Southwell regarded the younger man with whom his ward was on such apparently intimate terms. Mr Cherwell was tall, if not so tall as Marcus himself, with an open, amiable countenance and the regular features that observers were wont to describe as handsome. He was also considerably closer to Jemima’s age than Marcus’s own.
Marcus decided that he disliked him intensely. “How long as this arrangement been in place?”
Mr Cherwell spoke. “It is about six weeks since Reverend Norwood fell ill.”
Six weeks! For well over a month, this wretch had spent hours each day in intimacy with his ward, doubtless reciting endless foolish poems to her and heaven knows what else. Marcus had never before experienced such violent jealousy, and was unable to acknowledge it for what it was. He only saw the curate cast a gaze at his ward that was both anxious and admiring.
