It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  He nodded as he stood, walked to the door, turned the lock, and then moved to the windows to pull the curtains closed. Anne’s sobs once again invaded Jemma’s awareness. For one brief, selfish second Jemma wanted to scream for Anne to stop it. Instead, she inhaled a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her sister. In shock, she clung to her, hardly able to believe Mother was gone. Memories of her mother flashed before her eyes and the pain twisted through her. She wanted to shut it all out, but she couldn’t. The bakery and their home would be gone, too, if Jemma didn’t take immediate action in her mother’s stead. Someone had to take care of them. Someone had to shelve her grief until the dark hours of the night. Jemma glanced at her sister. Mother had always taken special care of fragile Anne, and now it was up to Jemma.

  She moved through the rest of the day in a numb haze, alternately soothing Anne and making burial arrangements. Very late that night, as Anne slept fitfully, whimpering in her bed, Jemma, with bleary eyes and a pounding head, forced her shaking hand to foolscap and wrote her first letter ever to her grandfather, the cold Duke of Rowan. Would he even read it? She worried her lip. Had the years softened his heart and made him regret disowning Mother after she had disobeyed him and married Father? She cried silent tears as she told her grandfather of Mother’s sudden death and the impending foreclosure on the bakery that was also their home, and finally asked him if he would send enough money to pay off the loan for the bakery. She knew, from Mother’s talk of his wealth, that it wouldn’t even nick his vast fortune to send that amount.

  Jemma’s eyes burned and blurred as she sealed the letter. When she was finished, she laid her head on her mother’s desk and sobbed as quietly as possible so as not to wake Anne. She wanted her mother back. She wanted to apologize for acting as if Mother knew nothing. She wanted to take back every snide comment she’d ever made. Jemma rocked back and forth in her chair. Mother was gone. Gone.

  She wanted more than anything to tell her she was sorry and that Mother had been perfectly correct. Now she would never get the chance. She would gladly sit for hours listening to her mother rant about how men were not to be trusted, how they were callous and careless with the hearts they captured, how they would bruise, batter, and destroy the delicate organs, if only she could have her mother back. At this moment, it hurt far greater that her mother was gone than the fact that her mother had been right about men all along.

  She wanted to apologize for scoffing at her mother, for arguing with her, and for making her life more worrisome. Perhaps it was the worry from the bank loan that had made Mother sick, or perhaps it was Jemma’s constant squabbling with her that had made her unwell. Jemma’s heart twisted as hot tears coursed down her cheeks and wet her hands. Before she fell asleep, she said another prayer to God that he would instill forgiveness and generosity into her grandfather’s heart. He was all they had now.

  Time had a way of flying by in a blur when one worked ceaselessly to run a bakery. One night, just as Jemma was heading to the door to lock it, the bell jingled and the door swung open. In marched a serious-faced gentleman with tan breeches, shining black boots, and a long overcoat of a dark, superfine material. He wore a cravat of rich red, tied expertly and touching his chin, and a hat that appeared to be lined with some sort of luxurious brown fur capped a full head of silver hair. The man was tall but not lanky. He was solidly built and carried himself with the pretentious air of a duke. She knew at once it was her grandfather, even before her gaze locked with his.

  The shape and color of his eyes matched her mother’s. A pang of sadness reverberated through Jemma, and she swallowed. Before she could properly introduce herself, a line of two men and a lady entered the bakery, filing in behind her grandfather in mute silence.

  As she stared at them, it belatedly occurred to her that Grandfather had traveled across the ocean to meet them. Surely he was bringing good tidings and the money she needed to save the bakery! The burden of the last couple of months seemed to lift a little, and hope filled her. If he’d traveled all this way, he must care for them. She felt her cheeks pull into a smile.

  “Are you the Duke of Rowan?” she asked, though she was fairly certain the answer was yes.

  He nodded. Relief, weariness, and joy overcame her at once. She’d not held much hope he’d respond to her letter, let alone appear here as a caring grandfather would.

  She rushed to him and hugged him, so very glad, for once in her life, to be wrong. “I’m your eldest granddaughter, Jemma.”

  She felt him stiffen underneath her touch as he extracted himself from her arms, stepped back, and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m very sorry about your mother. I’m not sure what she told you about me…”

  Jemma couldn’t stop herself from wincing, and his eyes immediately narrowed. “I see. I’m not surprised.” He flicked a dismissive hand behind him. “This is my valet, footman, and your new tutor, Mrs. Young.” His voice did not hold the warmth of a loving grandfather but the formalness of the man her mother had always described.

  Jemma bit her lip as Mrs. Young curtsied, and Jemma simply gawked while everything her grandfather had just announced bounced around in her head.

  “You must curtsy,” the woman chided.

  Jemma stared the woman down until the tutor blinked, then snorted in contempt. Mrs. Young clicked her tongue and moved to Jemma’s grandfather’s side. “This will take at least six months if the young ladies don’t even know how to curtsy.” The woman’s voice was snide and her look condescending. Jemma knew very well how to curtsy, but something warned her to keep the information to herself for now.

  Jemma’s grandfather gave a brief nod of acknowledgment to the tutor before assessing Jemma. “You look healthy, Granddaughter.”

  Was that a compliment? It had the slightly warmer tone of one but was a rather pathetic attempt to start a conversation with a granddaughter he’d never met. “Thank you,” she managed. “I don’t understand why you brought a tutor, however. I don’t need a tutor—only money.”

  Grandfather raised his silver eyebrows. “You are mistaken,” he snapped. “If you are to secure a proper husband, you most definitely need a tutor.”

  “Marry? I don’t want to marry!” She never wanted to give her heart to another man to destroy again. Never mind that she was no longer innocent.

  “Don’t be silly,” he replied. “You are eighteen. You cannot possibly know what you want. You and your sister will return to England with me.”

  She clenched her teeth until her temples throbbed. When she released her jaw, she had to move it back and forth before speaking. “I don’t wish to return to England with you, and I’m sure my sister, Anne, will not, either.”

  When her grandfather stared past her, Jemma knew Anne surely must have been standing there. She turned to confirm it. Anne was in the doorway, white-faced and with eyes open wide.

  “Tell him, Anne,” Jemma insisted. “Tell him you don’t wish to go back to England any more than I do.”

  Anne’s lips parted, and her forehead creased with a deep frown. She said nothing, but the silence was louder than a piercing scream. Anne wanted to go. She didn’t trust that Jemma could take care of them. Jemma deflated. “Oh, Anne.”

  “I’m sorry!” she blurted.

  Grandfather simply nodded. “At least one of you is sensible.” He pointed at Jemma. “You need to come to your senses, as well. Whether you want to go to England or not, it’s the only help I’m offering you. Without it, you’ll be homeless. Is that what you want for your sister or yourself?”

  The years clearly had not made Grandfather any less cold or controlling than Mother had described him. But what choice did Jemma have? She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought. She needed time, which was something she had none of currently. If she went to England, she could buy herself some time and formulate a plan for how to afford to buy another bakery and take care of herself and Anne, if Anne wished it.

  “What will be required of me if I return to E
ngland with you?” Jemma was not quite ready to admit defeat to this man.

  “That’s simple. You shall do as I say or I vow you’ll meet the same fate your mother did.”

  Jemma inhaled sharply. He was threatening to disown her if she disobeyed him as Mother had dared to do. Whatever hope she had briefly held of his loving them disappeared. She despised him, and she’d just met him. “Do you care to give me some insight as to what requirements you might have of Anne and me?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “I’m pleased to do so,” he replied, motioning to Mrs. Young. “You will follow all Mrs. Young’s instructions, as will your sister. Mrs. Young will ensure you’re both proper ladies in six months’ time.” He paused and looked sideways at the tutor who nodded. “At the end of the six months, as the eldest, you will marry. I took the liberty of setting up a suitor for you.”

  You’ve done what? she wanted to shout. She clenched her teeth once again, until she felt she could speak without screaming. “How very kind of you.” Now was not the moment to defy him with nothing to her name. That would come when she had saved enough money to go off on her own. But how did one save money when one didn’t earn any?

  “Think nothing of it,” he said and actually smiled. “Lord Glenmore is my neighbor’s son and heir. He will be a fine match for you.”

  She felt her nostrils flare. It was just as Mother had said. Grandfather had cared more about a man having wealth and a title than Mother having love, and now he was trying to do the same thing to Jemma. Would he disown her if she told him now that she wasn’t an innocent so his plans to marry her off were futile? Her head throbbed with uncertainty. She couldn’t chance how he might react when she had no one else to turn to and nowhere else to go.

  “All you have to do is learn to be a proper English lady, and I feel positive Lord Glenmore will be pleased to take you as his wife. He’s already agreed to court you. Six months should be plenty of time to learn the rules of etiquette so you’ll not do anything to drive Lord Glenmore away.”

  Drive Lord Glenmore away! The words reverberated through her head, and a plan was born.

  Chapter One

  Six Months Later

  The Year of Our Lord 1821 London, England

  “Jemma, you simply must stop this!” Anne hissed in Jemma’s ear, as she thrust the pink-and-green bonnet at her once again. Jemma eyed the hideous bonnet but didn’t move to take it. Instead, she stopped walking, turned her face up to the brilliant sun, and inhaled a long, hearty breath of the freesia swirling in the air from the blooming gardens of Hyde Park.

  “Are my cheeks pink yet?” she asked her sister.

  “Yes!” Anne hissed once more, stomping her foot on the pebbled path that twined around the Serpentine. Her slipper crunched against the stone. “Please put on your bonnet. Mrs. Young will be beside herself.”

  A little smile tugged at Jemma’s lips. It was unfashionable, unladylike, and unheard of to have sun-kissed cheeks. It would be the perfect start to the grand performance she planned to execute today of a young American who simply couldn’t master Society’s endlessly pointless rules.

  “Serves the wretched woman right.” Jemma eyed Anne. “I’m heartily tired of hearing how dreadfully red and entirely too curly my hair is. Now she can focus on my skin instead,” Jemma ended, half-serious.

  “Your hair is lovely,” Anne replied in her typical sweet, soothing voice that warmed Jemma’s heart. Or it had until Anne ruined the moment by frowning at her. Anne shook her head. “I know that you know Mrs. Young would quit browbeating you about your hair if you would simply wear it up as she’s told us time and again is proper.”

  “Proper schmoper,” Jemma sang and glanced out at the sleek, shining river. “You know very well my goal.”

  “Oh yes, I know your ludicrous plan well.” Anne paused and nodded to Lady Violet and Lady Rand, who smiled widely at Anne and then eyed Jemma with barely veiled disapproval. Jemma smiled sweetly and took delight in performing one of her perfectly improper curtsies. The women’s faces became mirrored expressions of disdain as they scampered down the path away from the twins.

  Jemma snorted merrily. If she was going to have to pretend to be too senseless to master etiquette, at least she could have fun doing it. And hopefully, she would gain a reprieve from the charade soon. Surely Grandfather would see she was not fit to make her debut; therefore, naturally, she could not possibly be ready to catch the eye and the hand of Lord Glenmore.

  Anne huffed. “I don’t suppose you will change your course?”

  Jemma shook her head.

  “But you don’t even know Lord Glenmore,” Anne said for the hundredth time.

  It was Jemma’s turn to let out a hearty sigh. “I’ve told you, it’s not him. Though I suppose it could be.” She’d not even met the man, after all. Apparently, it was de rigueur here in London—and among the grossly wealthy—for men to take Grand Tours, and since Lord Glenmore was grossly wealthy, he was, of course, on his Grand Tour.

  Better for Jemma, too. She had enough to juggle trying to remember to act senseless at every given moment she was in the public eye so Grandfather would deem her unworthy of debuting. She needed that to occur. Now that she was nineteen, she had two more years until she turned one and twenty, and then it would be legal for her, as an unmarried woman, to own property. Two years to save her pin money toward that goal was not very long, considering how expensive things were. She felt a little stab of guilt for planning to thwart her grandfather’s wishes with the pin money he was giving her, but she promptly squelched the remorse. Grandfather had left her no choice. And attaining her goal would become much harder if it came to pass that Lord Glenmore asked for her hand and Grandfather disowned her after she either refused Lord Glenmore or admitted her lack of innocence to her grandfather. She didn’t see the taciturn man forgiving either thing. And if she had to move out—

  “You’re woolgathering again,” Anne said, poking Jemma.

  Jemma blinked. “I’m not. I’m thinking on my plan to lease a bakery in two years and all that could possibly go wrong.”

  Anne quirked her mouth. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind about the bakery, Lord Glenmore, and marriage once you meet the man.”

  “I won’t,” Jemma stated firmly. “I do not wish to give my heart to any other man again. Ever.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Anne said, her tone a touch peevish.

  “You’re right,” Jemma said. “You don’t totally understand.” And she never would. Jemma was far too ashamed to admit she’d stupidly given her innocence to Will, nor did she care to linger on the consequences of that decision. But it was even more than that. It wasn’t just Will that made her never want to give her heart again, though he was certainly the biggest reason. It was Grandfather’s treatment of Mother and now of Jemma herself. It was Father abandoning them. Men were wretched creatures and not to be trusted.

  If only Anne would come to her senses, see the truth in the blaring light, forget wanting a husband and focus instead on the bakery, as Jemma was doing. Jemma stared at her twin, her opposite. They couldn’t be more different, yet she loved Anne with her whole heart.

  “I love you, Anne.”

  “Your sweet declarations will get you everywhere,” she said with a snort. “And I daresay you know it. I suppose you didn’t drag me to this park to walk this morning for no purpose.”

  Jemma grinned. “I suppose I didn’t.”

  “Well, let’s hear it,” Anne said. “What do you have planned for today on this, our final day of etiquette training?”

  Both girls laughed at that, though Jemma quickly grew serious. Tomorrow marked six months that they had been in England, which would mean Grandfather would decide if they were ready to debut. This was it. This was her very last day to show him she wasn’t and that meant this needed to be her most outrageous breach of etiquette yet. “Do you remember last night at the dinner party when Lord Harthorne challenged the Duke of Scarsdale to live up to his
boast that he was the best horseman?”

  “How could I not? Sophia was livid that her husband agreed to race in the park today!”

  “She was only livid when he refused to relent and allow her to race alongside him. Which, come to think of it, illustrates one of my points as to why marrying is a ludicrous idea. You give control of your life to a man when you give him your hand.”

  Anne pursed her lips. “To be fair to His Grace, Sophia is with child. I hardly think racing is a sound idea.”

  “It should still be her decision whether she races or not,” Jemma argued. “But I digress and time is short.” Up ahead where two large oak trees met, she could clearly see the Duke of Scarsdale and Lord Harthorne on their horses. Sophia and a gathered group were standing in front of the men.

  Jemma took a deep breath. “I’m going to race against Lord Harthorne and His Grace!”

  Anne’s jaw dropped open. “Jemma, you cannot! They’d never let you, anyway.”

  Jemma frowned at Anne. “I can and they will. Oh, they may protest, but I’m going to challenge them. Their pride will be at stake, and I’d bet the pin money I have saved that neither gentleman will cry off. In fact, I shall wager with them! That will be perfect! I’ll gain money to add to my bakery fund and cause a scandal with the same act!”

  Anne rolled her eyes. “I vow I’m the only sister alive who would not pitch a fit at such antics. Your rebellion could very well ruin my chances of making a good match.”

  Jemma sobered instantly. She honestly hadn’t thought of that. She’d been so focused on how to get what she wanted that she’d not considered the consequences to her sister. “If you want me to think of something else I will.”

  Anne patted Jemma’s hand. “No. There is no other way, though I’m loath to admit it. Grandfather does not appear to be the sort who will bend in his wishes for you or me. He wants us both married.”

  “To rich lords,” Jemma added.