Miss Anne opened her mouth, but Jemma cut her off. “We are, and I thank you. And Mr. Frazier, I may be a woman, but if you approach my sister improperly again, Lord Harthorne will not be the only one to demand your presence on the field of honor.” She had drawn her petite form up and tilted her chin in a defiant manner.
Philip felt his jaw drop open. He’d never encountered a woman as bold as the fiery thing before him. Jemma truly was utterly fascinating.
Frazier inclined his head. “Understood, lassie.”
Philip grabbed Frazier by his lapels. “Miss Adair. She is Miss Adair to you. Do not use such familiar terms with her.”
Frazier jerked away. “Ah meant no harm. But Ah ken ye. Good-bye for now, Anne,” Frazier said before turning away.
Philip noted how Jemma’s hand went immediately to her sister’s arm and gripped her. He suspected it had been to keep her in her spot.
“Good-bye, Ian,” Anne said in a hushed, enamored tone that made the sisters’ chaperone cry out and Jemma flinch.
Philip cursed inwardly. It was abundantly clear that Miss Anne had fallen hard for Frazier. They stood in silence for a moment, Jemma gazing at her sister with such worry that Philip’s gut twisted.
Mrs. Featherstone wrung her hands and muttered. Finally, she pressed her hands to her cheeks, then grabbed Miss Anne and pulled her close. Mrs. Featherstone glanced askance at him. “This is not what it appears, Lord Harthorne.”
“It appears to me,” he said in the most soothing tone he could muster, “that what we have here is a case of two people who wanted to gaze at the stars and simply failed to consider the consequences. No harm at all. I’ve already forgotten I saw the two of them together.”
The woman looked as if she was about to burst into grateful tears. “You are a true gentleman, Lord Harthorne.” She started up the path with Miss Anne close at her side.
Philip stood there a moment, very uncomfortable with her obvious gratitude, especially in light of his decision to marry for money. He suspected she’d not think him such a gentleman if she knew that, regardless of the fact that it was to save his mother and cousin. It was also to save his honor, but devil take it, didn’t the action itself make him lose a bit of the honor he was trying to preserve? He shoved the doubt away. His mother and cousin came first, above all else.
Suddenly, he was very aware of Jemma’s heat encroaching on him. He turned his head and found her studying him once again, as if he were the most exceptionally odd thing she’d ever seen. “I just don’t know,” she murmured and shook her head.
He frowned. “What is it you just don’t know?” he asked, falling into step beside her as she started up the path behind her chaperone.
“Never mind,” she replied, her gaze downward.
They walked up the path in silence until they were at the steps to the terrace, and then Jemma turned toward him. “I cannot express how grateful I am to you.”
“No need,” he said, meaning it. “I am glad I was there to help.”
She nodded, her eyes going suddenly wide, as if she was surprised by something. “I am glad you were there, too. Will you escort us to my grandfather? I’ll claim a megrim so we can depart immediately, and I daresay escorting two debutantes into a ballroom can only be a boon to a man wanting to cultivate a rakish reputation.”
“I daresay you’re right.” Not that he gave a damn about his rakish reputation at the moment. He didn’t. He should. He most definitely should. But he couldn’t muster the appropriate feelings. All he felt was bewildered that he should care so very much that she was glad he had been there.
The feeling lingered as he handed her over to her grandfather and even half an hour later, as he was speaking to Lady Margaret, one of the eligible debutantes on his list. He asked Lady Margaret to dance, as he should, as he needed to, but while he was twirling her around the floor, he couldn’t help but recall the feeling of Jemma in his arms, and he realized with dismay that though Lady Margaret obviously danced with the controlled expertise of a lady who had years of lessons, he much preferred the exuberant way Jemma had danced, the way she seemed to do everything.
Still, that was no reason to discount someone as a bride. When the music ended, he asked Lady Margaret if she would like a refreshment. After getting her a glass of lemonade, they stood to the side of the dance floor and faced each other.
Lady Margaret took a slow sip of her drink, then lowered it. “Might I ask you a direct question, Lord Harthorne?”
Hellfire. He must have the look of a fortune hunter. He would tell her the truth, but he suddenly felt as big as an ant, and about as significant. He nodded.
“What is your given name?”
He exhaled a relieved breath that made him feel even smaller than an ant at being so relieved not to have to speak the truth of his situation quite yet. “Philip.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh. Oh dear. That won’t do.”
He frowned. “It won’t?”
She shook her head. “I was betrothed to a man named Philip, and he died. If you were to court me, I would forever think of him when looking at you. I am sorry.”
“No, that’s quite all right,” he rushed out, oddly relieved again.
She thrust her punch glass at him. “Good evening to you.”
He took the glass, and she immediately departed. As he stared into the crowd in the direction that he’d last seen Jemma, Sophia appeared at his side and gave him a questioning look. “So will you be calling on Lady Margaret tomorrow?” she asked in a low tone.
“No. Did you know she was betrothed previously to a man who had died?”
Sophia’s lips parted in surprise. “Er, no.”
Philip glanced down at Sophia. “His name was Philip, and Lady Margaret could not possibly let me court her because my name would remind her forever of him.”
Sophia burst out laughing, and Philip frowned. “I don’t think it’s very funny,” he grumbled. “That’s a rather odd reaction.”
She pressed her lips together. “Er, yes. Sorry. I laugh when I’m nervous sometimes. Are you terribly disappointed?”
He shook his head as he glanced once more in the direction that he’d last seen Jemma. He should be disappointed about Lady Margaret, but he wasn’t. He scowled into the half-empty glass of lemonade, confused by his inappropriate reaction.
Chapter Five
Jemma lay in her bed, biting down hard on her lip as she watched her sister hobble from her dressing table over to her own bed and awkwardly climb in. Jemma needed to find the exact right words to say to Anne regarding Mr. Frazier. Three times already she’d tried to bring up the matter of her, Mrs. Featherstone, and Philip discovering Anne and Mr. Frazier coming up the garden steps with their hands entwined as lovers’ would be, but Anne had cut her off each time and refused to speak of it. But speak of it they must.
Anne tugged on her covers, settled into bed, and gave Jemma her back.
Jemma cleared her throat. “Was Mr. Frazier’s kiss wonderful?” She held her breath and prayed that Anne would say she had not kissed Mr. Frazier. Yet, if she had, hopefully Jemma showing an interest would make Anne finally open up.
“Oh, Jemma!” Anne breathed before turning to face her.
Jemma’s stomach flipped. Well, now that she had confirmed the worst, she would proceed with caution, knowing just how much Anne’s heart must be engaged. The question was, when had it become engaged? Tonight? Some other night when Jemma had not paid enough attention? She felt a tad bit guilty for deceiving Anne, but she was trying to save her sister, after all.
Anne’s face shone with happiness. “I know I shouldn’t have gone with him to the gardens, but I simply couldn’t help myself,” she whispered.
Jemma nearly groaned aloud. She had thought something very similar after giving her innocence to Will, which Anne didn’t even know about because Jemma had been too ashamed to tell her thus far. She clenched her teeth and nodded. “I do understand, Anne, but dearest—”
Anne bolte
d up in bed. “You could not possibly comprehend how special he makes me feel,” she said, fixing a glare on Jemma.
Jemma drew in a sharp breath. Anne was never cross, but she was most certainly angry now. “I think I can,” Jemma said carefully.
“No, you cannot. All my life I have gone unnoticed, first by boys and then by men, except for grimaces when I limp, followed by looks of pity. You…you get admiring glances everywhere we go, so there is no way you can understand how I feel!” Anne smacked a hand against the covers. “Do you know how I have longed for a man, just one, to see me and not my limp?”
“No,” Jemma choked out. Hollowness filled her stomach. How utterly selfish she had been to not see Anne’s pain, to not know how deep it ran and reach out to help.
“I have dreamed of it every night for years, and now my dream is coming true. When Ian looks at me—”
“When did he become Ian?” Jemma gasped, recalling Anne had used his first name in the garden, as well. “When did this all start?”
Anne smiled a secret smile that Jemma wanted to groan at but did not. “Months ago,” Anne admitted. “At the garden party we attended after Grandfather’s ball. Ian was in my group for the scavenger hunt. When everyone else raced ahead to find the things on our list, he stayed behind with me. He is such a gentleman.”
“That word is a lie,” Jemma grumbled, though her mind went immediately to Philip. After all he’d done tonight, she couldn’t help but think that perhaps, maybe just possibly perhaps, Philip really was a gentleman. She was so confused.
Anne shook her head. “It’s not, and you are beginning to realize it.” Anne smirked at her. “I saw the way you looked at Lord Harthorne.”
Jemma frowned. “I looked at him with nothing but gratitude for helping me find you and offering his silence about how we found you. That does not mean I trust him.” Did it? Her thoughts tumbled around in her head. She rubbed at her temples. “Anyway, we are not discussing me. We are discussing you.”
Anne nodded. “For now. I don’t want you to be angry. I want you to be happy for me. Say you will be happy for me,” Anne pleaded.
“I don’t even know what I’m to be happy for!” Jemma exclaimed, her voice raising a notch. “Am I to be happy that the rake squired you away to the gardens and kissed you?”
“Yes,” Anne said in a bubbly voice. “He is the first man to ever look at me with desire and not pity. My heart feels full, as if it might burst! Better to have a brush with love than never to have been loved at all.”
“Oh, Anne!” Jemma cried out. She had to tell her sister of her shame so Anne would not foolishly make the same mistake. Heat burned Jemma’s cheeks, neck, and chest, but she swallowed and spoke. “I thought that same thing until I gave my heart and innocence to Will and then he married another. I don’t want you to be hurt as I was.”
A hiss of breath filled the air, followed by Anne jumping out of her bed, rushing to Jemma, and throwing her arms around her sister. “Oh, darling! You poor thing.” Anne plopped onto the bed beside Jemma and brushed back the hair hanging along the sides of Jemma’s face. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why didn’t you say something? Did Mother know?”
Jemma shook her head, suddenly too choked up to speak. “Mother died the day I learned Will was marrying another, and I was too ashamed to admit how stupid I’d been to you.” The bitter sting of loss for Mother and for Will swelled inside her, and the need for someone to appreciate how great her loss, her mistake, pushed tears to the surface. They flowed fast and free. She couldn’t stop them.
Anne held her in her arms as the tears racked Jemma’s body, and all the while, her sister smoothed her hair and whispered calming words in her ear. Jemma had no clue how long she’d been crying, but when she was done, her nose was stuffy, her eyes swollen, her head pounding, and her body so very tired. Yet, oddly, she felt as if a weight, the burden of carrying the secret of her lost innocence, had been lifted.
Jemma laid her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Even if I wanted to marry, I couldn’t. Who would have me? Who would want me?” The heavy, tear-soaked words shocked her as she heard herself admit them.
Anne pulled back and grabbed Jemma by her arms. “A man who loves you will want you despite your lost innocence. He won’t care. Just as Ian doesn’t seem to care about my limp.”
Jemma blinked away the blurriness her tears had caused. “For a woman who has hardly spent any time with this man you seem awfully certain of your heart.”
Anne averted her gaze for a moment, and Jemma knew, she just knew without Anne saying a word, that her sister had been secretly meeting Mr. Frazier. She had not just seen him here and there at parties as Jemma had originally assumed Anne had been doing for the last several months.
Jemma swallowed hard. “Where have you been meeting him?”
Anne whipped her gaze up to meet her sister’s. “How did you know?”
“You said you had a secret, remember? I’m assuming this is it. So where? It cannot be too far. I would have noticed your absence.”
Anne shifted. “The chapel Grandfather never uses.”
Jemma gritted her teeth against allowing the anger she felt at Mr. Frazier to come out in her tone. If it did, Anne would immediately become defensive. “Anne, if you continue this and get caught, you will be ruined. And what then? What if he does not ask you to marry him? If he loves you, he would be courting you properly, not behaving so scandalously.”
“He does love me,” Anne said, her tone mutinous. “He said so last night. We’re going to have a splendid life. You’ll see.”
Jemma’s pulse beat furiously behind her eyes, making her head ache. “If he loves you, he will ask Grandfather for your hand, and he will quit asking you to meet him alone. Please, Anne, for me, because I’m a silly worrier, don’t meet him at the garden or the chapel or anywhere alone again—” Jemma held up her hand when Anne opened her mouth, no doubt to protest. “Hear me out,” Jemma begged. “Don’t meet him there at least until a betrothal is set. Please?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I promise.” Anne patted Jemma’s hand, got up, and crawled back into her own bed. She pulled up her coverlet, lay on her side facing Jemma, and shut her eyes. “You’ll see. Ian said he’ll ask Grandfather for my hand this week.”
Jemma bit down on her lip. There was no way Grandfather would approve of Mr. Frazier. All he cared about was that she and Anne marry rich, titled lords of his choosing. Mr. Frazier was rich—though Sophia was convinced the man was a social climber after more money—but he was certainly no lord, and he definitely had not been chosen by Grandfather. Grandfather would hate that.
Jemma’s stomach ached with worry. She was facing a terrible dilemma. If Sophia was right, it was possible that Mr. Frazier was only pursuing Anne because he assumed she would be getting a large dowry as the granddaughter of a duke.
“Anne,” she said hesitantly. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her twin, but if she didn’t voice her concern and later found it was valid and Anne was irreparably ruined, Jemma would never forgive herself.
“Hmm?” Anne said, fluttering her eyes back open.
“What if Mr. Frazier expects Grandfather to dower you and that is why he is sniffing around?”
The most horrid, heartrending, wounded look crossed Anne’s face, then twisted into a pained smile. “Is it so hard to believe any man would want me for me?”
Anne’s voice throbbed with so much sadness and hurt that Jemma wished she could take back the words, no matter what came to be. She shook her head and swallowed the enormous lump in her throat. “No, dearest. No. I’m just being overprotective. I’m sure he will ask for your hand this week, just as you’ve said.”
Anne smiled. “Thank you. I need your support.”
Jemma nodded, her heart thumping. Anne also needed her protection, but she dare not say that. Anne closed her eyes and murmured, “Now, let’s get some sleep. I want to look my best for the theatre tomorrow night. Ian will be there, and I told hi
m to stop by Grandfather’s box to see me. I overheard Grandfather tell Mrs. Featherstone he’ll not be attending tomorrow night, so it should be easy enough for Ian to sit with us in the box.”
Before too long, Anne’s noisy snoring filled the room. Jemma lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. She couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. But what could she do? She had precious few options. If she enlisted Amelia or Sophia to help that would be two more people privy to Anne’s disgrace, if it came to that. No, that would not do at all. She adored her friends and she trusted them, but from her own personal experience with disgrace, she was heartily glad no one had known at the time. That would have made it unbearable.
She needed someone to learn of Mr. Frazier’s true intentions without him suspecting a thing. And her best hope of accomplishing that was a man. The only man she knew who could possibly help her, if he agreed to do so, was Philip. He already knew a great deal of what was occurring, and he likely assumed more. Jemma nodded to herself. But where could they meet without looking suspicious themselves? Or perhaps being seen with her would be good for Philip, help foster his reputation as a rake. Yet, what if Lord Glenmore got word and his thinking Philip was interested in her made Lord Glenmore want to pursue her more?
She sighed. She couldn’t worry about Lord Glenmore at this moment. Anne came first.
But Jemma did need to worry about Grandfather. She had to continue her routine so he wouldn’t become suspicious. She took a stroll in Hyde Park every day. She’d ask Philip to meet her there. She could give him his first lesson on becoming a rake while asking for his assistance with Mr. Frazier. Yes, first thing in the morning, she would send Philip a note requesting he meet her there.
Chapter Six
The next day, Jemma sat on a bench in the bright sun as a surprisingly cool breeze wafted through the air. She stared out at the Serpentine, hoping Philip would come. She’d sent the note in plenty of time, but maybe he had plans for the day. Mrs. Featherstone dozed beside her, having nodded off a good half hour ago while reading. Her book lay half-open in her lap, and a line of drool ran down her cheek. For herself, Jemma could not have handpicked a more perfect chaperone, but for Anne, Jemma heartily wished Mrs. Featherstone was more attentive.
It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels Page 89
