by Ruth Axtell
“Yes.” The single word expressed his frustration at her dilemma. “But she has been courting disaster for some time now. She should have known better than to go outside alone with a gentleman.”
Captain Forrester took his time to respond. “I don’t know Miss Barry so I cannot judge her conduct. She and Miss Phillips both seem modest, chaste young ladies.”
“Miss Barry’s father is a vicar. She has been brought up in a small village vicarage her whole life.” Lancelot’s voice rose. “Since she arrived in London, she has behaved as if she had conveniently forgotten all she was taught.”
“Perhaps all the more reason she was fooled by someone like St. Leger.”
Lancelot made an impatient gesture. “Then why hasn’t Miss Phillips behaved in the same manner?” Without giving the captain a chance to respond, he shook his head in disgust. “Listen to me! I should be the one who speaks in a careful, reasoned way, not with anger and resentment. After all, I am the clergyman.”
Captain Forrester issued a low chuckle. “But my emotions are not involved. If it had been Miss Phillips . . .” He let the words hang in the air a second. “You would not have been able to pry my hands away from St. Leger’s neck before snuffing out his last breath.”
Megan hugged Jessamine tightly as soon as the door was shut behind them. Jessamine buried her head in Megan’s shoulder, the tears finally letting loose. She had had time to piece everything back together during the coach ride, and the horror of it all only grew.
She’d had to rein in her misery and desolation, too embarrassed and humiliated before Captain Forrester—a virtual stranger—and Mr. Marfleet, a man who had admired her to the point of being willing to offer for her. She shuddered, her sobs increasing at the thought of this godly man, whose honor and integrity reminded her of her father’s, having witnessed her degradation.
“There now,” Megan said in a soothing voice, her hand patting her back. “There now, you’re safe,” she continued murmuring as she nudged Jessamine away from the door.
Jessamine’s legs still felt rubbery, and without Megan’s help she didn’t think she would have made it up the stairs. Megan led her to her own room and shut the door.
“Come, let’s get you undressed and into bed. I brought up some milk which I’ve kept warm on the hob. It will help calm you.”
“D-does everyone know?” Her lips trembled so she could hardly speak.
“Only Céline. She went to bed because we didn’t . . .” Megan’s voice faltered. “We didn’t know when they would find you. Thank God they found you as quickly as they did. I have never been so thankful for anyone as I was for Mr. Marfleet this evening. If it hadn’t been for his concern . . .” She shuddered.
Jessamine sat on the edge of Megan’s bed, too lethargic to do anything, her heart sinking further at the words.
“I insisted Céline go to bed,” Megan continued, “because I knew Rees wouldn’t want her up so late, in her condition. But she wanted me to wake her the moment we heard anything.”
Jessamine shook her head. “Please don’t—”
Megan patted her hands, which lay limply on her lap. “No, I shan’t. Here, let’s get you out of your gown. Captain Forrester proved himself just as trustworthy and dependable, too, tonight, a true friend.”
As she spoke, she helped Jessamine off with her cloak. “Oh, good, you have everything . . . your shawl, your reticule. Let’s get your slippers off. Oh, you’re cold.” She rubbed her hands. “Come, stand by the fire. Your night rail is laid out on the chair here, nice and warm.”
Jessamine did as she was told like a child. A naughty one who knew how badly she’d behaved and now wished only for the earth to swallow her up so she’d never have to face anyone again. Why was Megan being so nice to her?
Finally, she was in bed, her face washed, her teeth cleaned. Megan climbed in on the other side and turned to her. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
At Megan’s sympathetic look and gentle tone, tears welled up in Jessamine’s eyes again. She bit her lip, looking away. She didn’t deserve such consideration.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything if you’d rather not.”
Jessamine shook her head. “It’s so awful.” Her voice came out a rough whisper.
Megan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. We should have been more attentive, more watchful. We saw you having a good time, dancing. We never imagined anyone could behave so vilely—not a gentleman of the ton.” She shuddered. “Céline blames herself,” Megan added after a moment. “She said she should have been more vigilant of you, knowing St. Leger has a bit of a rakish reputation.”
Jessamine’s eyes widened in shock. “Why didn’t she say anything?”
“It was only a little gossip and no worse than what is said of most of the young blades about town. She never dreamed he’d behave that way with a young lady. She said those gentlemen mostly confine their . . . their philandering to women . . . you know . . . of a certain class.” Megan’s cheeks reddened and she looked down, plucking at a corner of her pillow. “That is why they are able to behave with decorum with the young ladies they are considering for marriage.”
“Mr. Marfleet said he was not trustworthy.” If she had only heeded him before it was too late.
Megan’s sad gaze met hers. “Yes. Céline doesn’t approve of such behavior among the gentlemen of the ton, but said that is the way it is for the most part in London society—and Parisian, as she was quick to add. That’s why she was happy—and I was too—when Mr. Marfleet seemed to like you. He is not like that. His older brother is considered a bit fast, but there is no hint of gossip about Mr. Marfleet. If anything, he is teased about being a proper parson.”
Jessamine reddened, remembering the way Mr. St. Leger’s friends mocked Mr. Marfleet. “That’s what makes it worse,” she whispered. “Why did it have to be he to see me in such a shameful way?”
Megan put an arm around her. “Shh, you mustn’t fret. Thank God it was Mr. Marfleet, that he was so concerned about you. It might have been awhile longer before we noticed that you weren’t on the dance floor. I was too taken up with Captain Forrester . . .” Her voice slowed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be, please. It’s no one’s fault but my own. If I hadn’t been so flattered by Mr. St. Leger’s attention—if I had drunk lemonade instead of champagne, I would have tasted that something was wrong with my drink.”
Megan drew away and scanned her face. “How could someone do something so horrible?”
Jessamine shook her head. “As soon as I drank the champagne, I began to feel strange.”
She continued speaking, knowing she owed Megan an explanation, however little she wanted to recount the events. How she wished she could blot everything out. She still wasn’t feeling wholly normal.
Megan seemed to sense this because she didn’t ask any questions, and as soon as she told her how Mr. Marfleet had burst into the room, she patted her hand. “Thank God they came in time. Captain Forrester told me you appeared unharmed . . . and that nothing worse than . . . than inflicting his kisses . . .” She appeared too embarrassed to continue.
Jessamine nodded quickly and looked away. “Yes, that’s what they told me. I . . . I had only just come to.” She put a hand to her head. “Everything still seems strange. My head feels like a ball of wool.”
Megan moved away. “And here I am keeping you up. It’s best you sleep and don’t fret about anything tonight. Tomorrow we’ll sort things out with Céline. She’ll know what to do.”
“I wish she hadn’t been dragged into this,” Jessamine said with a moan.
“Don’t worry. Céline has been through so much herself, she will not judge you harshly.” She turned down the lamp, though dawn was already lightening the room.
Grogginess swallowed Jessamine up in sleep almost immediately, but sleep lasted only a few hours.
She awoke dreaming of dark, malignant creatures. St. Leger’s smiling face loomed over hers
once again, and she clawed at the air, fending him off.
She opened her eyes with a start and stared at the light seeping in from the heavy curtains.
Megan’s even breathing beside her checked her movements, and she fell back on her pillows, relieved that it had only been a dream. But the next moment everything came back to her, and despair and shame overwhelmed her.
Dear God, what have I done? How could I? Why? Dear Lord, why?
Tears filled her eyes, and she stifled the sobs that threatened to erupt. Megan deserved to sleep. She’d been up most of the night because of Jessamine’s folly.
Turning carefully in the bed to face away from Megan, Jessamine burrowed under her covers and continued praying. She asked the Lord’s forgiveness but felt no solace. She’d courted disaster and now she had to live with the consequences. Her father was a kind, gentle man, but he had brought her up to understand that fact. A person reaped what she sowed.
She had wanted to prove that she was attractive to men as handsome and charming as Mr. St. Leger—and all she’d proved was how vain and shallow a creature she was, her head turned by a handsome face and a few crumbs of attention.
Mr. St. Leger had never had any honorable intentions. She buried her head in her pillow, overcome with humiliation. She couldn’t imagine marrying such a despicable, debauched man as that. A man who hid his true character behind a lazy smile and witticisms. She shuddered at how easily she had been duped.
How different from a man of honor and character . . . like Mr. Marfleet, a man she’d disdained from the moment she’d met him but who had been nothing but attentive and gentlemanly. She thought of his anger the night before, how he’d fought Mr. St. Leger.
But then she remembered the look of pain and reproach when he’d met her eyes. She didn’t think she could ever face him again.
He had warned her about Mr. St. Leger, and she had willfully scorned him. Well, he’d been vindicated last night. Her face heated. Nothing could punish her more than the fact that he’d witnessed her degradation.
But she would have to face him, no matter how little either of them wished it. For of course, he would never want to be in her company again. He must be thanking the Lord that she had repudiated his near proposal. She stifled a sob in her pillow. She who’d scorned to marry a vicar was now not even worthy of receiving a proposal from a deacon!
Captain Forrester had said something to Megan about coming around today to see how she fared.
Would Mr. Marfleet accompany him? Would his sense of duty, his good manners, compel him? She couldn’t face him.
She couldn’t bring further shame to Céline and her household, nor taint Megan’s season with any association with her. No matter what they said to convince her that scandal could be averted, Jessamine knew it was a false hope. St. Leger might not talk, but his friends all knew.
She remembered their laughing and joking over supper and on other occasions. What had seemed like high spirits and innocent fun now took on lewd and sinister implications. What a fool she’d been—a green girl from the country.
She must leave. Today.
19
She must go home. Jessamine crept out of bed, the resolve forming and hardening in her mind. Though it was early, surely she could find a maid or footman to order a hackney for her.
She began to gather her few things and then changed into the simple morning gown she’d brought when she’d planned to stay the night with Megan.
When she closed the door softly behind her, her valise in her hand, she turned and halted at the sight of Céline outside her own door down the hall.
“You startled me,” she said, her hand at her chest.
Céline smiled and approached her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” A frown formed between her brows as she looked at the valise in her hands. “But what is this? I expected you to sleep till noon at least. You don’t mean to leave this minute, do you?”
Jessamine’s throat closed, and she could hardly get the words out. “I—I must.”
The next second Céline put an arm around her and led her away from Megan’s room. “Come to my sitting room. I shall ring for some tea or hot chocolate and you will tell me why you must leave. I’m sorry I was not up when you came, but I thank God, from all appearances, they brought you back safe and sound.”
The reminder of Mr. Marfleet and Captain Forrester brought the tears to her eyes again.
Céline drew apart from her and looked at her. “He didn’t harm you, did he?”
She shook her head. She knew she looked a fright, but it no longer mattered. “No, but . . . but I am ruined, all the same.”
Céline tightened her hold around her shoulders. “Nonsense. There is no ill that doesn’t appear a bit smaller and manageable after a cup of chocolate and a warm croissant. Thank goodness I woke when I did, since it looks like you were going to abscond without telling a soul, when this is the time when you most need your friends rallying around you.”
She brought Jessamine to her private sitting room, a cozy, feminine space, and led her to a comfortable armchair by the fire. “Now, you sit here, put that valise down. I shall ring for a maid to stir up the fire and bring us some breakfast.”
“You are too kind,” Jessamine said with a sniff. “I don’t deserve such consideration.”
“Of course you do.” Céline tugged on the bellpull. When she returned to her side, she squatted down, taking both of Jessamine’s hands in hers and chafing them. “Your hands feel like icicles. I know you feel terrible about yourself right now, but soon you will put things in a better perspective.”
Her golden-hued eyes stared up into Jessamine’s with a wealth of understanding. “Believe me, my dear, I know what it is to make mistakes and be filled with regrets and heartbreak and to think the world has come to an end as far as one’s part in it is concerned. But one thing I will insist you listen to me about.”
Jessamine’s heartbeat quickened, wondering what this older woman who was so beautiful would say to her. What did she know about heartbreak?
Céline drew in a breath, squeezing her hands, and looked at her steadily. “You are not to blame for St. Leger’s abominable and ungentlemanly conduct.”
As Jessamine began to shake her head, Céline held her hands tighter. “Do not reproach yourself. What he did was unpardonable. He deserves a thrashing for absconding with you. I still do not know what happened so you must tell me, although I know you probably wish to forget it all.”
“Please, ma’am, sit down. You shouldn’t be kneeling there.”
Céline smiled and rose from her position. At that moment, there was a soft knock and the maid popped her head in.
After the fire was burning brightly and Céline had given the order for hot refreshment, she sat back in the other armchair. “Now, tell me what happened last night.”
Jessamine drew in a breath and braced herself to once more recount the awful course of events as she remembered them. She kept her eyes on the burning sticks of wood in the grate, watching as the hunks of coal ignited.
When she had finished her short recital, Céline nodded. “It could have been much worse. Thank heaven Captain Forrester and Mr. Marfleet were able to locate you so quickly.” She tapped her forefinger to her lips, her gaze going to the flames. “I think you can plead indisposition for a few days and then reappear in society. I don’t think anyone will be the wiser. St. Leger and his few cronies won’t speak. They have a strange code of honor. It may be all right in their book to deflower a defenseless young woman, but they won’t brag to polite society about it. They know they would be ostracized.”
What about anyone else who might know? When Céline paused, Jessamine said, her voice low but resolute, “I thank you for your understanding—and for trying to help me make the best of things now—but I wish to return home.”
At that moment the maid returned and set the breakfast tray on a low table before Céline. After they’d been served and were alone again, Céline said, “Lady Beasi
nger will still be abed. Trust me, she won’t realize a thing has happened—”
“No, I mean I wish to return to Alston Green. Today, if at all possible.”
Céline’s fine eyebrows rose. She studied Jessamine several seconds. “Do you think that’s wise? A precipitous departure might raise gossip more than remaining out of society for a few days.”
Jessamine looked back at the fire. “Whether it is wise or not, I feel I must return home. Whatever my responsibility in this—” Her voice choked, and she had to pause a few seconds. “I cannot return to society. I cannot bear to see . . . see speculative glances. Someone will drop a careless word. Or perhaps someone noticed my leaving the ball with him.” She drew in a breath as another thought occurred to her. “Surely a servant saw us leave by the back . . .”
She shook her head, her resolution growing. “I must return.” She met Céline’s gaze once more, her own entreating. “If I could beg you for one more indulgence, I would ask your help in returning to Lady Beasinger now before . . . before anyone else is up. Captain Forrester said something to Megan last night when he brought me home . . . that he—they—would call today.” She brought a hand to her mouth. “I really can’t bear to see them.”
She could speak no further. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Oh, dear, don’t distress yourself.” Céline was at her side, caressing her bowed head. “Of course I shall help you if that is truly what you wish. I know the two gentlemen do not judge you. They are the ones who did their utmost to find you. Why, Mr. Marfleet wouldn’t rest until—”
Jessamine sniffed, wiping her nose with her handkerchief. “He looked at me with such shock—and hurt. I cannot subject him to any more.” She bowed her head into her hands, bursting into sobs again.
“There, there,” Céline soothed, drawing Jessamine to herself. “If he was shocked, it’s because he cares so much for you. I could see it in his eyes, in his manner last night when he grew so worried about you. Believe me, upon reflection, he will lay all the blame at Mr. St. Leger’s door, not yours, my dear.”
