The Penniless Bride

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘You will have to help me undress,’ Jemima said, avoiding his eyes. ‘Everyone thinks that I am sick and I cannot call my maid or I will give the game away.’

  Rob groaned and she added hastily, ‘You need only unfasten the buttons for me. I cannot reach them myself, but I can manage the rest.’

  ‘Turn around, then,’ Rob said.

  Jemima looked at him. She raised her chin. ‘I am not trying to seduce you, you know,’ she said. ‘I have not forgotten your grandmother’s will.’

  Rob groaned again. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I can assure you that I am within an ace of forgetting it.’

  Jemima’s face warmed. He turned her around. His fingers were busy on the buttons that fastened the back of her gown. Jemima’s heart was beating very hard now and all she seemed aware of was the heat and the beat in her blood. She felt the bodice of the gown loosen and slip away as the dress fell to puddle about her feet.

  ‘No stays,’ Rob murmured. ‘That’s a blessing.’ He bent to kiss the side of her neck, then trailed little kisses across her bare back above the neckline of her chemise, leaving Jemima’s spine tingling. She turned around, crossing her arms firmly over her breasts.

  ‘I can manage for myself now, thank you,’ she said.

  Rob did not reply. He calmly leaned across and blew out the candle, then scooped her up and placed her on the bed. Jemima could not see him, but every one of her senses was heightened, devastatingly aware of him. She could feel him beside her in the dark; feel his warmth and the brush of his body against hers. His voice came very softly out of the darkness.

  ‘How much do you trust me, Jemima?’

  Jemima cleared her throat. ‘Ah…um…totally, Robert.’

  ‘You have had your doubts before.’

  Jemima took a deep breath and let go of her fears. ‘I know that you would never hurt me.’

  ‘And do you still think that love is a trap?’

  Jemima squeezed her eyes tight shut. ‘Not precisely…I think that physical love is…can be…rather pleasant…’

  She heard him laugh. ‘That’s my Jemima. Still holding something back…’ He shifted beside her. ‘Will you entrust yourself to me tonight?’

  Jemima’s breath caught. Her heart bumped painfully against her ribs. ‘Rob, the terms of the will—’

  ‘I know. But there are other ways…’

  She felt him draw the chemise away from her. There was nothing but her stockings left now and Rob had discovered that too, running his hand up her leg to the soft skin above her garter. His fingers stroked and cajoled, tempting her beyond endurance. His mouth covered hers, hard and urgent.

  Jemima was slow burning for him now as his hands and mouth moved over her body with a leisurely thoroughness that awakened and learned and teased and tormented by turns. She was also achingly aware of his own self-control and the fact that he was still fully dressed whilst she was almost naked. In some ways it added to the excitement and in others it was desperately frustrating as her hands met with layers of material when she wanted nothing between them. She struggled and groaned with disappointment until he trapped her marauding hands between their bodies and returned to her mouth to kiss her fiercely, stealing her last remaining breath. And when she freed her hands again in a ruthless attempt to part him from his clothes, Rob simply laughed and lowered his mouth to her breasts, kissing and caressing until Jemima lay exhausted and supine with longing.

  ‘Do you still trust me?’ he asked.

  Jemima turned her head on the pillow. ‘Oh, yes…I can see that trusting you is a very…pleasurable experience…’

  Rob kissed her again, long and slow, sliding his hand up her thigh, parting her legs to caress and tease until she squirmed. He smothered her cries with his mouth on hers.

  ‘Since I cannot make love to you fully tonight,’ he whispered, ‘there are other things that I would like to do instead. May I?’

  There was a long, hot silence. Jemima’s whole body was clenched so tightly she was afraid that she might burst. Rob’s fingers had already resumed their slow torment and she felt her body move instinctively at his command. Her dazed mind was not even sure that it understood what he had truly meant, but when she breathed her assent she soon found out. Rob slid down the bed and she felt the soft caress of his hair as it brushed her bare stomach. She had already tensed in anticipation of some undreamed-of pleasure when his tongue took the place of his fingers, and Jemima felt as though her body had fragmented into a million tiny, blissful pieces.

  In the end the rapture was so exquisite that she had to bite the pillow to prevent herself from crying out and rousing the whole house, and when she discovered that Rob was not intending to let it rest with that first dazzling explosion of pleasure, she abandoned herself to pure sensation for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Jemima? Wake up, sweetheart…’

  The morning sunlight was patterning squares of light across the floor and Jemima blinked and stretched. She felt warm and heavy and utterly blissful. She was lying in Rob’s arms and he was…naked, she realised. As she stirred, he moved a little away from her and she immediately felt bereft.

  Rob’s breath tickled her ear. ‘I have to leave you now, before the servants arrive. How are you, sweetheart?’

  ‘Happy,’ Jemima murmured.

  She opened her eyes properly and turned within his arms.

  At some point within that heated night she had imagined that she would never be able to face Rob again in the daylight. He had taken her body for his own and evoked the most exquisite response from her and had her trembling with a shameless desire. Yet now he was smiling at her with such tenderness that she felt her embarrassment melt away.

  Then she frowned. ‘Rob…It was lovely for me, but you—’

  Rob grinned. ‘I have never enjoyed a night more, Jemima.’

  Jemima blushed. ‘No, but…’

  ‘Pray do not worry, sweetheart. I am sure that we may redress the balance soon.’

  ‘I needed to talk to you,’ Jemima murmured, ‘but somehow it did not happen.’

  Rob eased himself out of bed and started to dress in slightly haphazard fashion. ‘You know that I am to go out shooting with Ferdie and Bertie this morning? I shall be back as soon as I can and then we must talk. I promise to go with you to see your brother this afternoon if you wish me to.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jemima murmured. All her fears seemed so far from this sunlit room and yet they were out there, waiting to pounce. Rob still had no notion that Jack thought Ferdie had been involved in Naylor’s death. When she told him…She turned aside from the thought, not wanting it to spoil the sunlit morning.

  She caught Rob’s sleeve as he bent to kiss her. ‘Rob…I meant what I said. Last night was wonderful but it was…’ she wrinkled her brow ‘…unfinished, somehow, and I am not sure that I can stand much more of this.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ Rob said. He sighed, and then his brow cleared. ‘I did enjoy you, though.’

  ‘Rob!’ Jemima squeaked, as his hands delved beneath the sheets. She stilled. ‘You have forgiven me, then,’ she said.

  ‘You trusted me,’ Rob said. He kissed her lingeringly. ‘I will see you later, sweet.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Jemima called, suddenly anxious, and saw Rob grin in response.

  After Rob had gone out she lay still. The dreaminess induced by the previous night was on her still and she did not feel like getting up. She lay and looked at the sunlight stippling the ceiling. Was this love, then, this happy languor? Or had she fallen into precisely the trap that she had seen capture so many before her: the confusing of intense physical attraction with love?

  She could hear Rob’s voice next door as he chatted to his valet and just the sound of it made her smile. So perhaps…

  There was a knock at the door and Ella came in with the hot chocolate. Her gaze went from Jemima’s clothes, scattered across the floor, to her mistress’s bare shoulders as she sat curled up
dreamily in the bed. Ella giggled.

  ‘I see that you were feeling better last night, my lady.’

  Jemima smiled too. ‘I was, thank you, Ella.’

  The maid started to tidy the room.

  There was a knock at the door. Jemima hastily reached for her dressing-robe to cover her nakedness.

  ‘May I come in?’ Letty was in the doorway. She had a box in her hand and she put it down on a side table. ‘I do apologise for bursting in like this, Jemima, but Grandmama is talking about returning to Swan Park this afternoon and I wanted to make sure that you were quite well. After our ordeal yesterday and your sickness last night, I mean…’

  ‘Of course.’ Jemima gestured to her to come into the room. ‘Ella, would you come back in a little, please? I think I shall take my morning chocolate with Miss Exton.’

  ‘Thank you for sending her away,’ Letty said artlessly, when the maid had closed the door behind her. ‘I wanted to talk to you, dearest Jemima, and I was afraid that someone would overhear…’

  ‘Of course,’ Jemima said, smiling a little. ‘What did you wish to discuss, Letty?’

  ‘Well…’ Letty blushed. ‘It was about what I said to the constable yesterday. You see, I never thought…And then you gave me such a look, and I realised that you did not wish me to mention it, and I wondered…’ She spread her hands helplessly. ‘Just what is going on, Jemima? I know that the highwayman is your brother—’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. No! That is, I am sure that Mr Jewell is not a highwayman, but I wondered if it was a disguise?’

  Jemima made a quick decision. Letty was a sad rattle, but she was sure that she could trust her.

  ‘Letty, you must not breathe a word.’

  Letty’s eyes had grown huge and blue. ‘Oh, no, indeed I won’t!’

  ‘And you mustn’t do anything about it.’

  Letty looked guilty. ‘Oh, no, of course not.’

  ‘Jack is in some trouble,’ Jemima continued, improvising lightly, ‘but I am sure that it will be resolved soon. I have told Rob and he will help put all to rights.’

  ‘You have told Rob about it?’ Letty looked nervous. ‘Was that wise? I mean, he might be stuffy about it and I observed that he did not like Jack—Mr Jewell—a great deal…’

  ‘When did you observe that?’ Jemima said curiously.

  ‘Oh, when we met you that time in Mr Churchward’s office, of course! Rob was all formal and Mr Jewell was all stiff and it was clear that they did not know what to make of each other.’

  Jemima raised her brows, wondering just how much more Letty had noticed.

  ‘You must not develop a tendre for Jack, Letty,’ she warned. ‘I know that he is most handsome, but you are a lady, my love, and I am sorry to say that Jack is no gentleman in the accepted sense. Our family is in trade and as such he is beneath you.’

  ‘Rob chose to marry you,’ Letty said mulishly.

  ‘I know.’ Jemima sighed. ‘And you know that that is different, Letty. A wife takes her husband’s place in the world, and besides, Rob married me as a matter of convenience.’

  Letty gave a giggle. ‘Fiddlesticks! Convenience, indeed. He is head over ears for you, Jemima, and you for him too. You should see your reflection this morning if you do not believe me! There!’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I am not such a lady, I suppose, to make reference to such things!’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Jemima said. She looked about the room. Half her clothes were still dropped carelessly on the floor as Ella had not had time to tidy them all away. The bedclothes were tangled and there was a dent in the pillow where Rob’s head had been. She caught sight of her reflection in the pier glass. Her hair was tousled about her shoulders and there was an indefinable something about her expression that morning, sated and happy and ever so slightly wicked. The signs were all there to read. She bit her lip.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said again.

  Letty patted her hand.

  ‘You should not worry about caring for Rob. Augusta and spiteful people may say that to feel or show affection is lower class, but that is only because no one could possibly love her! Why, Grandmama is aux anges to see such a love match, and when you provide an heir for Delaval—’ She broke off. ‘Oh, dear, I have gone a little too far this time, haven’t I?’

  ‘I am not enceinte,’ Jemima said hastily, ‘although I know that Lady Marguerite thinks me so.’

  ‘I expect you soon will be at this rate,’ Letty said. She pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I am so tactless. I always say exactly what comes in to my head. Grandmama is always thinking me indelicate!’

  ‘Well,’ Jemima said, trying not to laugh, ‘I confess that you do take my breath away sometimes, Letty. Perhaps we should change the subject now.’

  ‘Yes,’ Letty said. She gestured to the tin box on the table. ‘I found this in the library yesterday, but with all the excitement I forgot to give it to you. I looked inside, I am afraid. My deplorable curiosity! It seems to be a diary, but I swear I have not read it.’ She jumped up. ‘I must go and get ready to leave for Swan Park, I suppose. I will see you later, Jemima?’

  ‘Of course.’ Jemima smiled at her. She put out a hand and drew the tin box towards her. Since finding it up the chimney a few days ago she had completely forgotten about it. The lid came open easily enough, for Letty’s curious fingers had loosened the tar that had held it closed. Inside was a pile of paper, close written and crossed. With a tiny frown, Jemima lay back on her pillows and started to read.

  ‘This has to stop.’ Jack Jewell leaned his head back against the sun-warmed wood of the charcoal burner’s hut. The sun beat down on his face and he closed his eyes.

  ‘It will.’ Beside him, Letty Exton tilted the brim of her straw hat to enable her to rest her head next to his. Her stripy parasol shaded her face. The edge of its shadow just caught Jack and he smiled a little. It felt as though she was touching him. Even though his eyes were closed he could sense how close she was. He could smell her. Her scent was a mixture of roses and honeysuckle and it played havoc with his self-control. He shifted a little away.

  ‘We are to return to Swan Park today.’ Letty spoke softly. ‘It is my birthday ball in two days.’

  Jack opened his eyes and squinted against the sun. ‘Am I invited?’

  Letty smiled. ‘If you would like to attend, Mr Jewell, then you are most welcome.’

  She sounded like a Duchess. Jack wanted to kiss her. He turned his head slightly and saw that she was watching him with those glorious sky blue eyes.

  ‘I saw your daughter,’ she said. ‘I thought that I should tell you.’

  There was a silence. Jack held her gaze, black on blue. His heart was beating fast. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Does it make a difference?’ he asked.

  Letty did not answer immediately. Her face was grave in repose.

  ‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘Except that I wished that she was mine.’

  Jack closed his eyes. It was the closest thing that he had had to a declaration of love in six years. His heart ached.

  He opened his eyes again. Letty was still watching him, his pocket princess who seemed so sure that they should be together. Her certainty shook him. He wished that he had half her strength of character.

  ‘It should make a difference.’ He spoke roughly. ‘I’m not for the likes of you.’ He searched desperately for the most convincing reason, the biggest issue that could ever divide them. ‘I cannot even read or write.’

  ‘Do you want to?’ Letty asked.

  Jack almost laughed. His shoulders slumped against the wall. ‘Sometimes I do. I never cared when I was a child. Now I think it might be useful.’

  Letty wriggled closer. He felt her soft breath against his cheek and forced himself not to turn his head. It took every ounce of willpower that he had.

  ‘I have a bargain for you, Mr Jewell,’ she said. ‘I will teach you to read…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you teach me sweep’
s cant,’ Letty finished. She held out her hand. ‘Is it a deal?’

  Jack grinned. He put his hand into hers. ‘Done,’ he said.

  ‘I admit that it looks bad.’ Rob said later that evening, when everyone had departed for Swan Park and he and Jemima were alone. He put the sheets of paper down on his desk and turned to face Jemima. She was sitting on the window seat, her feet curled up beneath her, her expression serious. The tin box lay on the desk between them. ‘It is written in Ferdie’s handwriting and…’ Rob hesitated ‘…it does state that he was responsible for my grandfather’s death—’

  ‘It says that he shot him,’ Jemima said baldly. ‘Your grandfather did not accidentally shoot himself. It was Ferdie’s fault.’ She uncurled herself and slid off the seat.

  Rob tapped the diary. ‘I suppose it is a confession of sorts. He sounds deeply affected by the whole experience. A most terrible accident.’

  ‘I know,’ Jemima said. She too had been moved by the sad desperation of the writing and she had no doubts that it had been a dreadful accident, just as Rob had said. She frowned a little. ‘Why do you think that he wrote it down, Robert?’

  Rob shook his head. ‘Perhaps he could not bear to keep it bottled up. Sometimes it helps a little to write things down.’

  ‘And why hide it up the chimney?’ Jemima frowned. ‘It makes no sense.’

  Rob shook his head. ‘Only Ferdie could answer that, and I am not at all sure that we should raise this with him.’

  Jemima looked up sharply. ‘But it is a motive for murder,’ she said.

  Rob looked at her. ‘You mean Naylor?’

  ‘Of course. He was with Ferdie when your grandfather died. Both of them kept it a secret.’ Jemima made a gesture. ‘Naylor went away. And then he came back and Jack saw him arguing with Ferdie…And now he is dead.’

  ‘I cannot believe it,’ Rob said. His face was very pale and set in the candlelight. ‘Not Ferdie. He can be feckless and he is a libertine, but…’ He turned to look at Jemima and his expression softened slightly. ‘I am sorry, Jemima. It is not that I think Jack is lying.’ He grimaced. ‘I simply believe that there has to be some other explanation.’