To Bed the Baron (Girls Who Dare Book 9)

by Emma V. Leech

  He let go of her, as though he could not bear to touch her for a moment longer. He strode up and down the corridor, looking like a man on the edge of sanity as he clutched at his hair before turning back to his wife in fury.

  “Rothborn was fighting for his own life as the army retreated, and you think him responsible for the fact your brother disobeyed a direct order to halt? I know what Rothborn told you, and I know what other men have told me. The man tried to protect you from the truth, but I shan’t. Barnaby put himself and others at risk from his actions. It was a wonder he was the only one to die. Christ, if Rothborn had been there, he’d have been killed too, trying to stop the fool from playing the hero. There was nothing anyone could have done. You will write to Rothborn at once and tell him you beg his forgiveness. You will confess that you were unfaithful, and you can tell him I’ll meet him anywhere at any time if he wishes for satisfaction. God knows I’d welcome a bullet to my brain if it meant I could be rid of you.”

  Lady Kline glared back at him. “I wish he would kill you. It would almost make it worthwhile to be free of you, but I won’t do it! He still loves me, and I won’t have you spoiling that. I should have married him. I wish I had! He was always the better man.”

  “Oh, but wife, you will do as I say this once.”

  Jemima and Violet stood staring in disbelief as this melodrama unfolded before them. If there was one thing Jemima was heartily glad of, it was that Solo had never married this woman. For all that he had suffered, a lifetime with a wife like this would have been far, far worse.

  Violet tugged at her hand and Jemima nodded, edging towards the door. The butler had decided to play least in sight, which Jemima did not blame him for at all. She doubted he was paid well enough to endure such scenes. Husband and wife were still screaming at each other, but Lady Kline turned just as Jemima got her hand on the doorknob.

  “How dare you come here, stirring up trouble? I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re his whore, Miss Fernside, and then we’ll see what fancy friends you keep.”

  Jemima took a breath. She had known the risk she took in coming here, knowing from Nate the character of the woman she sought to deal with, and she had been prepared for that. Besides which, once she was ruined, Solo would have no need to keep protecting her reputation. It would be done. So she put up her chin and smiled at Lady Kline.

  “I never doubted your riposte, madam, but you see, I am not like you, only faithful when the eyes of your betrothed were upon you. You could not keep your heart for one man, a man who was risking his life to keep you and your friends safe. I pity you for everything you cast aside, for you still don’t understand the value of what you lost. I love Lord Rothborn, and I would endure anything to be with him. So, please do tell your vile tales to whomsoever you please, I don’t give a damn.”

  Lady Kline looked like she’d been slapped, but the admiration in Lord Kline’s eyes was enough to make Jemima blush.

  “Well, well, lucky Rothborn. I do believe he will have the last laugh after all. What I wouldn’t give to have married a woman like you.”

  Jemima watched in astonishment as Lord Kline gave her a deep and respectful bow.

  “He is a lucky man, Miss Fernside, and you may rest assured I will do my damndest to make sure everyone knows that, no matter what this vile creature does.”

  Jemima inclined her head and left the house with as much dignity as she could manage, but, once outside the door, she discovered she was trembling hard. Violet hurried her down to the hansom cab they had paid to wait for them, and bundled her inside.

  “Well, Jemima Fernside, I was never prouder in all my life,” Violet said, staring at her in awe. “Who would have thought a little slip of a thing like you had so much gumption?”

  Jemima gave a shaky laugh, and promptly burst into tears.

  Chapter 16

  Dear Robert,

  I had the most fascinating chat with a Mr Gabriel Knight the other day. He has made significant investment in a proposed railway project, and I must say I was rather impressed with what he has in mind. I think it is just the sort of thing you would find of interest and I cannot help but believe there is a significant opportunity to be had here. I must inform you, however, that on investigation I discover the fellow is not a gentleman and has a dubious reputation as a rake and a libertine. Despite this, I believe his instinct for finance is not to be sneered at. All those who have worked with him report that he is scrupulous in his business dealings. At the risk of you thinking me vulgar, I must point out he’s rich as Croesus from his own endeavours. He needs a man like you to help get this project off the ground, though, and I think it certainly worth your time to hear him out.

  You did say you wished to renovate the property in Hampshire, and if it is in the shocking state, I suspect it must be, that will take a pretty penny to achieve.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Lord Fitzwalter to his nephew, His Grace, The Duke of Bedwin.

  24th February 1815. Mitcham Priory, Sussex.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Mrs Norrell said on opening the door to Jemima. “Honestly, if it wasn’t that I know he’s suffering himself, I’d have clobbered him with the skillet by now, as God is my witness.”

  “Oh, dear,” Jemima said, hurrying inside and handing over her pelisse and bonnet. “Bessie said he’d called twice and wasn’t very happy.”

  “Serves him right,” the housekeeper said in a low voice, shaking her head. “Blithering idiot.”

  On impulse, Jemima gave the woman a hug, touched by her words. She knew in what high regard Mrs Norrell held Solo.

  “He’s doing what he thinks is right, Martha. Protecting me.”

  Martha nodded and hugged her back.

  “I know. I just wish he’d….” She sighed and made a helpless gesture. “He was happy for a little while there, and it was so good to see.”

  “I’m not giving up,” Jemima said, though she was not looking forward to speaking to Solo. She wanted to set him free, but to do that, she had to tell him the truth.

  Martha returned a warm smile. “I’m glad. He needs you. Go on in, you’ll find him in his study. I think you must know the way by now, and it will be a nice surprise for him.”

  Jemima dithered in the grand entrance hall for a few moments after Martha had left her, gathering her courage before she could force herself to walk to Solo’s study and knock.

  The terse command to come in did not make her feel better, but she opened the door and went in, and was gratified by the change in Solo’s demeanour as he saw her.

  “Jemima!”

  He surged to his feet, and had crossed half the room before he checked himself and paused. Jemima forced herself not to be hurt by his actions, knowing his instinct had been to run to her and take her in his arms. He was trying to do right by her, she knew that.

  “You look well, Miss Fernside,” he said, and it was the hardest thing not to howl with frustration at his formality.

  Well, he could be as formal as he wanted, Jemima was having none of it.

  “Good morning to you, Solo. You do not look well, my love. Are you not sleeping?”

  He let out a breath of frustration.

  “You ought not—”

  “Oh, piffle,” she cried impatiently. “You do as you wish, Solo, but I won’t pretend my feelings away, nor what has passed between us, certainly not when we are alone.”

  He frowned at her and she didn’t know whether he wanted to change his mind or argue with her. In the end, he did neither.

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  He looked pale and worried, and she hated how unhappy he was. Well, she would change that, she just had to be brave a little longer.

  “Did you go to see Mr Briggs?” he demanded when she didn’t respond at once.

  Jemima stared at him, perplexed. Why on earth would he think…?

  “Oh, Solo,” she said sadly as she realised. Despite his disapproving glare, she walked straight up to him and took his hands. “Of co
urse not. I promised to stay, did I not? I’m not giving up that easily, I’m afraid.”

  He let out a breath and squeezed her hands tight for a moment before releasing them. Her heart ached as he turned away and walked back to the window.

  “I’m a selfish devil, I know that, but I’m glad all the same. More than I can say.”

  “You don’t have a selfish bone in your body, Solo,” Jemima said, feeling a wave of anger for all he had been forced to suffer. “But I have. That’s why I’m here. I’m not prepared to live like this, as your friend, when we both know there is far more than friendship between us.”

  He swung around, panic in his eyes. “But you… you just said—”

  “And I meant it.” She spoke over him, forcing herself to get the words out, to reveal what she’d done. “I won’t share you, though, Solo, and I am. I’m sharing you with ghosts and a burden of guilt which you do not deserve, and that needs to stop. Which is why I called upon Lady Kline.”

  The silence that fell upon the room was so charged all the hairs on the back of Jemima’s neck stood on end.

  “You did what?” His voice was barely audible, disbelieving, and Jemima put her chin up.

  “I had a very interesting conversation with Lord and Lady Kline, Solo. Lord Kline was especially surprised to discover the promise you made his wife never to marry, bearing in mind he knows full well you were not responsible for her brother’s death, and… and that he had been carrying on an affair with your fiancée for some months before you were injured.”

  Jemima could not breathe. She could only stare at Solo, and watch the impact her words had. He flinched as though she’d struck him, and then the colour leached from his face only to be swiftly replaced by a dull red flush.

  “Get out.”

  He was breathing hard, though he didn’t look at her, didn’t move a muscle.

  “Solo….”

  “Get out!”

  She had never heard him shout before, not like this, not with such rage.

  Though her heart was slamming in her chest, tears prickling at her eyes, she stood her ground.

  “No. I don’t doubt you don’t wish to hear this, and I am sorry for it, but I won’t let you sacrifice our future at that awful woman’s altar. Lord Kline has paid a heavy price for his betrayal. If you could see them, Solo, see what kind of creature—”

  “Enough!”

  Jemima closed her mouth, unable to stop the tears now, though she tried, clenching her jaw to hold onto some semblance of calm.

  “You think this makes it better? You think I wish my memories tainted by… by salacious gossip?”

  “It is not gossip! Her husband told me himself, she admitted to it!”

  “I don’t want to hear this….” Solo strode to the door, leaning heavily on his cane. “I had thought better of you, Miss Fernside, than to go about dragging up the past. You disappoint me.”

  He yanked the door open and walked through it, leaving her alone.

  With fury and disbelief, Jemima charged after him.

  “Dragging up the past?” she threw at him incredulously. “Me? The only place it’s possible to be with you is in the past, because that is where you’ve buried yourself. The ghosts don’t haunt you, Solo, you haunt them because you are too guilty to live or to love in the here and now. Well, the guilt is not yours to bear, so you must let it go or let it destroy you, but if you ignore the truth, I shall not stand around and watch you do it! I love you too much to see you do that to yourself.”

  She turned on her heel and ran for the front door, not bothering to call for Mrs Norrell to bring her coat and bonnet before she flung it open, tears streaming down her face. Too late, she saw Mrs Granger and her two daughters on the steps of The Priory. Had they heard what she’d said? Even if they had not, her tears and distress were telling enough. There was nothing to be done now. She had ruined everything, ruined herself for nothing, and all she could do now was endure the outcome. She ran past them and hurried home, slamming the cottage door and wishing she was a million miles away from this place and these people.

  ***

  It took Solo precisely three minutes to realise he’d made an error in judgement, yet pride held him immobile. He didn’t know what to think, how to feel, such were the tumult of emotions rioting through him.

  He could not believe Jemima had taken matters into her own hands and gone to face Lord and Lady Kline all alone. A mixture of pride and mortification assailed him. That she would do such a thing for him touched his heart, yet his pride revolted at Lord and Lady Kline believing he had sent a woman on his behalf, or that they might think he had been pining away all these years for Hyacinth, when that was far from the truth. Yes, he’d had his heart broken, but it had long since mended. With the benefit of hindsight, he knew that he and Hyacinth would have been an ill match. She had always been lively and vivacious, and desperate to find entertainment at every moment of the day. He would have found that wearying soon enough, and he knew she would have found him dull.

  Yet, to discover she had been unfaithful hurt him, for he had believed his memories of that time to be something lovely and untarnished, before the war had tainted everything, including him. To discover that too had been an illusion…. Depression threatened to drown him, to smother him with its weight, but he shook it off. He would have the truth, by God, and he’d show them he did not need a woman to stand for him. Relieved to have a purpose to occupy his mind, he called for his carriage to be readied at once, and found Mrs Norrell stomping away from the front door in an absolute fury.

  “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she snapped, her anger so blatant that Solo took an involuntary step back.

  “This is none of your business,” he began, too impatient to do what he must to endure a lecture from his housekeeper, even if he suspected he deserved one.

  Mrs Norrell made a sound of disgust. “Oh, well, that’s all right, then, as it is none of the village’s business, either, but everyone will know of your affair with Miss Fernside by teatime. You’ve ruined that girl, my lord, and you’d better make it right or you can expect to receive my notice by the end of the week.”

  With that, she stalked off, slamming the kitchen door with considerable force before he could ask what the devil she was on about.

  Solo shook his head. He did not have time to deal with Mrs Norrell’s tantrum. He would see Jemima on his return, once he had sorted things out for himself, and then…Then they would see what they could salvage from this sorry mess.

  ***

  “No, you will not run away.”

  Violet crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head so vigorously that her curls bounced.

  “B-But I’ve ruined everything,” Jemima sobbed. “I ought not to have interfered. I’ve wounded his blessed pride and now he won’t w-want to see me again and t-that awful w-woman, Mrs Granger, she saw—”

  “Stuff and nonsense.” Violet made an unladylike sound of contempt and poured two large glasses of brandy, pressing one firmly into Jemima’s hand. “Drink that and listen up, my girl. Yes, that man has taken a blow to his pride and he’s still smarting, but he’ll come around soon enough. You knew full well he’d not be pleased to hear his fiancée had played him for a fool.” She tsked and shook her head, giving Jemima a pitying look. “Silly goose. Of course he went off in a temper, but he’ll come back again too, just you wait and see. I’ve been playing this game far more years than I like to contemplate, and I know what I’m about, so you just sit tight. This is no time for going off half-cocked and making the poor fellow go charging about the countryside looking for you, once he comes to his senses.”

  Jemima gave her nose a vigorous blow and took a sip of the brandy.

  “You really think so?” she asked, hating the reedy, uncertain quality to her voice.

  Violet rolled her eyes. “I do. Honestly, if only I’d known what I know now at your age,” she lamented before sitting down and taking Jemima’s hand. “You drink that and
take yourself off for a nice nap, you look done in. Then we’ll have a quiet evening and a good dinner, and you’ll feel much more the thing. I’ll get Bessie to put out your best dress and do your hair so you look like a queen, and you’ll be ready to face the silly fellow when he comes running back to lay his heart at your feet.”

  Jemima frowned. No matter how much she wanted to believe Violet was right—it was true that she had a deal more experience of men, after all—she could not believe Solo would calm down so quickly, let alone forgive her with such ease. She’d been a fool to imagine she could manage his temper. She’d not seen it before this last encounter, not really. He’d been so terribly angry, and she regretted having brought him pain. It had been selfish of her too, for she was manoeuvring things so that he could marry her, and if he’d wanted to badly enough… still, there was no point in thinking of such things. Not now. The least she could do was face him one last time before she left, and she could not stay. Bessie had gone down to the village just hours after Jemima’s scene with Solo, and had returned to confirm that the vile Mrs Granger had lost no time in spreading the gossip. By now, the whole of Mitcham Village would know that Jemima had fled The Priory in tears, with no hat nor coat, and it was obvious what they would make from that pretty scene. She had burned her boats and would only bring Solo the gossip he had tried so hard to avoid. She would have to leave, for both their sakes. Though she would have endured anything to be with him if he loved her and wanted her close, to be vilified without it… no, that was too much to endure.

  ***

  24th February 1815. Lingfield Manor, Edenbridge, Kent.