“I know you’re in there,” a feminine voice all but hissed. “We must talk. This is no way to treat the next Duchess of Dandridge.”
The next duchess?
But how could that be?
Jemmah touched her fingertips to her throbbing mouth and backed away from Jules.
She could still taste him on her tongue, feel his powerful arms encircling her, smell his manly scent yet in her nostrils. How glorious his kisses had been. And more fool she, for having allowed it, for now she craved more.
Intuition told her, she’d never, ever have enough of him.
“Dandridge. Answer me.”
Scrape. Scrape.
“I saw that Dament chit batting her stubby eyelashes at you. The duchess and your uncles won’t approve. I don’t know how the Daments are even permitted in respectable circles. They smell of the shop.”
The scorching glower Jules hurled at the voice behind the door would’ve ignited wet wood.
“Insufferable, long-winded baggage,” he muttered, hardly above a whisper.
Sacred sausages, Mama would fly into a dudgeon if she ever learned Jules had kissed Jemmah. And she’d kissed him back. And it had been the most wonderful of things. And she’d do it again without compunction or remorse.
And by horse feathers, she would let him call on her.
She would.
Well, she’d suggest he meet her here for tea. She daren’t risk no more.
But, if he was truly to marry Miss Milbourne...
No, something smelled to high heaven, even if she didn’t know exactly what it was, like the time a creature of some sort had died in her attic bedchamber wall.
No man who’d shown such honor, even as a reserved child, grew into an unscrupulous lout. Jules was loyal to his impressive backbone.
She’d bet on it. If she had anything of worth to wager.
The least she could do was to hear his explanation, especially since Aunt Theo had happily shared—actually clapped her hands and tittered, and Aunt Theo did not titter—that he had refused the match with Miss Milbourne, despite the furor it caused within his family.
Truly, his availability was the only reason Mama agreed to come tonight, and had kept Jemmah up to the wee hours sewing—to thrust Adelinda beneath Jules’s nose in hopes of garnering his attention.
And how could he not notice Adelinda’s outward loveliness?
However, her beauty masked an entirely different woman inwardly, and Jemmah ought to know. More often than not, she was the recipient of her sister’s calculated unkindness.
Nothing, nevertheless, would deter Mama from assuring Adelinda make a brilliant match before Season’s end, and dear Jules had a giant target on his broad back they’d set their conniving sights on.
Jemmah ought to warn him, but surely a man of his station was aware the Marriage Mart considered him prime cattle. A somewhat degrading analogy, but accurate in its crudeness, nonetheless.
With his aristocratic profile yet angled toward the creature scratching at the door, Jemmah permitted herself a leisurely perusal. From his gleaming shoes to his neatly trimmed side whiskers, several shades darker than his hair, he emanated pure masculine beauty.
True, his nose might be slightly too prominent and his forehead and chin a trifle too bold to be considered classically handsome, but his was a strong face—an honorable, trustworthy countenance.
All the more reason she couldn’t allow Mama or Adelinda to sink their talons into him.
Jemmah just couldn’t.
He deserved someone as kind and thoughtful as he.
Not a selfish, vain girl who cared nothing for him, and who would—Jemmah didn’t harbor the slightest doubt—make him wretchedly miserable.
As unpleasant a miss as she was, Miss Milbourne was preferable to Adelinda.
Jemmah’s stomach flopped sickeningly, and she swallowed. What a nauseating notion, rather like eating moldy, maggoty pudding.
Adelinda and Miss Milbourne didn’t merit him, and somehow, instinct perhaps, or because Jemmah had loved Jules so long—couldn’t remember when she hadn’t, truth to tell—she simply knew, neither woman would make him happy.
His Annabel Bright might have, for she seemed gentle and kind the one time Jemmah met her.
That awful, unforgettable day her heart had splintered into pieces like stomped upon eggshells when Jemmah learned Jules was to marry the doll-like in her perfection, dainty, and altogether exquisite young lady.
And when Annabel had died, Jemmah had wept, great gasping sobs into her pillow at night—cried for Jules’s devastation and heartache.
She couldn’t fathom weeping like that if Miss Milbourne, or even Adelinda had been the one to die, and Jemmah winced inwardly at her uncharacteristic spite.
Thank goodness, to her knowledge, Aunt Theo’s invitation to tea didn’t include Miss Milbourne, and because Mama barely tolerated her sister-in-law, more often than not, she turned down the invitations as well.
Adelinda seldom rose before noon and had no more interest in taking tea with their aunt than cleaning grates or chamber pots.
Neither of which she’d ever done, unlike Jemmah.
She couldn’t help but observe that her aunt’s feelings toward Mama seemed quite mutual. In fact, Jemmah had suspected for years, but most especially since Papa’s death, that her Aunt Theo’s cordial mien and continued hospitable offers were for Jemmah’s benefit.
That, and also so Mama wouldn’t put an end to Jemmah’s visits.
Which was as unlikely as Mama suddenly favoring Jemmah.
She also knew full well that Aunt Theo paid Mama a monthly allowance intended to assist with the girls’ needs.
Jemmah never saw any of it, not a shilling.
In fact, when she’d asked for new stockings for tonight, she’d received a resounding slap for her impertinence. The nubby, mended stockings rubbing against her toes, as well her tender cheek were other reasons she’d sought sanctuary in Aunt Theo’s parlor.
For certain, Jemmah’s toes would sport blisters by morning.
Some weeks, tea with Aunt Theo’s and hearing her aunt’s encouragements were all that kept Jemmah from wallowing in self-pity or having a fit of the blue devils.
Treated scarcely better at home than the Daments’ maid-of-all work, Mary Pimble, Jemmah treasured the time at Aunt Theo’s. They were the only hours free from insults or demands that she perform some chore or task for Mama or Adelinda.
“Dandridge.” The voice rose to an irritated screech on the last syllable.
Tap, tap, tappety-tap.
“Open this door!”
TAP
“I must insist.”
Miss Milbourne might be admired for her persistence.
If it didn’t border on unhinged.
Jemmah dipped her head in the entrance’s direction, and her voice, a mere vestige of sound, asked, “Have you an arrangement with her?”
No need to ask who her was, since Miss Milbourne continued to hiss and scratch like a feral cat sealed in a whisky barrel.
“I most emphatically do not. Miss Milbourne has convinced herself that I shall concede to my mother’s and uncles’ preference, but she’s gravely mistaken.” Jules grasped Jemmah’s hand, gently yet firmly enough she couldn’t pull away without some effort. With the forefinger of his other hand, he traced her jaw. “I mean what I said, dear one. Please allow me to call upon you tomorrow. I’ve missed you more than I can say.”
“Your Grace—”
“Might you address me as Jules, or Dandridge if you prefer, when we are alone? Please?”
He quirked his mouth boyishly, and she couldn’t resist an answering bend of her lips.
It had always been so. She was clay, soft and malleable, in his hands.
“Precious, Jemmah, perhaps you’d prefer a ride in Hyde Park tomorrow?”
Heaven and hiccups, no.
It would never do for Jules to pay his address to her at home, and a ride would likely be reported as w
ell. Mama wasn’t above locking Jemmah in her chamber to assure Adelinda received his undivided attention.
Good thing he wasn’t as besotted as most men by her sister’s exquisiteness.
When Adelinda did finally marry—for certain her beauty would snare some unfortunate fellow—how long would it be before her sulks and vile tongue obscured her bewitching beauty and the poor sot regretted his choice?
Still, Jemmah could no more deny Jules’s tempting request than she could ignore the impossibility of his calling on her.
The scraping and frenetic whispering at the door had finally ceased, but her alarm increased.
She mustn’t be found, here alone with him.
No telling what Mama would do.
Jemmah speared an anxious glance to the other doors.
“It’s impossible. Mama won’t allow you to call upon me. She had hoped Adelinda would attract your notice, and she’ll be furious if you show any interest in me.”
“Yes, so I became acutely aware, earlier this evening. However, Adelinda isn’t the Dament sister who fascinates me. I’ve always preferred the one with gold and amber streaks glinting in her hair and eyes so pale blue, I lose myself in their color each time I look into them.” He grazed his thumb across her lower lip. “And she has the most tempting mouth, soft, honey sweet, with lips I cannot wait to sample again.”
He swept his mouth across hers.
Tender, fleeting, a silent promise.
Joy, and perhaps the minutest amount of triumph that he preferred her—plain and unremarkable Jemmah—over Adelinda’s exquisiteness, sang through her veins. A jaunty celebratory tune. And for the first time in the veriest of times, a spark of hope ignited deep in her spirit.
For once, she believed Papa’s assurances that she was lovely in her own way, and that someday she’d find the man who gazed at her through love-filled eyes and found her beautiful.
“Do you know what the Dandridge motto is, Jemmah?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“In adversity, the faith.” Jules’s touched his lips to hers again. “I shall find a way, if you want me to.”
Her stomach flopped over again, and the air left her lungs on a fluttering breath.
Thundering hogs’ hoof beats when he looked at her like that—like she was the most precious of jewels, his gaze reverent, yet also slightly hooded—although logic screeched “No,” her desperate heart whispered, “Yes.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
If this was her chance for happiness, no matter how brief or implausible, she damn well—yes, damn well!—had every intention of grasping it.
“My aunt invited me for tea tomorrow.”
Comprehension dawned on Jules’s face, and she entertained another, small victorious smile.
“Ah, I do believe Theo mentioned something of that nature to me as well. I find I am quite available at that hour.”
He lifted Jemmah’s hand, and rather than brush his lips across her bare knuckles, he turned it over and grazed her wrist.
A jolt shot to her shoulder while her knees, ridiculous, worthless things, decided to turn to mush.
“I shall look forward to it. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he blew out all but one taper, “I promised Sabrina I’d be home to tuck her in tonight. It’s her birthday too. The second since her parents died, but at the first one, we didn’t know if she’d recover from the carriage accident. I don’t want her to fall asleep without bidding her good-night.”
Such a flood of emotion bubbled up in Jemmah’s chest that tears blurred her vision as she pulled her gloves on, trying to ignore the frayed spots on the fingertips.
“She’s lucky to have such a devoted uncle. Would you wish her happy day for me too?
“I would indeed, and if I may be so bold, might I tell her you’ll give her drawing lessons?” He turned her toward the other set of doors. “Naturally, I’ll approach your mother and explain I’d like to retain you.”
Mama would take any earnings, thinking they were her due, and she’d still expect Jemmah to do all of her regular chores.
“Honestly, Dandridge, I think it would be better if I were to give Sabrina lessons when I come to tea. And please allow it to be my gift to her. I have a standing invitation with Aunt Theo on Mondays and Thursdays. I could use one day for lessons so Mama’s suspicions won’t be aroused.”
His head slightly angled, he considered her. “Very well.”
“Aunt Theo usually only sends the carriage ’round for me when the weather is foul, but I’ll explain our plan tonight and ask her to send it every tea day. That way, I’ll have more time to instruct Lady Sabrina.”
“We can discuss those details tomorrow. Until then, my precious Jem.” He cupped her shoulders with both hands, and leaning down, kissed her forehead with such reverence, she almost could believe he cared for her as much as she did for him. “Go along. I’ll wait a respectable amount of time, and then take another route to the manor’s entrance.”
She nodded. “All right.”
“And Jemmah?”
“Yes?”
A strand of hair had fallen across his brow, and with the warmth radiating from his brandy-colored eyes, he very much resembled the young man she’d fallen in love with.
“Your mother can fuss all she wants, but once I set my mind to something, I am seldom dissuaded. I mean to court you.”
Incapable of speech, her heart teeming with happiness, Jemmah nodded again and quit the parlor. She could yet taste and feel Jules’s mouth on hers, and an odd heat throbbed at her wrist as if branded by his lips.
Glancing down, she half expected to see his mouth’s imprint there.
A few moments later, having brought her exuberant smile under control, she edged into the ballroom, as unnoticed as a fly upon the corniced ceiling. No one paid her any mind as she wove between guests, headed toward the empty seat beside the Dowager Lady Lockhart.
Jemmah’s silly legs still hadn’t returned to their normal strength after Jules’s bone-melting kisses, and feeling slightly off-balance, she gratefully claimed the seat.
Her ladyship bestowed a beaming smile on her. “Where’ve you been, child? I saw you arrive and hoped to have a coze with you. It’s been some time since we chatted, and you always brighten this old woman’s day with your wit and intelligence.”
“How kind of you to say so, my lady. I enjoy your company as well. Aunt tells me you have a cat now.”
From the corner of her eye, Jemmah caught site of Miss Milbourne prowling the dance floor’s perimeter, a half-pout upon her lips while her miffed gaze roved the ballroom. They narrowed for an instant upon sighting Adelinda dancing with the exceedingly tall, raven-haired Duke of Sutcliffe.
Miss Milbourne wouldn’t find what she sought.
He’d already left.
“I do indeed,” Lady Lockhart agreed. “A darling little calico I named Callie. I thought the name quite clever.”
Miss Milbourne’s attention swept over Jemmah without pause, the way one dismissed a potted plant or a piece of furniture.
After all, who’d suspect the nondescript Miss Jemmah Dament had just spent the most wonderful twenty minutes in the embrace of the distinguished and oh, so alluring Duke of Dandridge—the very man the Milbourne beauty wanted for herself?
Unaccustomed confidence squared Jemmah’s shoulders and notched her chin higher. She’d never felt more attractive or worthy than she did at this moment, and she had Jules to thank for the new self-assurance.
The dowager gently tapped Jemmah’s forearm with her fan. “You’re pale as a lily, but your cheeks are berry bright. Are you feeling quite the thing?”
“Yes, my lady. I’m quite well.” Very well, indeed. Better than she had been in a great while. “I confess to falling asleep in the parlor, which may contribute to my flushed appearance.”
Not nearly as much a duke’s ravishing kisses had.
“Your mother has paraded past here thrice searching for you. A ripped hem or some such twadd
le. Doesn’t she know how to mend a simple tear? Don’t know why she or your sister can’t see to the task.”
Disapproval pinched the dowager’s mouth for an instant.
Jemmah was used to urgent summons at all hours of the day and night for whatever trifling needs Mama or Adelinda might have.
Two months ago, she’d walked four miles in the pouring rain to purchase barbel blue embroidery thread for Mama—not azure or cerulean, her mother had insisted, but barbel.
“This is mazurine blue, Jemmah,” Mama had scolded when Jemmah returned home sopping wet and shivering. “Fortunate for you, I decided lavender better suited, else you’d turn yourself around and fetch me the color I need.”
Never mind the prodigious cold Jemmah contracted as a result of her soggy trek, which left her sneezing and with a reddened nose and eyes for a full week.
On another occasion, she’d been awoken in the wee morning hours when her sister couldn’t sleep and deemed a cup of hot chocolate the perfect insomnia cure.
Jemmah had dutifully gone through the time-consuming task of making the beverage only to find Adelinda slumbering soundly when she brought her the required pot and cup.
Snuggled on her window seat, a tattered quilt about her shoulders while she gazed at the stars flickering between moonlit clouds over the rooftops, Jemmah had drunk every last drop herself.
A rare treat indeed.
Oh, and she couldn’t possibly forget last month when the family had been invited to the Silverton’s soirée.
Jemmah couldn’t attend, of course.
After all, since Papa died, they’d been required to economize and naturally there were only funds for one remade gown.
For the eldest daughter.
Always the confounded eldest daughter.
That was the excuse for most everything Jemmah was deprived of.
Nonetheless, she’d dutifully dressed and coiffed Adelinda, even allowing her—Mama’s orders to stop being such a selfish sister—to borrow Jemmah’s best gloves and the delicate pearl earrings Papa had given her for her sixteenth birthday.
Adelinda had misplaced the gloves and lost an earring.
A Diamond for a Duke Page 4
