My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3)

by Julie Johnstone

  She sat for what seemed like hours staring at the blurry words on the page. Her mind turned along with her stomach, but no answers came. When the shadows grew long in her bedchamber, she knew she needed to rise and make herself dress for supper. Her hiding had to stop.

  As she stood from the settee, a knock came at her door. “Yes?”

  “May I come in, Granddaughter?”

  Jemma bade her grandfather to enter, and as she watched him walk in with slow, hobbling steps, her breath caught and she rushed to him. “Are you ill today?”

  He nodded, though he did not meet her gaze. “Your unhappiness is causing me a great deal of anxiety.”

  Oh dear heaven. She’d been so selfish! She’d not even thought of what this might be doing to Grandfather when he was in such a precarious state of health and needed to remain calm.

  “I’m feeling much better,” she lied.

  His eyebrows snapped upward into a disbelieving arch. “Are you?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “I’m so glad to hear it. Your sister tells me you are not planning to attend the Williamsons’ ball tonight, but nothing would put me more at ease than you doing so and getting on with your life.”

  The last thing she desired was to go to that ball and possibly run into Philip—or even worse, see him with other women—but if it meant it would alleviate Grandfather’s worry, she would make herself go. “All right. I’ll attend. Are you feeling well enough to accompany me and Anne?”

  “No, but it so happens that Dr. Talbot mentioned while he was here earlier that he was taking Lady Harthorne to the ball and that they would be happy to accompany you and Anne.”

  Jemma’s eyes felt as if they were about to pop out of her head. “I cannot go to the ball with Philip’s mother!”

  “Whyever not?” Grandfather grabbed at his chest. “It’s not as if Lord Harthorne will be with them. I made sure of that.”

  She wanted to argue, but the way her grandfather clutched his chest made her hold her silence so as not to upset him more. “All right,” she relented. “I will go.”

  Philip read the note from Rowan that had just been delivered to him, and then he reread it, a grin tugging at his lips.

  I thought you might find it interesting that Jemma is to ride to the Williamsons’ ball with your mother and Dr. Talbot tonight. You might also find it interesting that my chest is paining me today and I worry I may have an attack right as your mother and Dr. Talbot arrive to pick up my granddaughters. Dr. Talbot, who has proven to be a good friend through the years, assures me that my attack will force him to stay with me, along with his devoted future wife. I’m also certain Anne will trip and say her leg hurts, and that I will insist Jemma go forward with attending the ball. It seems Jemma somehow fell under the erroneous belief that I’m very ill and must remain calm, which means she does not like to argue with me for fear that she will upset me. If it comes to it, it is precisely a ten-minute carriage ride to the ball. I suggest you happen to be in the carriage with your mother and Dr. Talbot. Jemma’s chaperone, the featherbrained Mrs. Featherstone will, of course, accompany Jemma, but the woman does so love fresh air, and I feel certain she will ask permission to ride on the outside of the carriage with the driver.

  Good luck.

  Jemma’s grandfather was a crafty gentleman and thankfully had become a much-needed ally this past week. Philip threw the note on his desk and raced out of the room to find his mother. He almost barreled over her as she came around the corner.

  He grasped her elbow to steady her. “Mother, I need to—”

  “I know all about it,” she chirped. “George told me that the Duke of Rowan had begged this favor of us to help you with his granddaughter, and your sister filled me in on what has been happening with you.” His mother clucked her tongue at him. “I feel awful that you felt compelled to marry for money to protect me and Eustice, but I’m supremely glad you came to your senses.”

  He nodded. It would have been much better if he’d not misplaced his senses in the first place. He’d not be on the verge of losing Jemma now.

  Blood rushed to his head as it did every time he considered he might actually lose her. At the beginning of the week he’d not allowed himself to consider it at all, but each day she turned him away, it had become harder to ignore the possibility. This felt like his last chance.

  His nerves hummed with the knowledge. The trick was going to be getting her to listen. He suspected it was going to be harder than her grandfather believed.

  Jemma sat beside Anne on the settee and nervously rearranged the folds of her gown as Grandfather rose to greet Dr. Talbot and Lady Harthorne, whom the butler had just announced. A lump was lodged in Jemma’s throat. Had Philip spoken about her to his mother, or had he never said a word? Jemma fiddled with her gown some more, unsure which would be worse. With no folds left to arrange, she forced herself to look up, and as she did, the butler stepped aside in the doorway and announced Philip. Philip!

  Jemma’s jaw dropped open. She was not imagining things. His black-clad figure consumed the doorway with his broad shoulders and towering height. He moved into the room with easy grace, greeting her grandfather, then Anne, and finally, his gaze locked on her. She stilled, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

  “Miss Adair,” he said properly, but somehow, somehow, her name rolled off his tongue in a way that made her toes curl in her slippers. Blast him. A longing to touch him consumed her so she forced her anger and hurt to the surface. She needed to be strong and protect herself.

  “Lord Harthorne,” she replied, nodding her head. “I must say, I am surprised you have the audacity to come here when I expressly asked you not to.” She cringed when she saw him flinch at her words. Anne gasped beside her and rose quickly.

  “Please forgive my sister’s tart tongue,” Anne chided and moved as if to greet Philip.

  In a blur, Anne flew forward, and Philip caught her in his arms. Jemma jumped to her feet to go to Anne and see if she was all right when her grandfather grasped his chest.

  “The pain!” he moaned.

  Jemma rushed to her grandfather’s side at the same moment as Dr. Talbot. “Mr. Sims, have the footman carry Rowan to his bedchamber,” the physician demanded.

  A moment later, the two footmen were there, one scooping up Grandfather and carrying him out of the room while Philip helped a wincing Anne into the arms of the other footman, who would assist her upstairs. Jemma’s heart pounded as she followed them, Dr. Talbot, and Mrs. Featherstone up the stairs. When the footman carrying Grandfather turned to the side to open Grandfather’s bedchamber door, Jemma caught a glimpse of her grandfather’s face. He was smiling. She frowned. For a man who had just been moaning, it seemed odd that he was now smiling.

  The footman and the physician went into the bedchamber and shut the door, and Mr. Sims stationed himself before the threshold.

  Jemma paused in front of Mr. Sims. “I’d like to go in, please.”

  Mr. Sims’s face turned red. “I’m sorry, Miss Adair. Dr. Talbot said for me to keep everyone out for the time being.”

  Jemma sighed but nodded her understanding. She glanced toward her bedchamber door from where the second footman and Mrs. Featherstone were emerging. “Is Anne all right?” she asked Mrs. Featherstone.

  The woman nodded. “Yes, but I do believe her leg hurts too much to attend the ball.”

  Jemma nodded. “Of course, I’ll not go, either. I’ll stay here with her and Grandfather. Please inform Lord Harthorne and his mother that the physician is still in with Grandfather.”

  Mrs. Featherstone nodded and proceeded down the stairs while Jemma stood outside her grandfather’s door and tried not to think about Philip. When the physician opened the bedchamber door, she rushed to him. “Is my grandfather all right?”

  Dr. Talbot nodded, and his face seemed to turn a shade pink, as if something was embarrassing him. “He’s going to be fine,” he said, waving her through the sitting room toward her grandfat
her’s main bedchamber.

  Jemma exhaled a relieved breath. “That’s so good to hear. Is it all right if I talk to him?”

  “Certainly,” the physician answered hurriedly.

  Jemma scowled at the man. She was not imagining things; his tone had sounded relieved. She paused, considering if she should ask him what was amiss, but decided she would see her grandfather and uncover what was occurring herself.

  Grandfather was reclined on the top of the bed with pillows behind his back. Jemma studied him. His color was excellent. His eyes bright. Yet when he saw her, he let out a moan and clutched his chest.

  She drew near with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re unwell?” she demanded, a slight suspicion forming. A wounded look crossed his face, and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she quickly mumbled. “I shouldn’t have accused you of lying.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed. “I forgive you, though. I know you have your reasons to be suspicious of men.”

  That was true enough. She sat by her grandfather and took his hand. “Anne’s leg is paining her so she won’t be going to the ball. I’ll stay, as well.” Then she’d not have to face riding in the carriage with Philip. She was a coward.

  Grandfather shook his head. “You most certainly will not. The only thing that will make me feel better is knowing you’re out enjoying yourself, no longer heartbroken.”

  “But—” She snapped her jaw shut. She didn’t want to announce that she was most definitely still heartbroken.

  “No objections,” he said sternly. “I insist you go. If you stay, I will feel worse, as if I’m ruining your night.”

  Jemma begrudgingly nodded, rose, and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll go. For a very short time.”

  “That will do nicely,” he said, his voice tinged with an odd note of excitement. She turned to leave but paused halfway across the room. Was her grandfather trying to meddle on Philip’s behalf? But no. What reason would he have to do that? He knew what Philip had done. She continued out of the bedchamber, yet the feeling that she was somehow being duped would not go away.

  As she entered the hall, she stopped short at the sight of Anne, whose leg was supposed to be paining her so very badly that she could not go to the ball, standing in their bedchamber doorway chatting with Lady Harthorne.

  Jemma glared at her sister, even as Anne made a show of wincing, grabbing her leg, and hobbling back into their bedchamber. Jemma started toward the door, intent on confronting her sister, but Lady Harthorne raised her eyebrows high, strode toward Jemma, and held up a staying hand. “A moment, if you please.”

  Jemma didn’t please. Something was most definitely afoot. She glanced between her bedchamber door and Grandfather’s. It was too much of a coincidence that Grandfather was only ever ill when it seemed to work in his favor. Jemma clenched her jaw and eyed Lady Harthorne. The fact was, this woman’s being here with Dr. Talbot was too much of a coincidence, as well.

  She could play the same game everyone around her seemed to be playing. Jemma pressed a hand to her head. “I think my head aches too much to go. Will you convey the news to your son for me?”

  “No,” Lady Harthorne said gently. “I think you need to do that.”

  Jemma narrowed her eyes. “You tricked me. My grandfather tricked me. And Dr. Talbot and my own sister duped me, as well. Is my grandfather even ill?”

  Lady Harthorne motioned a hand to Mrs. Featherstone. “Will you give us a moment?”

  Mrs. Featherstone nodded and started to descend, but Jemma called to her. When her chaperone turned, Jemma took a fortifying breath and said, “Tell Lord Harthorne—” What did she want to tell him? That he’d made her think he was honest when even now it seemed he was involved in some ruse, proving he was anything but forthright. Her stomach clenched. “Tell him that I will not be down to ride to the ball, nor do I want him to attempt to see me ever again.”

  The room seemed to sway, but Jemma managed not to budge. This was it. Uncertainty battered her.

  Mrs. Featherstone nodded and disappeared down the steps while Lady Harthorne studied Jemma with eyes full of disappointment. A pang of sadness filled Jemma. The woman did actually seem nice and could have been her mother-in-law.

  After a moment, Lady Harthorne cleared her throat. “Since you don’t mince words, neither will I. Your grandfather isn’t ill, as you seem to already know.”

  “I knew it!” Jemma snapped, then frowned. “Well, I didn’t know it, but I suspected it a second ago.” She sighed. “Men are so deceitful.”

  “Your grandfather loves you and wants you to be happy. I can see why you’d be angry that he deceived you, but, my dear, put yourself in his place. He was bred to be a duke, which meant he was raised not to show affection. I’m sure at some point he realized you and your sister needed more than he was capable of giving, but he had no wife to guide him on how to proceed, as your grandmother was gone.” She shrugged. “Men almost always think they know what’s best for everyone. Especially the women they love and want to protect.”

  Jemma nodded. “He did try to match me with an odious man because he thought he was helping me.”

  Lady Harthorne sighed. “Yes. I had heard about that. And I also happen to know from George—”

  “George?” Jemma asked.

  Lady Harthorne smiled. “Oh, dear me. I’m sorry. Dr. Talbot.” She blushed as she held Jemma’s gaze. “George confided in me that your grandfather is not ill at all. He’s the picture of health, but he took it in his head that you were so stubborn and hated him so much that feigning illness would be the only way you would ever go along with anything he said or wanted for you. He thought if you felt sorry for him or were worried for him that you’d possibly capitulate to his wishes, which he was positive were for the best.”

  Jemma felt her mouth slide open at the news. “He lied to me.”

  “Well, yes, dear, but in his defense, he knew you despised him and he didn’t know how to get through to you. His deception was born out of love, as was my son’s.”

  Jemma’s whole body tensed. “Your son—”

  “Please let me speak,” Lady Harthorne requested.

  Jemma jerked a nod. She couldn’t bring herself to be cold and uncaring to Philip’s mother just because she was Philip’s mother. She obviously loved her son, as a mother should.

  “Philip’s ill-advised plan to marry a woman with a large dowry was born out of selflessness and love for his family.”

  Jemma wanted to deny it, but the doubt was there. She had believed the best of Philip at one time. What if...what if she had not been wrong?

  “Please continue,” she said in a shaky voice.

  Lady Harthorne exhaled slowly. “He thought to sacrifice himself to a marriage of convenience, if necessary, so that neither his cousin nor I would suffer.”

  Jemma took a breath, ready to argue, but the breath deflated as she thought about what Lady Harthorne had said. Everything Jemma knew about Philip, or thought she knew, reinforced what his mother had just said. Philip was selfless. Or she had thought he was. She pressed her fingers to her temples, the confusion in her heart and mind making her head ache. Still...

  “He should have been honest,” Jemma said. “He should have told me he wanted to marry a lady with a large dowry.”

  Lady Harthorne narrowed her eyes. “He did not want to marry a lady for money. He felt he had to.”

  Jemma’s pulse raced ahead. Philip was the sort of man to do anything, including sacrificing his own happiness for those he loved.

  “And then he met you,” Lady Harthorne continued, oblivious of the whirlwind of emotions inside Jemma.

  Flashes of all that Philip had done for her played through her memory. Saving her from Lord Glenmore when he’d tried to force himself on her. Beating Will when he’d humiliated her at Vauxhall Gardens. Rescuing Anne from ruination. It was the last—his selfless rescue of Anne—and how he’d pulled back from Jemma when she’d tried to kiss him afterward that sent the d
oubt crashing in over her head. Except now she was doubting if she’d ever been right to doubt Philip. If he’d believed she was getting a dowry and wanted her only for the money, he could have kissed her that day. He could have ruined her, and she’d not have stopped him. In that scenario, Grandfather would have insisted they marry.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out as Lady Harthorne continued to speak. “I suspect he never told you about his financial situation because when he realized he loved you, he found a solution to his problem so that he could marry you without your dowry.”

  Jemma’s heart seemed to stumble within her chest, and the world around her stopped. “What do you mean?” she rasped.

  “I’ve said more than I should have,” Lady Harthorne replied. “If you want to know more, you need to ask Philip.” She cocked her head as if listening for something. “Dear me. I do think that Philip’s carriage is pulling away...”

  Jemma stilled, and the noise of wheels turning seemed to echo in her ears. Panic exploded in her chest. He was leaving her! Without a proper pardon, she swiveled on her heel and raced down the stairs, desperate to catch Philip.

  Philip watched as Mrs. Featherstone made her way back into Rowan’s house and shut the door behind her. He stared at the red door for a moment as he considered what to do. A rake would likely leave a woman who had demanded he go away, because a rake would firmly believe the woman would come to the realization that she was a fool to let him go. A rake would believe the woman would race after him. Rakes were full of themselves, at least Aversley and Scarsdale had been before they’d met their respective wives.

  Philip was not a rake. He would never be a rake. And falling in love with Jemma had made him realize that he didn’t want to be a rake, but that didn’t mean he was above scheming to get the woman he loved. Jemma may have asked him to leave, but he wasn’t going to. Not before she heard what he had to say, at any rate.