“Oh, that would be lovely,” Jemma said with false enthusiasm. In truth, she was much better at the bottle toss than Augie, but her suggestion seemed to steer him away from more discussion of their betrothal.
Studying Augie as he steered the brougham between two trees a short distance from the King Square where the festival was being held, Jemma wondered what was wrong with her. Every woman in Bermuda envied her relationship with Augustus Corbett, the handsome son of the Governor. Educated and possessed of boyish charm, he was considered the catch of the islands. She should be counting the days until they posted the banns. Instead, talk of marriage gave Jemma the most horrible feeling as if she were trapped in a pit of quicksand and struggled futilely against being sucked into its waiting depths.
“I’m so sorry your father was not up to joining us, though from last night’s adventure, I can easily see why not. We played cards well into the night with our houseguest, Mr. Shepherd.” Augie’s lips curled as he said the name. “He’s quite a poker player.”
Jemma raised an eyebrow at Augie’s revelation. Her father had never mentioned his playing cards last night. She thought of her father’s ashen skin this morning as they breakfasted, so unlike his usual ruddy complexion.
“Yes, I expect you all had a bit too much to drink as well. I didn’t realize Mr. Shepherd was still in residence.” Just the thought of Nick Shepherd, brought a delicious chill to Jemma’s flesh, though she hadn’t spoken to him since the night he accosted her against the Governor’s trellis. She had seen him though, just last week. He’d been watching her, his tall form leaning against a tree as she exited the dressmaker’s. The full mouth twitching in amusement at the sight of her as if she and he shared a private joke.
“Jemma?” Augie nudged her with his elbow, none too gently. “What in the world are you daydreaming about?” He jumped from the brougham and wound the reins around a small tree. “You have the oddest look on your face, as if you’ve been eating chocolate.” He frowned at her. “You haven’t, have you?”
“Haven’t what?” Good Lord! Must Augie question every bit of her life?
“Eating chocolate. You must try to tame that desire of yours. Mother says you’ll become so stout you won’t be able to sit a horse.” He eyed her slim figure in concern.
“Lady Corbett should worry about her own stoutness,” Jemma muttered under her breath.
Augie’s nostrils flared. “What did you say about Mother?”
“I said your mother was kind to worry about my future stoutness. I shall take her guidance to heart.” Jemma took his hand as he helped her down from the brougham, careful not to hit him with her parasol, though she longed to do so. She found Augie unbelievably annoying today and…boring.When did being in his company become such a chore?
After I rescued a one-eyed stranger from a pair of thieves and I was nearly ruined against a garden trellis.
“Mother thinks I should start to take over some of the pressing needs at Sea Cliff. Your father could certainly use the assistance, I think. I will be running the estate one day, after all.”
Jemma stifled the urge to kick him in the shin. Instead, she took a deep breath. “I must thank your mother for the cakes she sends to Papa.” Jemma continued. “He adores them. I believe she used to make them for my mother as well."
“Yes, Mother claims it is a secret family recipe. I don't know that she's ever made them for anyone but your parents.” His brow wrinkled. “She's never made them for me, certainly.”
“Perhaps she’ll teach me to make them,” Jemma said hoping Lady Corbett would never wish to share the particulars of cake making with her as Jemma had little interest in learning such a thing.
Pleased with her answer, Augie pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “How delightful that would be.” He tucked her hand into his waiting arm and led her towards the festival.
Paper lanterns in bright reds and yellows dotted the branches of the trees that surrounded King Square. Streamers woven through the shorter brush around the area, fluttered in the ocean breeze. Former slaves, sailors, servants from the various estates, shipbuilders as well as merchants and their families, all mixed together in a cacophony of accents, gossip and frivolity. A group of young boys played hide and seek, darting back and forth amongst the tents, while several older men sat on a log with their pipes and ale.
“Hello Jemma.” Mrs. Stanhope, the vicar's wife waved. Her plump figure waddled next to her husband's. “Bring that darling young man over here and have some cider.” Mrs. Stanhope laughed merrily, wiggling her fingers at Augie as she stood by a brightly colored tent.
“Oh my,” Augie said, hearing Mrs. Stanhope’s flirtation. “I do hope Mr. Stanhope isn't the jealous type. He may challenge me to a duel of bible verses.”
Jemma giggled. That was the first truly funny thing Augie had said in ages. Her heart warmed with sudden affection. The appearance of Nick Shepherd and her interactions with him had unsettled her and caused her to perhaps judge Augie and his intentions a bit harshly. She squeezed Augie’s arm, feeling a bit more light-hearted than she had earlier. Perhaps she was being a bit too hard on him.
As they moved in the direction of the Stanhopes, Jemma’s eyes discerned a tall form walking away from one of the booths, a Sinclair sister clinging to each arm.
Nick Shepherd.
Jemma’s pulse leapt, and she could feel again the press of his lips and body against hers.
The Sinclair sisters each sported a clutch of colorful ribbons. Agnes giggled loudly at some comment Shepherd made while Bertie stroked his arm.
Jemma willed her racing heart to calm down. After all, Nick Shepherd was only a handsome fortune hunter, and clearly, the Sinclair sisters were more than willing to be his prey.I hope he ruins them both. What a scandal that will cause, when he can only marry one.
“Whatiswrong with you?” Augie hissed. “Stop pointing that parasol as if you are brandishing a sword.” He followed her gaze to where Nick Shepherd walked with the Sinclair sisters. “Oh, yes. There’s mother’s houseguest and the unfortunate Sinclair sisters.”
“Unfortunate?” Jemma smoothed her features lest Augie guess her interest in the trio. “How so?”
“Well, it’s clear the man is only after a rich heiress, isn’t it? He’ll likely marry one of them, then abscond with her dowry to points unknown. Their brother is simply desperate to marry at least one of the two off, even if it’s to a scoundrel like Mr. Shepherd. Why, we don’t even know if his connection to the Cambourne family is a real one. Mother insists I’m wrong. I daresay she’s just being hopeful.”
“Oh?” Jemma pretended disinterest. “Did he reveal nothing of himself while you played cards?” Nick Shepherd probably made advances to half the women on Bermuda by now, an incredibly disappointing thought.
