“Everyone else is already in the carriage. Mother is a bit put out with you for keeping us waiting. After all, this is an opportune time to launch Petra amongst theton.” He held out his arm.“Shall we?”
Jemma took his arm with little enthusiasm. “Tell everyone I have twisted my ankle coming down the stairs, won’t you? I've no wish to go.” Uncle John could punish her later.
Rowan clasped her to him. “You must go, Jemma. We have received a personal invitation from the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, a woman who rules thetonwith an iron fist. Her invitations are most sought after and not attending would be considered a huge affront. Besides, Mother would never let you get away with it.”
Jemma shot her cousin a scathing look, her anger at Nick getting the best of her. “We are only going becausehewishes it.”
“Perhaps.” Rowan winked at her. “One does not deny the Duke of Dunbar.”
“Maybe someoneshould.” She had no problem defying the Duke of Dunbar, thinking it the least she could do after all that had happened. Whether deserved or not, she placed the blame for all that had befallen her on Nick. Her mind whispered that Nick had a reason, were she only to give him the chance to give it. “I do not care for his high-handed manner.” She had no choice in attending tonight, but Nick may regret forcing her.
“Cousin, I do not think it wise to antagonize the man. What in the world could have happened between you and the Duke of Dunbar to make you behave in such a fashion? I believe you are baiting him intentionally, an unwise course for any man, or woman.”
“I do not wish to discuss it,” Jemma said stiffly. “We simply courted for a time but parted badly.”
She knew that Nick and Uncle John had met several times, but she didn't know what exactly had been discussed other than Nick had concocted the story that he arrived on Bermuda to explore investing in her father’s salt business. Every time she tried to corner her uncle to speak to him about Nick, he seemed otherwise engaged.
“So you have said. I can’t believe Uncle William never let any of us of know he was alive.”
“The war.” Jemma paused, sensing Rowan doubted her father's reasoning. Jemma embraced her father’s tale at first, written to her in a letter she read all the way from Bermuda until the pages were torn and tattered. Her parents’ marriage forced Papa’s own father to disown him, so her parents fled to Bermuda. The war kept the family apart and her father was suspected dead. But Rowan’s suspicions were beginning to give rise to her own.
“My mother was Irish as well.” Jemma repeated the words of her father’s letter to her. “Grandfather didn’t approve.” Her father’s story was a little too pat though she was loathe to admit it.
“Yes, our grandfather was quite unforgiving in certain respects. I cannot say I miss the old man.” Rowan looked at her thoughtfully and led her out to the waiting carriage.
* * *
Donata Reynolds,the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, smiled in pleasure at the swirling couples dancing across her grandson's parquet ballroom. It was solovelyto use the ballroom again. Only she and Miranda lived at Cambourne house as her grandson, Sutton, and his wife, Alex, did not care especially for London. Not that she blamed them, mind you, after theincident, but it was nice to have the ballroom used again. The room fairly glittered with candlelight and cheerful conversation.
Donata spied her granddaughter, Miranda, huddled in conversation with Lady Arabella. The two girls stood, their heads nearly touching as they conversed. Miranda looked especially lovely tonight in a pale lavender gown, covered in tiny brilliants. She sparkled like a beautiful fairy princess. The poor child should have dozens of men vying for her hand for she was stunning and possessed of an obscenely large dowry. But Miranda had no decent suitors, the fact of which made Donata quite anxious for her granddaughter’s future.In time, I hope she finds a man worthy of her affections for she deserves great happiness.
Lady Arabella pointed to someone amongst the dancers, her dark head bobbing with agitation and her lips curling with dislike as she showed Miranda the object of her wrath.
I wonder who she's found wanting this evening?Donata loved Nick's sister dearly but Arabella was a bit of achallenge.Bitter with resentment over slights real and imagined, Arabella refused to allow herself an ounce of joy. It had been so since she was a child. She blamed her lack of respectable suitors on her status as the Devil of Dunbar's sister and that horrible scandal concerning her parents, but Donata thought it was far more likely that it was Arabella's austere bearing and scalding tongue kept any likely suitors at bay.
She followed the direction of Arabella’s scorn to where it landed on one of the spinning couples.
A willowy girl, dressed in green silk, shot through with gold thread appeared to be the object of her dislike. Donata observed the girl, noting the careless way she flirted with her partner and the confident strides she took as she danced. The girl spun closer, and Donata spied the spray of freckles across her cheeks and the mulish slant to her chin.
The manner of the girl caused Donata to smile.I pity the man who takes her on for she has a stubborn, reckless look.I should know, for I was once a bit reckless myself.
The girl's dance partner was Lord Berton, a gentleman known more for his seduction of wealthy widows than the dubious military exploits he bragged of. Lord Berton was considered to be a catch, though for the life of her, Donata couldn't imagine why.
Pursing her lips in disapproval, she viewed Lord Berton with distaste. The man was a bit toocommonand she didn't like the way he combed his hair. His pomade smelled of lavender, a scent she found appealing only on ladies. She doubted he had ever held a sword.
The girl, oblivious to the deficits in Lord Berton's character, swatted him playfully on the shoulder with her fan and laughed. As Lord Berton swung her around, she sent a withering glance at Donata.
Intrigued, since she didn't know the girl and thought it unlikely to have incurred her dislike, Donata turned slightly to see who stood behind her.
The Duke of Dunbar's large form hovered just behind her right shoulder. Dressed all in black, for Donata didn't think he owned clothes in any other color, he fairly emanated a bored arrogance and power, as if he cared nothing for the opinions of those in the ballroom, which she knew was not the case. His Grace was glaring at Lord Berton, but especially at Lord Berton's partner, with undisguised displeasure. Andpossession.Donata thought His Grace looked…jealous,as if he would storm onto the dance floor at any moment and claim the girl in green.In all the time Donata had known the current Duke of Dunbar, which was a very long time indeed, she had never known him to show an ounce of possessiveness towards a woman.
Donata turned, holding tightly to her cane. “Good evening, Your Grace. Forgive me if I don't curtsy,” she said smartly. “I might snap in half should I attempt to bend in such a manner at my age.”
His Grace said nothing for a moment, as all his attention was focused on that reckless girl whirling about with Lord Berton.
Donata stamped her cane. She didn't give a fig who Nick was, she would not be ignored.
Finally he turned, a half-smile on his handsome features as he regarded her from his great height.
