Chapter Nine

Mr. Harkinson did everything he could to control his trembling as the family left for the Duchess of Ralston's Secrets Dévoilés. That duchess was determined to expose secrets so he could only thank the heavens that the lady's gaze was not turned upon himself.

Did anybody in the world have more secrets than he did?

He'd nearly fallen over when he'd heard the kitchen maid recounting the story of the Duke of Barstow's disastrous fall from a horse.

Already! Mr. Penny had wasted no time launching that story!

And what a story it was—the tragic duke pacing the corridors all night, castigating himself over what he'd said during the day. His terror over other people on horseback, which was a complete absurdity.

As Lady Jemima had waited in the drawing room for her parents to descend, Aggie had shot through the servants' hall to tell all and sundry in the house how deeply affected her mistress was to hear of the tale.

Now what were they left with? Two people who did not like one another, both under the impression that the other's temperament they did not like was caused by a tragic accident involving a horse.

Both had been led to believe that this temperament they did not like was temporary!

What if something were to come of it? What if those two people were to wed, both imagining they would someday be introduced to a person whose temperament they did like and that it was only a matter of time?

There they'd be, both waiting for the other one to change and it would never happen.

They'd probably descend into bitterness. Or worse. Knowing Lady Jemima's temper, she'd end throwing a deadly item at the duke's head and then he really would have a head injury.

The walls were closing in. He was an impostor and might be well on his way to creating misery all round.

If he were ever caught out in this web of lies, he would not only be thrown out of The League—he'd be thrown out of the house!

He should have followed in his father's footsteps and become a miner. At least he'd be safe underground then.

It was true what they said—the high and mighty had the furthest to fall. Just now, he was teetering on the edge of a steep cliff of his own making.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Though Jasper often drifted into entertainments on the late side of things, he did not do so this night.

Neither did anybody else.

Her Grace, the Duchess of Ralston, noted everything, and she would note the latecomers. She did not like it and people were leery of displeasing her. She ruled the ton with a mostly good-humored but decidedly iron fist.

He was anxious to find Lady Jemima for several pressing reasons. One, he'd like to be certain that Varnay was not hanging about. Two, he'd like to assure himself that she did not still remain offended by his kind hint in the park as he'd been forced to hurry away when it seemed she might be coming close to another outburst. And three, he hoped to garner some idea of what had been in the envelopes and how badly he'd fared.

The duchess' ballroom had been transformed for the evening, as it was every year. Most of the attendees would stand, though there had been chairs placed along the walls for the elderly and infirm. A stage had been erected at the far end. That was where the duchess would appear and begin the festivities.

If one could call them festivities.

Once the blasted thing was over, a more usual rout would commence and they'd all be free to wander from room to room, discovering what the lady had prepared as entertainments and refreshments.

Jasper would like to get to the refreshments sooner rather than later—he could do with a fortifying glass of wine just now.

He'd scanned the crowd. He avoided Miss Pickering's eye, as it seemed she was always trying to catch it and if she were there, her brother was somewhere nearby.

Finally, there. There she was.

Lady Jemima was dressed in an elegant gown of midnight blue with a simple string of pearls round her delicate neck. Her swept-up hair caught the light of the candles and glinted like glowing embers. She was enchanting, as always.

He weaved round the crowd in her direction. She turned her head. She saw him.

Jasper could not quite work out her expression. It was not distaste, nor was it enthusiasm. She looked rather stricken and he hoped the mere sight of him did not bring on an unfortunate outburst.

"Duke," she said, as he approached her party.

"Duke," her father said, "well met. I understand you were at the house today."

"Indeed I was," Jasper said. "Lady Jemima, Duchess."

"How are you feeling this evening, Duke?" the duchess asked, peering at him.

"Feeling?" he asked, wondering if he looked under the weather.

"Ought you to be sitting down?" Lady Jemima asked.

"That seems like a very good idea," the duchess said.

Jasper had no idea what they were saying. Was it some sort of gambit to get rid of him?

Lady Jemima's father, the duke, looked equally confused by the suggestion.

"I was thinking to myself," the duchess went on, "that Jemima would be best served to sit for a moment also."

"Yes, perhaps I ought to sit," Lady Jemima said.

Ah, now he thought he understood. The duchess was concerned with her daughter's health but danced round the subject to avoid an unfortunate outburst. If it seemed as if he also should sit, then Lady Jemima would not feel singled out.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I do think I ought to sit down for a moment. Lady Jemima, may I escort you to a chair?"

"Yes. A chair. That would be wise," Lady Jemima said.

Jasper bowed to the duke and duchess, though the duke still seemed entirely flummoxed. He should not be surprised. If he had to guess, Jasper imagined a father would not be as in tune with a daughter's difficulties as her mother would be. Perhaps the duke had even allowed wishful thinking to lead him to believe that the lady was fully recovered.

He led Lady Jemima to a seat. She sat down and let out a mournful sigh.

"Are you feeling quite all right, Lady Jemima?" he asked. "Do you perhaps have a headache?"

"Me? No, my head does not ache. Does your own, though?"

"Mine? No, not at all."

"I see. Well, if you feel up to it, I must confess something."

If he felt up to it? What terrible thing did she need to confess that he must feel up to it to hear?

"Is it Varnay," he asked suddenly, and just as suddenly wished he had not.

"Lord Varnay?" she asked.

"He is a rogue, Lady Jemima. That is all I will say."

Lady Jemima once again sighed plaintively. "Oh dear, I suppose that will keep you awake tonight."

What would keep him awake? That Varnay was a rogue?

"You ought to put it out of your mind. After all, there is no harm done by it, I shan't repeat it."

What on earth was she trying to say?

"Now, Duke, there is something I wished you to know that is…well, it is unfortunate. I cannot give out the details without breaking the Duchess of Ralston's rules, but I can say that what I expressed was not what I meant. I do not know what came over me."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "Was it some sort of outburst, perhaps?"

"An outburst? I suppose it was rather like an outburst."

"You cannot be blamed for it, then!"

"No?"

"Certainly not."

Just then, a hush fell over the crowd. The Duchess of Ralston had been led up the steps to her stage and now faced the crowd.

"Remember," Lady Jemima said quietly, "it was only a fit of pique that came over me."

He nodded, hoping his nod would communicate his feelings. He wished to reassure the lady—he would not condemn her for an outburst she had no control over.

"This year, the ladies have outdone themselves. And by outdone, I mean provided me with amusement," the duchess said. "For the gentlemen, you are to know that the ladies were tasked with composing a four-line poem that describes your temperament."

Jasper glanced at Lady Jemima. She nodded sadly.

He thought he could guess that her recent outburst had been written down, by way of a four-line poem. He supposed it would be ghastly, but he would stay steady in his purpose—he would not condemn her, no matter how terrible it was.

In truth, he was rather touched by how regretful she seemed.

"Before I get to the really amusing poems, I will read a few and see if my guests can hazard a guess about who they describe," The Duchess of Ralston said.

The duchess went on to read several poems. Some were guessed instantly—the fellow described as quiet and kind could only be the inoffensive Mr. Welding. He was the sort of fellow that one was always happy to see, but one never went out of one's way to see. Jasper often noticed that when he encountered Welding, he'd forgotten he even existed until reminded of it.

An ode to a horse-mad gentleman was guessed correctly as Lord Bertram.

Then came one he recognized as being aimed at himself.

He recently showed his skill at sea

Was he stymied? It just might be

Still the gentleman must be admired

In resentment he was never mired.

It was a terrible piece of writing, but he supposed he must take it as a compliment that he'd not seemed a poor sport over his loss at the regatta. Though, he'd certainly felt resentful at the time. He suspected Miss Ladleton had written it, as she had twice mentioned that Lord Varnay had robbed him of the win.

"That must be Barstow," someone called. "Varnay cut him off his right of way and he couldn't catch up after that."

"That was only," Varnay called in response, "because I never got around to reading the rules."

Some people laughed at the comment, but Jasper was gratified to note that not everybody did.

He became concerned, though, upon noting Lady Jemima's expression. She seemed very struck by it. Too struck, and he was afraid it recalled to her mind the outburst she'd had on the subject.

"Never mind it," he said quietly.

She nodded and the duchess went on to another poem.

This lord is the jolliest chap,

He thinks of a joke or quip mayhap?

Grim is not a thing he knows,

And smiles follow wherever he goes.

"Is it Noonan?" someone shouted out.

The duchess shook her head. "This describes Lord Varnay."

"Of course, Varnay," somebody said.

"Written by his own sister, I'll wager," Jasper said.

"Miss Pickering?" Lady Jemima said in some surprise.

Perhaps it had not been Miss Pickering. Perhaps it had been Lady Jemima herself.

If that were the case, the rogue really was taking advantage of Lady Jemima's weakened state. Varnay had her entirely bamboozled.

As her face had gone that interesting shade of purple it seemed to have the propensity for, he must conclude she had written that compliment about Varnay.

Varnay had her confused, as he could see that very well. She wrote that rather complimentary poem because she was confused and flustered. Did that rogue not understand that the lady must be kept calm!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jemima felt dread snaking through her and blooming as the night went on. The duchess had just read the very nice poem she had composed about Lord Varnay. It had been embarrassing to hear it aloud. Especially with the duke sitting beside her and knowing what she'd written about him.

He was so set on the idea that Lord Varnay was a rogue.

But then, she now understood why. It was only a part of his illness after he'd taken a blow to the head. Just like the footman who'd been moved to another house, the Duke of Barstow had taken on a dislike of Lord Varnay for no discernible reason. It also accounted for his mistrust of poor Miss Pickering, who he even admitted he could not explain.

All of that was nothing, however. The Duchess of Ralston was saving the poems that had amused her the most for the end of her presentation.

Jemima was certain her poem about the duke must be included.

She'd apologized, or tried to explain, in advance and he'd been so kind about it. She was not to be blamed, he said.

But, he'd not yet heard it. When he did, she suspected he'd feel very differently.

She'd been so unkind! It was true that when she wrote it, she'd not known of his blow to the head. But, had she been more generous in spirit, that would not have mattered. She would not have felt the need to go on the offensive like a general leading a military campaign.

And for what? Her pride had been stung, that was what. Her pride had been stung and she'd reacted as if it were a national affront that must be answered with a line of cannons.

"And now we come to the last I will read this evening," the duchess said. "I may say, I was both amused and surprised."

Jemima held on to her seat as if to steady herself. Here it was.

The awful words rang out.

This lord looks down his disapproving nose,

Dealing out insults wherever he goes.

One might think he'd look within on occasion,

But that would be a lord of a different persuasion.

A hush was over the crowd until a gentleman in the back of the ballroom said, "Oh I know, it must be Weston. Remember, Weston, how put out you were about the goings-on in the club last Thursday?"

The duchess shook her head.

"Then it is surely Pepperdine," someone said. "He's a testy sort."

"He's a testy sort who is just now in the Netherlands," another said.

The duke leaned over and said quietly, "It is me, I will guess."

"I'm afraid so," Jemima answered. "I did say…"

"It was only an outburst. It is no matter."

How could he be so generous about it? It was as if she'd never understood him at all.

"This poem describes," the duchess said, laughing, "the Duke of Barstow."

A chatter rolled through the ballroom and Jemima could not hear all of it, but she heard enough of it.

Barstow? Really? I would not have guessed it.

There was a disapproving note to the comments and Jemima suspected those people knew of the duke's blow to the head and wondered who had decided to be so cruel.

The duchess did not put Jemima's name to it, and she could not decide what she thought about it. On the one hand, it was a relief that all would not know of her misdeed. On the other, she deserved to have them know it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jasper was doing his level best to avoid being offended by Lady Jemima's poem. It was only the result of an outburst and so she could not be held responsible for it. She had also made a concerted effort to express her regret over it.

It must be a terrible thing to be unable to control one's words and deeds and then experience regret later. Perhaps the regret indicated she'd made further progress? It must be so, as she had not seemed to regret her earlier outbursts.

On the other hand, the poem did sting. More than sting, actually. It felt as if he were being stung by a thousand bees at once.

And, he knew the reason—the poem, outburst though it had been, was a comment on his way of being in the world. It struck a bit close to home, even if there were those listeners who were kind enough not to see it.

He had treated her unfairly. He had pronounced judgment without being fully in possession of the facts. He had failed to look to himself first.

He should have known better! It was precisely the fault Lord Lancaster had used to best him in parliament. He'd argued that the conditions in the vicinity of the Seven Dials could not be as bad as Lancaster described. It had seemed impossible, as even the worst landlord would not allow his building to fall into such disrepair.

And then, after being talked down over it, he'd gone to see for himself. It had been every bit as bad as described. He would not allow a farm animal to sleep in some of those structures.

Now, the Duchess of Ralston had stepped down from her stage and began to mingle with her guests.

Jemima's father and mother approached them. The duke said, "We're done with that nonsense for another year, eh? Though, I was very surprised by that last poem, Duke. I do not know what young lady had the effrontery to write such a piece of drivel, but her parents ought to be appalled."

"Nonsense," Jasper said, glancing at Lady Jemima who appeared entirely stricken, "the evening is all about jokes and jests and that is all it was. I know from whence it came and can assure you it is no matter."

"Hrumph," the duke said. "You are a better man than I. And I say, Varnay thinks everything is a joke. I really do not like it."

"Nor I," Jasper said. "Shall we proceed into the refreshments room? I feel a fortifying glass of wine might do us all good."

"Fortifying? Do you feel weak, Duke?" the duchess asked.

"Not at all," Jasper said, his brows wrinkling. Why should she wonder if he were feeling weak over an insulting poem? Stung, yes. Weak? No.

"Oh, yes," Lady Jemima said, "let's do go and get something. I'm sure it will be fortifying."

Did they not see? It was not him that felt weak, it was their daughter!

Jasper held out his arm and she laid her hand upon it gratefully.

The duke and duchess were waylaid by the Duchess of Ralston and this seemed to further affect Lady Jemima. The poor lady was in terror over her father discovering it was her hand that had written that poem.

Did the man not understand that his daughter was prone to outbursts as she recovered?

As he led Lady Jemima toward the refreshments room, he said quietly, "The duchess will not reveal your authorship. It would discourage next year's victims from honesty and she would not like that."

"But I fear the poem was not honest," Lady Jemima said.

"It might have been a little honest," Jasper said ruefully.

"It was not fair, I see that now," Lady Jemima said.

"You ought not dwell on it," the duke said. "I have survived the experience and will not think on it further."

"That is most gracious."

"Lady Jemima!" a voice called from behind them. It was an irritating sort of voice, as it belonged to an irritating sort of person.

Lord Varnay hurried to come by their side as they walked the corridor to the refreshment room. His sister, Miss Pickering, lifted her skirts and jogged to keep up with him.

"Rather jolly poem the duchess read to wrap things up this year, eh, Your Grace?"

Jasper had a wish to smack the smirk from smarmy Varnay. Instead, he said, "What is it you want, Varnay?"

Miss Pickering approached their party.

"Miss Pickering," Jasper said. Lady Jemima beamed at her.

"Ah, sister, the duke has just asked what it is I wanted," Varnay said. "As it happens, the duchess has told me of a lovely champagne she has acquired. I wished to procure a glass for Lady Jemima."

"Very good notion, brother," Miss Pickering said.

"Unless, of course, the duke would rather continue to discuss that poem—I wonder who wrote it?" Varnay said, laughing.

"Do not be naughty," Miss Pickering scolded, though she laughed as she did so.

Jasper's lips tightened. If there were not two ladies present, he could not say what he might do next. He'd like to drag Varnay into Jackson's ring and pound the smirk out of him.

"Do stop, Lord Varnay," Lady Jemima said. "You go too far."

"As usual," Jasper muttered.

"Indeed?" Lord Varnay said, looking surprised. He glanced back and forth between Jasper and Lady Jemima.

Jasper guessed he was trying to assess how the temperature had seemed to change between the Duke of Barstow and Lady Jemima Fornay. He assumed Varnay was not aware of the carriage accident and it would not occur to him that Lady Jemima had been subject to outbursts that she now regretted.

"Do come, brother," Miss Pickering said. "You may fetch me a glass of champagne and Lady Jemima may try it another day."

"As you wish," Varnay said smoothly. "Lady Jemima, I have no wish to irritate you, in any case."

Varnay bowed and strode off with Miss Pickering hurrying behind him.

"That was rather magnificently done," Jasper said. "I do not believe the Duchess of Ralston could have frightened him any better."

"I did not wish to affront Miss Pickering, but I felt I must be direct to end the conversation. I can sometimes be too direct."

"Not this time," Jasper said. "In any case, I've grown rather accustomed to it."

"Have you?"

"Yes, it does seem so."

They entered the refreshment room and Jasper fetched Lady Jemima a glass of Canary, as she had informed him it was her favorite. So much for Varnay's stupid idea of champagne. The lady preferred Canary.

As others in the room were doing, they examined the rather interesting works of art on the Duchess of Ralston's walls. There was everything from a child's painting of a daisy, to a ceremonial mask of some unknown origin, to the famous pawprint of Intrepid, the cat who sailed on the HMS Endeavor during Cook's first voyage. The Duchess of Ralston did not give a toss for portraits of old ancestors or paintings from the masters.

When he occasionally glanced around, he could see very well that they were under observation by Varnay, with his nervous-looking sister standing beside him. No matter, those two people had been driven off.

He and Lady Jemima spoke of the art on the walls, but Jasper thought they spoke of something else too. There was a new way of talking between them that had not been there before.

It was as if they understood one another better, which it seemed they did. Now that he understood her peculiar circumstances and she seemed to have come to the point in her recovery that caused her to regret her outbursts, it was as if a new day had dawned.

It was funny, though. Just when she began to regret her outbursts, Jasper found that he did not regret them so much.

They were, at least, honest.