Chapter Twelve

Jemima had done a fine job of delaying their departure to the duke's garden party. She'd thought long and hard about what she could do to communicate her utter disdain for the duke and his idea that her mind was damaged. Being late had been first on the list. Being very late would say that his garden party was only a tiresome duty.

She was determined to arrive very late.

Her father had put up a fuss about it, even calling up the stairs at one moment. Jemima had run from her room wrapped only in her robe and spoke to him from the top of the staircase. She explained that there had been no end of problems with her dress and Aggie was even now sewing a hem that had ripped.

The duke suggested simply choosing another dress, but Jemima had looked at him incredulous and said, "Now?"

She knew full well that her papa would not understand the incredulity of her tone, but he would write it off as a womanly thing he did not comprehend. Jemima had noticed her mother trotting out that sort of gambit. The duchess liked to say things like, "But my darling, I am a woman," when faced with a thing she did not care to face. She did not provide any further explanation regarding what she meant by it. The duke was always left vaguely uneasy and defeated, though he could not say how or why.

At the news that the dress could not be changed at this late date, the duke had trudged back into the drawing room. He'd not been happy about it, but there was little he could do to hurry a daughter still dressed in a robe who could not change dresses at the last minute on account of being a woman.

Before getting into the carriage, she mentioned to the coachman that she often felt as if he drove too fast and it gave her a headache. Barnes had stared uncomprehendingly, and the groom had snorted. They had both looked to her father for guidance on this new and extraordinary complaint.

The duke had shrugged and muttered, "It'll be sunrise by the time we finally get there."

Despite the duke's mutterings, Barnes did drive slower than would be his habit.

However, even if she could flummox her father and perhaps the coachman too, it was not so easy to fool her mother. After the endless series of delays and now proceeding very slowly through the streets, she'd said, "Jemima?"

Rather than answer the question she knew very well her mother was asking, Jemima said, "Yes, I do feel quite fine going at this pace, my headache will be avoided."

Though she had delayed and delayed, they did finally arrive at the duke's house.

It was a grand old place fronted in white stone and she knew from her father that it ran deep. On the next street over there was a servant's entrance, as the house was set up as an enormous and hollow square with a small park within.

She would not be impressed with it. A large house said nothing about the man who owned it. The man himself had said plenty, and his magnificent house could not unsay any of it.

They had arrived long past the moment when one could expect the host to be at the door, which was precisely what she'd planned.

She had not planned to find a footman standing by with a tray who claimed he'd been tasked with waiting for her specially, to be sure she received a glass of Canary wine.

Her father seemed delighted to hear it. Jemima took the glass and drank it down, feeling she really needed to steady her nerves. It was one thing to have come to such decided opinions regarding the duke, and it was another to see him.

She took another glass she could sip to keep her courage up, under her mother's concerned eye.

The footman led them through the house to the veranda and the park beyond. Jemima did her level best not to admire the series of rooms they passed by, though it was difficult as they were all exceedingly well-appointed.

The veranda and beyond were irritatingly lovely—the park was indeed small as far as parks go, but it contained winding paths that were lit up with transparencies and there were several fountains bubbling away. It would be a very pleasant place to sit of an afternoon. If one could tolerate the company of its owner.

"Ah, Duke," her father very suddenly and very jocularly said. "Our apologies for coming in so late, it could not be avoided."

Jemima pressed her lips together. Her father was very free with apologies, there had been no reason to say "our" apologies.

She turned to face him. The Duke of Barstow was looking very good, as he always did. Really, he was achingly handsome. Once more it struck Jemima that it was a shame that he was as he was—a disapproving and tightlipped matron who frowned upon her. The real her, anyway. He appeared delighted with the lady he thought she would be once she had recovered from her blow to the head.

"I hope you did not meet with trouble on the road to cause the delay," the duke said.

"The road? No, not the road, well we did come very slowly, though I would not say the road was the thing…" her father trailed off, clearly having no idea how to explain the various delays that had beset his household.

"Ah, there is cake," Jemima said, determined that anything that occurred to her supposedly damaged mind would be spoken at once. "I must have some."

She set off for the sideboard and was certain she'd left looks of consternation from both her parents in her wake. Her mother would guess what she was doing. As for her father, he'd likely write it off to more mysterious womanly doings. Her mother had convinced her father that there was a certain week every month where she could not be responsible for anything she said. Her poor Papa probably assumed his daughter was in the throes of that unfortunate week herself, seeming never to have noticed that his wife's ‘unfortunate week' was always changing and might even occur twice in the same month.

Jemima tried not to laugh when she heard her papa say, "Ladies and cake, eh?"

Her mother was a bit more astute and was on her heels and caught up with her as she took a slice of cake.

"What on earth, Jemima?" the duchess asked.

Jemima glanced at the duke and her father, who were both surreptitiously glancing at her. She slowly poured her glass of Canary on the cake, indicating it must be dry and it was her habit to pour wine on cake wherever she went, regardless of what anybody else thought of it.

"I am just being myself, Mama," she said.

"I do not think you are, actually," the duchess said. "It is one thing to moisten Cook's cakes in the privacy of our house, and heaven help us it is needed, but you know very well that whatever the duke has served will be excellent."

Jemima was using a spoon to scoop up the sopping cake. It was a rather awful combination, as it seemed Canary and almond cake did not go together. Nevertheless, she would persevere with it.

"Perhaps," Jemima said, "but the duke believes this particular habit is another symptom of my damaged mind."

"And now your father will imagine your mind has been damaged too. Really, I understand you are offended, but hold your head high and bring all your dignity to bear."

At the mention of dignity, Jemima glanced down at the mess on her plate. She set it down. "Mama, it is just…well it is just…"

"I know," the duchess said, laying a hand on her arm.

A footman took that moment to hand her another glass of Canary.

"Do be careful of that, Jemima," her mother said, taking the glass and handing it back to the footman. "A fortified wine can sneak up on a person."

"I feel quite well," Jemima said. Though really, she wished she'd eaten a few biscuits while she had been in her bedchamber pretending the hem of her dress had ripped. She had probably drunk that first glass too fast and then had more on the abominable cake too.

"Perhaps have something less affecting to drink," her mother said. She glanced around and then said, "I see just the thing."

The duchess motioned to the footman, and he hurried to fill a glass with a juice of some sort. At least, that was what it looked like. It came from a large punch bowl and sat on the sideboard with all the pastries and tarts.

He brought it over and the duchess took it and handed it to Jemima. "If I remember from other years," the duchess said, "this will be the juice of pineapples."

"Really?" Jemima said. She'd only once in her life tasted a very small piece of pineapple. She had never tried the juice. In any case, she did find herself exceedingly thirsty. Wine was lovely, but it did give one a thirst that it could not quench.

She drank from the glass. Then she drank more. It was divine and not at all as she had imagined. She had seemed to remember pineapple as being sweeter. This was not as sweet as her memory and it had a depth of flavor she did not recall.

Jemima drank down the rest of the contents of the glass. "That was a very good suggestion, Mama," she said. "I quite like that—it's given me a warm all over feeling. Goodness, it's very affecting."

As she went to hand the glass to a footman, it passed under her mother's nose. The duchess suddenly went wide-eyed.

She grabbed the glass from Jemima's hand and turned to the footman. "What is in that juice?" she asked him.

"It is a punch, Your Grace—the juices of pineapple and lime, and rum."

"Rum?" the duchess asked as if she'd not heard the young fellow properly.

The footman nodded. "The finest, Your Grace. The duke always brings in the finest to be had."

Jemima suddenly laughed, though she could have hardly said why. "Rum. It's as if I'm a sailor now, drinking rum. That's so funny. Oh no, I am not a sailor. I shall be a pirate, that is even hilariouser!"

"Oh my god…" the duchess whispered.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jemima saw that the duke and her father approached. She was certain the duke would have something to say about her pouring wine all over his cake.

It was interesting though. After drinking the pineapple rum, she was not certain she cared. She'd suppose it was because she was a pirate now. Pirates did not care!

This made her laugh again. The duchess grasped her arm.

"Excellent news," her father said, "or rather I should say, excellent idea. The duke has offered to lead Jemima down the paths to view the transparencies."

"I do not think—"

Jemima's mother was cut off in mid-sentence as the duke said, "Lady Jemima?"

She hesitated just the littlest bit, but then she recalled that she was determined to take every opportunity to show her disdain for the duke and, so far, all she'd managed to do was ruin a piece of cake.

Also, she was a pirate now and feared nothing.

"Do lead me forward, Duke, and show me these little trapperies of yours," she said in as cold a manner as she could muster. Then she paused. Did she just say trapperies or transparencies? No matter, regardless of how lovely they were, she would refuse to be impressed.

The duke held out his arm and Jemima found herself grateful to lean on it. She nearly tripped as she went down the short set of stairs down to the paths of the park.

The one problem with rum, she was quickly discovering, is that it made one feel as if one's feet were not very solid on the ground. She really did not know how pirates managed it, on top of rolling seas and everything else they had to put up with.

Of course, pirates did not need to put up with the duke, so she supposed that made things easier for them.

She weaved slightly on the path and the duke said, "Lady Jemima, are you quite all right?"

"Oh yes," she said. "It is just that sometimes, what with my damaged mind, I do weave."

"I see, yes, I hadn't thought," he said.

"Especially when I've had two glasses of wine and a rum punch," Jemima said, giggling despite herself. It really was too funny. Who thought to drink two glasses of wine and a rum punch in under an hour? A pirate, that's who!

"Ah, the punch was rather strong. Perhaps combined with wine it has been too overwhelming," the duke said.

"Not for a pirate," Jemima muttered, now taking the time to closely watch her feet lest they do anything unexpected.

"Not for a what?"

"What?"

"You said something," the duke said.

"You said something."

Goodness, the duke could talk in circles sometimes. In any case, she wished he would stop talking entirely, as her feet really did require all of her attention.

"That's it," she shouted, "no more talking."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jasper could easily guess why Lady Jemima and her parents had arrived so late to his party—she was in the midst of a rather violent and unpredictable setback. The duke and duchess probably should have kept her home, but he supposed they'd been hoping for the best.

Just as Lady Jemima had poured liquid on her cake at Almack's, she'd done so tonight. Just as she had piled her plate high at Lady Thurston's poetical tableau, she had injudiciously consumed far too much to drink this night. Why had not the duchess stopped her daughter when she'd seen the lady going for rum punch after drinking wine?

He sighed as she told him to stop talking. It could not be the time for a proposal. She was not in her right mind. He had to wait until this outburst had passed before he attempted it.

And he would attempt it. He had made the firm decision to wed her regardless of her condition and her outbursts, which were really turning out to be unpredictable. He must learn to live with it though. She was well worth it and he was certain they would lessen over time.

At least, he hoped so.

Just as he thought to turn them both round and take her back to her parents, Lady Jemima cried, "That lady, is that me?"

They had come to the end of the path and the transparency of the auburn-haired lady was on a post next to a bubbling fountain. The flame behind the transparency lit up its tresses something wonderfully.

"It is indeed meant to represent you, Lady Jemima," Jasper said. "I hope you feel the compliment."

She said, "I look very, very good!" Before he knew what was happening, she leapt toward the post.

Lady Jemima not being very steady on her feet and the post not dug into the ground too deeply as it was only to be there for one night, both of them promptly toppled over and hit the ground.

He hurried forward to help her to her feet. To Jasper's horror, a flame suddenly shot up. For just a moment, his eyes did not believe what they were seeing. And then he knew they were seeing everything perfectly clearly.

"Your dress! Your dress is on fire!"

Losing no time, he swept the lady up from the ground and tossed her into the fountain.

Blessedly, the water put the fire out. The lady struggled up and sat up to her waist in water, amidst grey smoke lazily drifting in the air.

Two footmen had come running, likely in response to seeing smoke rise from the trees. They stopped short and stared at Lady Jemima.

In response, Lady Jemima said, "This pirate is shipwrecked," and then laughed uncontrollably.

Jasper picked her up and set her on her feet. "Are you burned anywhere?" he asked.

Lady Jemima seemed to just then comprehend how she'd ended up in the fountain in the first place. Her hair dripped and its pins were making a valiant attempt to hold on. Her dress was soaked through and clung to her in a fetching, though alarming, fashion. She picked up her shredded and singed hem and had a look at her legs.

It was done so quickly that Jasper had a look at her legs too. He was momentarily transfixed.

"Fire does not dare touch the pirate," Lady Jemima said happily. "Oh wait, I know—I'm as right as rain. You see? Because I look like I was rained on."

The footmen were frozen to their spots. Jasper turned to them and said, "One of you go and retrieve a blanket of some sort, and bring it here. The other one very discreetly pull the duchess aside and explain that Lady Jemima tripped and got wet in the fountain and guide her here once she's informed the duke. After that is done, find their coachman and have him bring the carriage round to the servants' entrance on the other side of the house."

"Tripped and got wet?" Jemima said. "I was thrown! Tell my mama I was thrown."

"Do not tell her that," Jasper said in a low voice. "Now, go."

The two footmen turned on their heels and hurried off.

Lady Jemima had taken herself out of the fountain and now sat on its edge. "My shoes are ruined," she said, staring down at them.

Of course, they were entirely ruined. Though that seemed a minor concern, considering.

"This is all your fault," Lady Jemima said. "Oh, I know, you think it's me and my damaged mind, but it's your stupid Canary wine and stupid rum punch. Also, you threw me into the fountain."

"You were on fire," Jasper pointed out.

"Pshaw, fire is nothing to a pirate."

Jasper did not answer, as he did not think there would be any reasoning with a lady in the middle of an outburst who was also very drunk. Not to mention the idea that fire was very much a concern for a pirate.

The duchess had not been long in coming. She hurried to the scene and stopped short.

"Gracious," she whispered.

"Mama," Lady Jemima said, "The duke threw me into the fountain."

Lest the duchess begin to think he'd lost his mind, Jasper said, "Lady Jemima tripped, a transparency fell down on top of her, and her dress caught fire. I had no other choice."

The duchess shook her head. "Well, the sooner we conclude this adventure the better. The duke went to find the coachman himself and direct him to the far side of the house. I presume there is a way to exit the park that avoids walking through the party?"

"Indeed, I will guide you to it," Jasper said.

He took Lady Jemima's arm while the duchess took the other. They led her down the paths to the other side of the park as Lady Jemima's silk shoes squelched on the cobblestones and she murmured something further about pirates.

Jasper did not often enter the north side of the house; it was for the exclusive use of the servants. As he walked through the ground floor, he was rather surprised at how comfortably appointed it was—he was certain a sofa he'd just passed by had been in one of his guest bedrooms at some point.

He supposed he ought to confine himself to being grateful that the door in from the park had been unlocked and they had speedily reached the street side of the house. Lady Jemima seemed to be moving forward less and less on her own power.

As it happened, the carriage waited for them. Fortunately, the coachman had been quickly located and brought it round. Unfortunately, Lady Jemima's father seemed rather incredulous over the state of his daughter. The coachman and the groom obviously shared the sentiment.

Before the lady's father could say anything about it, the duchess said, "Merely an unfortunate accident, my dear."

"Very unfortunate, it seems," the duke said.

Lady Jemima hooked a thumb in Jasper's direction and said, "He says I was on fire, but I never was, Papa. It was only my dress that was on fire."

And with that clarification, Lady Jemima was speedily hauled into the carriage.

What a night.