Chapter Thirteen

Mr. Harkinson had never witnessed such a scene in his entire life. It had been exceedingly difficult to get Lady Jemima out the door the evening before, but it had finally been accomplished.

The state she'd been in when she had returned to the house though! The lady was soaking wet from head to foot, the hem of her dress was ripped and blackened, it smelled like they'd all been in a house fire, and he was fairly sure the lady was drunk on top of it. At least he must suppose so, as he did not know why else she would have informed him that she was a pirate.

What had happened? Had she attempted to burn down the duke's house? And worse, who had seen it?

The duchess had made some explanation of the duke's fountains being awkwardly placed and how Lady Jemima had tripped and fell into one of them.

How awkwardly placed could they be? Were they just holes in the ground? Were they filled with wine and Lady Jemima had inadvertently swallowed a few bottles while she was flailing around in it? Where did the smell of fire come from? What happened to the hem of her dress?

And then the duchess had been ever so confident that nobody would hear of this situation, whatever it had truly been.

She was so na?ve!

Mr. Harkinson, himself, had no hope that whatever had happened would be forever hidden. There must have been a footman lurking about, or a housemaid peering out a window, or a butler being informed. Garden parties were notorious for being a rather public sort of affair. A kitchen maid could not peek round the doors of the drawing room, but they had no trouble at all peering down from their windows. And they did all peer out, he knew it from his own household. They'd snuff their candles and stare down from the darkness of their windows.

Whatever they had seen, they would talk.

His only real questions were two. One: what would the story be? Two: how fast would it go round?

He was afraid he was minutes from discovering the answers to those questions. He would meet with The League and their carriages were already arriving to the club address.

As they filed in, Mr. Harkinson searched their faces for any sort of clue.

Then he wished he had not. Mr. Wilburn would not meet his eye. Mr. Rennington seemed on the verge of a faint. Mr. Browning appeared as he smelled something unpleasant. Mr. Feldstaffer shook his head and looked very resigned. Even Mr. Penny appeared grave. Mr. Penny was never grave!

They seated themselves and remained in silence until Mrs. Belkey had brought in the tea and then closed the door behind her.

Mr. Harkinson said, "I do not know what you have heard as I have not yet heard what has taken place. However, I can see you've heard something."

He must discover it right away. He would need time think of how to talk himself out of whatever it was. Somehow, whatever had happened must be tied to Lady Jemima's unfortunate blow to the head. Her alleged carriage accident was the only thing keeping his head above water in an ocean of lies and deceits!

"I am afraid, Mr. Harkinson," Mr. Wilburn said, "that Lady Jemima is not fit to be out in society. Her condition remains too unpredictable."

Mr. Harkinson stared at him. They were fine words, but there was no information in them. What had happened?

Mr. Penny shifted in his chair. "I, myself, do not like to predict disaster—"

Mr. Penny was cut off by Mr. Feldstaffer. "I don't like it either but I'm often right!"

"It is all too upsetting," Mr. Rennington said.

Mr. Harkinson dug his nails into his palms. Would somebody say what had happened?

"If you could just inform me of what is being said?" he asked boldly. He did not actually wish to know, but it was necessary that he know. One could not talk oneself out of a mystery.

"It seems," Mr. Browning said, "that Lady Jemima drank excessively of rum—"

"Rum!" Mr. Rennington cried, twisting his hands together.

"And," Mr. Browning continued, "declared herself a pirate, set her dress on fire, and somehow ended in a fountain."

"Now, I did think about that," Mr. Penny said. "I believe the lady may have ended in the fountain because she was on fire. Which would be good sense. When you think about it."

Mr. Harkinson blanched. He would not have guessed all of that had gone on. Though, as soon as he heard it, he knew it was true. The circumstances described matched what he'd seen when Lady Jemima had returned to the house. She was soaking wet, the hem of her dress was damaged and there was the smell of soot in the air, she was the worse for drink, and she informed him she was a pirate.

It was all too much! It was one thing for him to have exaggerated the lady's charms. It was one thing for her to be too forward and too loud and too everything she was.

However, it was quite another thing to get drunk, set oneself afire, proclaim one's status as a pirate, and end the evening by swimming in a fountain.

Maybe she really had experienced a blow to the head.

"That is a setback indeed," Mr. Harkinson said, playing for time.

"It is more than a setback though," Mr. Wilburn said. "All along, we have believed that Lady Jemima's recovery was proceeding. We imagined her outbursts would fade and become none. But here we are, facing the fact that they are going in the wrong direction—they are worsening, rather than improving."

"The poor lady," Mr. Penny said.

"Naturally," Mr. Browning said, "we all feel for the lady. This terrible calamity that has come upon her was no fault of her own. She could not have helped having a blow to the head from an accident."

"That's right," Mr. Harkinson said hopefully. He did not know where Mr. Browning was going, but sympathy for Lady Jemima's supposed plight certainly could not do harm.

"However," Mr. Browning continued, "we must face facts. We cannot allow Lady Jemima to be further exposed to the duke, even if he would wish it. We can see that the lady has been damaged permanently and grows worse by the day. It would be irresponsible of us to continue this matchmaking venture."

Mr. Harkinson sat back. A glorious solution was being proposed. It was precisely what he had wished for—any idea of a match between the duke and Lady Jemima must be thrown over.

Naturally, his reasons for wishing it all to be forgotten were not Mr. Browning's reasons, but who cared about that?

"I find I must concur, Mr. Browning," Mr. Harkinson said, attempting to look very sad about it.

"I do not know," Mr. Penny said. "Is all hope really lost?"

"I lost hope right from the start," Mr. Feldstaffer murmured.

"I did not so much lose hope as lose my nerve," Mr. Rennington said, shakily attempting to get his teacup in range of his lips.

"The deciding idea, in my opinion," Mr. Wilburn said, "is whether our esteemed league wishes to be associated with a project so likely to end in disaster. We have lived by Cum Virtute, we have always proceeded with valor, but with valor must also be commonsense."

The men all nodded gravely. All but Mr. Penny. He said, "Perhaps we might choose the middle road in this situation. Might there be a way to convince the duke and duchess to take Lady Jemima home for the remainder of the season? Might there be some hope in removing her to a calm and regulated environment? She might very well make strides in her recovery."

Mr. Harkinson did not know what strides Lady Jemima could make, but he did not care one way or the other. The membership was agreed that, at least for now and hopefully permanently, the matchmaking venture was off!

"I am agreeable, but not hopeful," Mr. Browning said.

"Hopeful? Hah! As if I'd ever had any," Mr. Feldstaffer said.

"I'll agree with whatever everybody else wants," Mr. Rennington said.

"Very well," Mr. Wilburn said. "Mr. Harkinson, you must somehow convince the duke and duchess to remove Lady Jemima from Town."

Mr. Harkinson nodded. With any luck, he wouldn't have any work to do on that score. He was certain the duchess would wish to spirit her daughter away and avoid any talk going round.

Praise God, this nightmare was coming to an end.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When she had first opened her eyes, Jemima could not work out why she felt so awful. Nor why there had been a bucket by her bed. Nor why Aggie was sleeping in a chair next to her.

It did come back though, in painful bits and scenes. A flash here, a moment there, until it all began to weave itself together. Things were not entirely clear, but she did recall that she'd had too much to drink, it had affected her mightily, she'd fallen on top of a transparency, set herself on fire, and the duke had thrown her into the fountain.

She sat up. What was wrong with her?

Aggie stirred and opened her eyes. Her maid smiled, "Ahoy, pirate captain—first mate at your service."

"What?" Jemima asked. She had no idea what Aggie was going on about.

"Ah, you don't recall naming yourself a pirate."

She certainly did not. What else did she not recall?

"Oh no," she whispered. "My mother and father will be furious."

Aggie jumped up and folded the blanket she'd used. "I think you're off the hook with the duke. The duchess explained that you were in the midst of a woman's unfortunate week and he seemed to know what that meant. In response, he'd only whispered, "When will the week be over?"

Her poor Papa—bamboozled again with supposed womanly problems.

"But my mother?"

"Aye, I'll expect she'll be in this morning and then we'll see."

"Yes, I suppose we will." Jemima sighed. Her whole plan the evening before was to bring all her disdain for the duke and his ideas to bear. He was to see what her allegedly damaged mind was capable of.

And what had she done? She'd acted as if she really did have a damaged mind.

He would never forget what he'd seen last night. Though she was not meant to care anything about it, she did. She felt positively heartbroken and she realized that she'd been secretly nursing some kind of hope that what he thought of her was not actually true.

Now, what he thought of her she had made true.

"Bellview Cottage is looking more and more the only answer, Aggie."

Before Aggie answered, the door swung open and the duchess strode through it.

"Mama, I am so sorry!" Jemima said, bursting into tears.

The duchess came to the bedside and patted her hand. "As am I, as it was partly my fault."

"How could it have been your fault? I was the one setting myself on fire and having to be thrown into a fountain."

"Indeed, that was you. However, I was the one who took your wine away and replaced it with rum punch, believing it to be pineapple juice."

Jemima leaned back. She had forgotten that part. No wonder she'd ended in a fountain, she'd never had rum in her life.

"I will never touch another drop of rum," Jemima said.

"Excellent decision. And really, why did the duke not have the punch on a sideboard with all the other spirits? Why was it on a dessert table? How was I to know?"

"It was not your fault, Mama," Jemima said, "you were only attempting to slow me down with the Canary as I was in a bit of a state."

"Indeed you were. Well, I suppose we must think what we are to do about this."

"Do we need to do anything?" Jemima asked. "Did other people see what happened?"

"At least two footmen," the duchess said. "I imagine they've been gabbing about it all morning and you know how servants do gossip. The tale may make the rounds."

Aggie refolded the blanket she'd already folded three times in an effort to avoid the duchess' eye when gossip was mentioned.

"Ought we to go home then?" Jemima asked.

"I do not know. Would it be better to disappear from view or boldly face it down?" The duchess paused. "There is one other option, though I had not considered it an option until this morning."

"What is it? What is the other option?" Jemima asked, not particularly favoring the two that had been mentioned.

"The Duchess of Ralston wrote to me yesterday requesting your presence at a party in Kent. That would serve the purpose, I should think—you are removed from Town but not from society. It will give us some room to breathe until whatever is coming blows over."

"Why should the Duchess of Ralston invite me, though?" Jemima could not imagine why the duchess should specially invite her to a house party.

"Well, it seems her usual companion has gone and got herself married and the duchess requires a young lady to accompany her. It is to be Lady Dudmore's annual party, which I will fully confess your father and I avoid every season."

"Why should you avoid it? Is the lady unpleasant?"

"Lady Dudmore? No. It is just that we do not particularly appreciate her sense of humor. Her annual event is called the Upside Down Party and is entirely absurd. She invents silly sports for her guests to participate in and then there is a ghastly costume ball at the end of it where everyone must come as a forest animal."

"And you think I ought to go?" Jemima said, not entirely certain whether she wished to or not.

"Yes, goodness, now that I'm thinking it through it is just the ticket. For one, the queen always attends—she is a great proponent of Lady Dudmore's invented sports. I believe she actually confers on the plans every season. Further, you would be accompanied by the Duchess of Ralston, she rules the ton with an iron fist and is a close confidant of Queen Charlotte's. If anybody can stop talk in its tracks, it is the Duchess of Ralston."

"What if the duchess hears something of my misfortune and is offended to be associated with me? What if she feels somehow duped about me? What if I am in Kent with her and she suddenly decides I am not suitable company?"

Jemima's mother waved her hands. "I wouldn't worry over it. The Duchess of Ralston never follows the ton's lead. In fact, I have observed that when society has agreed to go one way, the duchess will very purposefully go the other way."

Jemima was not certain that the duchess choosing to go the other way meant she would not mind being accompanied by a young companion who was being talked about, though it was a shred of hope to hold onto.

"But what about the duke? He will not be there, will he?" Jemima asked. "I do not wish to encounter the duke."

Jemima could not really say if she wished to see the duke. A part of her did wish to see him, as absurd as that was. But then, somehow, she did not wish for him to see her. Not after what he'd witnessed at his garden party. It was too humiliating.

"The Duke of Barstow attending Lady Dudmore's Upside Down party?" the duchess said with a laugh. "I am certain that gentleman would rather contract the plague."

Jemima nodded. "I suppose I ought to go, then."

The duchess rose. She kissed Jemima's forehead. "I will write the duchess this minute. As for you, I expect you'd best stay abed today. I presume you do not feel your best."

"Indeed I do not."

"Aggie will send for tea and toast and she can stay up here and entertain you with reading or cards."

"What of Papa? He is not angry?"

"Goodness no, he's terrified. I will put his mind at ease and tell him your woman's unfortunate week is coming to a close."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Barstow House was near silent in the early morning, as houses always were the day after a large party. The lead up to the entertainment would have been exhausting to every servant in the house and now there was little energy left to make noise or bustle about.

"The housemaids were all aflutter for most of the evening," Randolph said, "though I could hardly lend credence to what they claimed to have witnessed."

"That Lady Jemima set herself afire and I threw her into a fountain to douse the flames?"

"Well…yes."

"Deny that it ever happened. I do not wish it to be talked about in the wider world."

"But it did happen?"

"Lady Jemima had an unfortunate setback," Jasper said. "I also do not believe she had any understanding of just how strong the rum punch was."

"What will you do now?" Randolph asked.

"I'm not entirely certain," Jasper said. "My aim remains the same, but perhaps this is not the right time. She may require more time to recover before she's thrown into thinking about a wedding. I would wish her to be fully in control of her faculties when she is pressed to accept or reject me. In any case, I am wondering what steps the duke and duchess may take after this fiasco. I wonder if they might relocate her home and try again next season. In which case, I will bide my time."

"I could always try to find out," Randolph said.

"You? How?"

Randolph fiddled with the brush he used to clean Jasper's coats of London's dust and grime. "Well, I have a cousin who is second cook in the Earl of Copperstone's house, that house being also situated on Grosvenor Square. He knows a footman in Lady Jemima's house as they often stroll the square. His day off is Thursday, I'll send him a note to see if he can discover it."

"Is there any servant in this town who does not know a hundred other servants?"

"Unlikely," Randolph said.

Jasper sighed. "See if you can find anything out, it would be helpful to know. In the meantime, I would like to send Lady Jemima flowers that would send just the right message, but I cannot come up with anything."

"Provence—your heart is in flames…no wait, it was the lady who was in flames. Or perhaps water lilies—she might put them in her own fountain, thereby discouraging any ideas of swimming in it herself."

"Very funny."

"I am, rather. Now, joking aside. What about primroses? Send the message of constancy—your feelings have not changed, regardless of any fires or near-drownings."

"Very well, make the arrangements. No note, just my name on it."

"Meanwhile, another letter from Lady Dudmore has arrived."

Jasper sighed. Lady Dudmore had been a great friend of his mother's and she was always attempting to get him to accept an invitation to her Upside Down party in Kent. He always refused with some unavoidable reason, though he was running out of obscure relations who had suddenly died.

"I know why she writes, and I do not know what I'll say this time, but I absolutely will not go."

"Not your sort of crowd, I suppose."

"It's not the crowd, it's the entertainment," Jasper said. "Though it is some of the crowd too, I suppose. Varnay always goes, that irritating scoundrel. I do not know what Lady Dudmore sees in him."

"Who cares what Lady Dudmore sees?" Randolph said. "Lady Jemima is in London and Lord Varnay will be in Kent. He can't stir up trouble from that distance."

"True," Jasper said. Varnay did always attend Lady Dudmore's party. Jasper supposed the rogue would take any opportunity to find himself in the same house as the queen.

Jasper had no need to chase Her Majesty to Kent as he was regularly received at the palace.

Let Varnay set his sights on toadying up to Queen Charlotte. Jasper had his own eyes set firmly in the direction of Lady Jemima Fornay.