Chapter Sixteen

Jemima had been dressed while Aggie chattered on about the servants just now staying in Lady Dudmore's household. It seemed there was something of a battle of the lady's maids going on below stairs.

The queen had two maids and naturally they felt themselves superior. However, the Duchess of Ralston's maid was French and looked wonderfully down her nose at the queen's maids, wondering aloud why it took two of them to dress one person. The housekeeper hardly knew what to do with the three of them.

Jemima wore a crème silk gown and Aggie arranged her hair into some sort of order, then she hurried through the connecting door to the duchess' room.

She found the duchess in front of her glass and her maid expertly pinning up her hair.

"Ah, Lady Jemima," the duchess said. "Though we all had some interesting moments in the drawing room, Fleur tells me the real entertainment was below stairs."

Fleur shrugged.

"I have advised my maid not to feud with the queen's maids," the duchess said sternly.

Fleur shrugged again and Jemima had little hope that she would retreat in the battle below stairs.

"Now, what's this about Lord Varnay and the Duke of Barstow arguing about who ought to escort you up the stairs?"

"I hardly know," Jemima said. "It did seem rather silly. I suspect Lord Varnay was only making a joke."

"But the duke certainly was not. I know his looks—he was excessively aggravated with Lord Varnay."

"Lord Varnay does sometimes go too far."

"Lady Jemima, you cannot have missed that the Duke of Barstow has an interest in you? I am certain that is what brings him here. Apparently, he is not at all put off by your interesting display at his garden party."

"No, he does not seem to be," Jemima said noncommittedly.

"Have you no interest in him, then? I would be surprised, he is a fine man in every respect."

How was she to answer such a question? She had hoped, really hoped, and then all her hope had been swept away once she understood what the duke really thought of her.

"I see," the duchess said. "It is not that you do not like him. There is some other problem between you. Out with it."

"Out with it?" Jemima said.

Fleur looked over her shoulder. "When Her Grace says "out with it," all hope is lost in keeping your secret. Désespoir total."

"This is true," the duchess said. "When I wish to know a thing, I find it out."

Jemima sighed. It seemed preposterous to even describe what had happened. Though, she must describe it somehow.

"Well, you see, Duchess, there might have been something between us. What I mean is, we are very different, but then that began to seem as not such an insurmountable obstacle until…"

Jemima trailed off, she hardly could find the words to explain what came next.

"Until?" the duchess said, urging her on.

"It seems the duke was never really interested in me. Not as I am. He somehow came under the impression that I had experienced some sort of accident, a blow to the head that has affected me. He thinks that I, as I am, am not really who I am. He believes that the real Jemima Fornay is some sort of paragon among women. She is reserved and quiet and does not eat very much and only walks her horse and she certainly does not set her dress on fire. He awaits my recovery from my damaged mind, but there is no damaged mind. I am only me, and the duke is not at all interested in only me."

The duchess sat back in her chair. Fleur whispered, "Quel idiot."

"He is an idiot indeed," the duchess said.

"Then, I believe I have been an idiot too," Jemima said. "I had been told that his behaviors, who he is, all his disapproving and looking down his nose, was the result of a horse-riding accident he'd experienced. It was said to be very terrible and affected his mind, but he was coming back to himself. And then I discovered that was not at all true."

Fleur snorted. "Deux idiots."

"Gracious," the duchess whispered. "I have encountered some strange situations in my time, but this exceeds them all. Where on earth did these two stories of damaged minds come from?"

Jemima shrugged. "Nobody knows, it was just gossip going round."

"So, you know that you have not had an accident, and you know the duke has not had an accident. He, however, will only know that he has not had an accident."

Jemima nodded.

"This will require some careful thought to fully take in," the duchess said.

Fleur placed the last pin in the duchess' hair and said, "Une catastrophe."

Fleur was right. It had been a catastrophe, from start to finish.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jasper had been mightily relieved to see Randolph hurrying into his bedchamber with two footmen carrying his trunk. Perhaps ever-annoying, but always ever-efficient, his valet had got him dressed in time for the second gong.

Everyone would assemble in the drawing room and then be led into dinner. There would not be an extended milling around—when the queen descended they would go straight into the dining room.

As nobody wished to be found descending after the queen, the stairs were a crowd of people hurrying down them.

Jasper did not feel the need to practically run down the stairs as some others did. He did not spot Lady Jemima and she was the only thing that could have hurried him forward.

In any case, he need not hurry. Everything would be as it should be. Lady Dudmore had made the seating arrangements according to how the queen liked it. She had a respect for rank, but she did not like the results to be boring. As a duke and a favorite of the queen's, it had been no trouble to place himself at Her Majesty's right. The Duchess of Ralston would be on the queen's left. He'd arranged with Lady Dudmore to place Lady Jemima, as a duke's daughter, on his own right.

Further, he arranged that old Lord Ainsley would be on Lady Jemima's right side. There was not a less attractive man in the house—he reeked of cigars, his clothes were always faintly dusted with cigar ash, and his primary interest seemed to be in smoking them or talking about them.

Varnay, being a middling viscount with not much to recommend him, would find himself dead center in the middle of the table. So would Mrs. Ventriss, which was bound to irk him. Jasper had high hopes that Mrs. Ventriss would employ her fan so vigorously that Varnay would be well-bruised before the dessert course.

He entered the drawing room as Lady Dudmore was busy pairing everyone up to go in.

"Duke," she said, "you will take in the queen."

Jasper saw that Lady Jemima was already standing by with Lord Ainsley.

The queen entered, everyone curtsied and bowed, Jasper held out his arm, and they proceeded in.

There were quite a few things he liked about the queen, but perhaps her unwillingness to mill around was one he liked best. When it came to dinner, she brooked little nonsense.

He led her to her place at the top of the table and everybody else filed to their respective places. Including Lady Jemima.

She seemed very much surprised to be put on his right. Wide-eyed, in fact.

Jasper paused. Was she becoming too over-stimulated? He had not thought of that. What if she were to have an outburst so near the queen?

It suddenly occurred to him that he may have been selfish in his arrangements. He'd only thought of what he preferred, not what might be best for Lady Jemima.

If something untoward were to occur, it would be entirely his fault.

He must keep her calm at all costs. And perhaps block the queen's view of her piled-high plate. And ensure that she did not take in too much wine.

Lady Dudmore, having taken her place at the other end of the table, rose. The chatter of the diners died down.

"Welcome, my guests," she said. "And most welcome, our esteemed Queen Charlotte."

The obligatory applause and foot stomping rang out and the queen graciously nodded.

"Every year, this is the moment," Lady Dudmore said. "My footmen bring round the wine and begin the first course, while I let you all know what the queen and I have in store for you."

Jasper suppressed a sigh. This was the moment, indeed. This was the moment he was to be informed of whatever ridiculousness he would be put to on the morrow.

"I believe we have outdone ourselves this year, Lady Dudmore," the queen said.

"As do I, Your Majesty," Lady Dudmore said. "Now, on the morrow, we begin the day with a sport we have invented called Twin Tennis. Two gentlemen will play each side, but here is the amusement—they will be tied together, right leg to left leg."

There were various snorts and groans heard round the table. The snorts would have come from those gentlemen too old to be pressed into it, the groans from those who were not too old and would be pressed into it.

Was he actually to be tied to another man's leg and play tennis? Who even played court tennis anymore? He had not played since he was a boy, and then only because his father used to press him into it to satisfy one of their neighbors who was keen on it. He did not remember half the rules. It was a nightmare.

"Then," Lady Dudmore said, "after a mid-day repast, we will all walk down to the lake and the gentlemen will have a regatta. Ah, now you think, what is original in that? Well, it is just this—there will be no rudders on the boats. A rudderless regatta."

"But," Lord Garrison sputtered, "I've never played tennis. And as to the boats, how will we steer the things?"

"Those are precisely your problems," the queen said, laughing.

"Just so," Lady Dudmore said. "And finally, after dinner, we will have blindfolded lawn bowling. Let the balls roll where they may. Good luck on the morrow, gentlemen. For now, let us wine, dine, and enjoy the queen's gracious presence."

With that, Lady Dudmore sat down.

Jasper determined to put aside all the ghastly thoughts that flashed through his mind upon considering what the morrow would bring. Now was the moment to see which dinner partner he must turn to. The queen would lead the way and if she turned toward him, he must entertain her. If the queen turned the other way, he could finally speak to Lady Jemima.

Blessedly, Her Majesty turned to her left and was shortly heads together with the Duchess of Ralston.

"Lady Jemima," he said, turning to his right, "I pray you have recovered from…" He did not finish the sentence. He did not even know why he'd begun it, as it did not seem as if there were any graceful way to finish it. Why had he not thought out how to open the conversation?

"Recovered from being handed what my mother thought was pineapple juice, but was actually a rum punch? Yes, I have recovered. Though, my mother does still wonder why the punch was placed on the sideboard with the desserts, rather than the sideboard with the other spirits."

Jasper was entirely taken aback. Was that what had happened? "I see, I had thought…well of course that is a valid point."

"What is it you thought?"

"Thought? I suppose I thought, well I might have presumed, you see it did seem…"

"That I drank down a large rum punch on account of my damaged mind," the lady said flatly.

There was no use denying the charge, as that had been what he'd thought.

"Yes, I did think it so," he said.

"And there is the problem with your assumptions, Duke. My mind was never damaged, there was never a carriage accident. I do not know who began that rumor or why, but it is simply not true. I am as I am, and that is that."

Jasper was entirely perplexed. Was there some reason she had suddenly gone into denial over the accident?

"Lady Jemima, there is no shame in it," he said quietly. "You have been hurt through no fault of your own and I, for one, think you have very bravely faced it and carried on as best you could."

Jasper had thought those words would be comforting, but by the expression of the lady, they were not. She was positively purple and her eyes were glittering.

She did not answer him, but rather took up her wine.

Oh God, was she on the verge of an outburst?

"Barstow?"

The queen had turned to him. He had no choice, he must turn. All he could do now was pray that Lady Jemima was soothed by the inane conversation one might have with Lord Ainsley.

However, should an outburst occur, he was ready to leap to her rescue. He would lead her out, claim she was ill, and hope her maid had some method of calming her. If it became necessary, he would explain to the queen what Lady Jemima had suffered. She must be protected.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jemima did not suppose she'd ever been so angry. No, not just angry. It was some sort of terrible combination of being hurt and angered and affronted and stung.

The duke felt very sorry for her, indeed.

Was she so outlandish that she could not even convince a gentleman that she'd not had a blow to the head?

The duke had clearly viewed the idea as preposterous. He could not believe that what he saw was just her—Jemima Fornay. Not some unfortunate lady who did not know what she did.

Certainly, she was not that strange.

She wished to throw down her napkin and run from the room, but of course she would not do so. Even if the queen were not so nearby, she would not do so. And, as the queen was nearby, she would be careful not to put a foot out of place. She would not humiliate her father in such a manner.

Jemima had turned to Lord Ainsley, which was a bit of a relief. She thought she understood how to entertain such a gentleman.

"Lord Ainsley," she said, attempting to keep her tone cheerful, "I understand you are fond of cigars. My grandfather was an aficionado of the habit. He did find the introduction of Caba?as to be a leap forward in quality over what he'd been importing from Spain."

Lord Ainsley's eyes lit up and he spent the next quarter hour comparing various dealers and the quality of their products. Jemima half listened to him, though she was at least able to glean that he agreed with her grandfather—the introduction of Caba?as in the late 1700's had elevated the product.

She was happy to let him talk, as she currently had quite a lot on the dinner plate in front of her and she was starving. She'd not let a footman go by without taking something. At home, she always had a large jar of biscuits in her bedchamber to stave off hunger pangs. She really should have brought some with her.

Lady Dudmore's arrangements were elegant, but not exactly filling. There had been a single almond biscuit with the Dudmore crest stamped on it sitting on a gold-plated saucer in her room. She'd eaten it, and then been tempted to eat the saucer too.

On top of her usual appetite, any sort of upset only increased her hunger. Her old governess used to say that she liked to feed her feelings like other people fed their lapdogs. If that were really the case, her feelings were ravenous and insatiable at the moment.

She had debated whether or not she ought to tell the duke the truth—she had not experienced any sort of blow to the head. She was as she was because that was how she had always been. She would never be otherwise.

Jemima had never considered that he would not believe her. It was too insulting.

She did not know why he had come to Lady Dudmore's house, but she dearly wished he would go home.

If there were anything at all to entertain her, it was not the endless amount of information about cigars that Lord Ainsely was providing, but rather the stricken looks of Lord Varnay further down the table. He had been placed next to Mrs. Ventriss and she was making good use of her fan.

She could not see Miss Pickering, as the lady was on her own side and further down, but she hoped Miss Pickering was making out better than her brother.

It was a relief that Miss Pickering was in the house, and Jemima was determined to seek her out and stay by her side when the ladies retired to the drawing room.

"So you see, Lady Jemima," Lord Ainsley said, "it is not just a matter of the quality of the tobacco, though that is of course of the utmost importance. But how was the cigar rolled? Too tight or too loose are both a very bad business. Then, what about the curing process? And was it properly aged?"

Lord Ainsley paused, apparently to get her views on the subject.

She nodded and smiled. "Lord Ainsley, you are very well met. I feel, at this moment, that I might be once more sitting by my dear grandfather."

The lord seemed very charmed by this. "Well!" he said. "You're rather a brick yourself, Lady Jemima."

All in all, Jemima rather liked Lord Ainsley. She would be interested to know what sort of hidey-holes he came up with for his cigar stubs in Lady Dudmore's house.

It was something to think about, in any case. She wished to have things to think about, so she need not dwell on the duke and his opinions.

Thatwas all too terrible to think about. She wished to be angry and dismissive and not give a toss for whatever went on in that stiff duke's mind. But then, she was also so hurt by what went on in that stiff duke's mind.

She had heard, as every young girl does, of the perils of disappointed hopes. It had seemed a far-off sort of thing that was not very likely to happen to her. In truth, it had seemed impossible that it would happen to her.

It had happened, though.

The only consolation was that it was not public. The only people in the wide world who knew of her disappointment were her mother and Aggie. Those two people could be trusted to take the knowledge to their graves.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jasper had reluctantly turned from Lady Jemima, very fearful that another outburst was on the horizon. The queen had required his attention, and so she must have it.

He kept one ear open for what was occurring on his other side and was vastly relieved to hear Lady Jemima having a genial, if one-sided, conversation with Ainsley. He was talking about cigars, as he always was.

"Barstow," the queen said, "you will not be young forever, you know. Trust me, I had hoped it for myself. Do not you think you ought to set your sights on getting an heir? We will all be devastated if you die without one."

"That is very kind, Your Majesty, but I cannot imagine I will be too much missed for very long."

"We will be devastated because the dukedom will fall to your cousin, the Earl of Mellbrook. I do not care for that gentleman; he is a womanizer and a drunkard."

Jasper was certain he flushed, for several reasons. One, he had made the presumption that the queen would be devastated upon his death because of the loss of his charming person, which was not the case. Two, Her Majesty had never spoken to him before of the necessity of getting an heir. And three, mention of Mellbrook was always embarrassing. He was a rogue of the first order and would run the estates into the ground with his profligate spending if he did not die of brandy first.

"Well? Have you thought about it?" the queen asked.

"As a matter of fact, I have, Your Majesty."

"And now the necessary second inquiry—have you done anything beyond thinking about it? Is something in the works?"

"Uh, not yet," he mumbled.

"I see," the queen said. "Well, whether or not you would like my advice on the subject, you are about to get it. My idea for you, Barstow, is you ought to wed somebody a bit more lively than you are. Somebody with a bit more fun in them, as it were."

"More fun?" Jasper asked. Did everyone in the entire world think he was not fun? His valet had claimed it so, and now the Queen of England had just confirmed it.

Really, he could be fun. Under the right circumstances. Perhaps he had not spent endless hours being fun, but he could. If he were determined to do it.

"You are a rather serious sort of person," the queen said. "If you were to wed a lady very like you, it would be a drab and depressing household. You see, a gentleman who is perhaps a bit too inclined toward fun, take Lord Varnay for instance, needs a serious and steady hand as a wife. She will be his anchor of rationality. You, however, have rationality pouring out of your ears. You will need lightness to lift you up."

Jasper had no words to put together as a reply. He had rationality pouring out of his ears now? And, apparently, it was not a very good quality to have. Was that really how people viewed him?

Was that how Lady Jemima viewed him? It might well be so. That very first night she'd accused him of being too serious and hoped he would show himself more fun in future.

He'd not done that, though. He was not at all certain he knew how to get started with such a project. It made him feel uncomfortable just thinking about it. What was he supposed to do? Go round smiling all the time?

"I had the young ladies brought to me earlier this evening," the queen said. "I tasked them to amuse me by telling me what sort of scrapes they'd got into this season."

"Scrapes, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, scrapes. Problems, mistakes, unexpected consequences, disappointed parents, that sort of thing."

Jasper did not know where the queen was going, but he knew she was going somewhere. She was always going somewhere.

"Lady Jemima told me the amusing story of setting her dress on fire at your garden party."

Jasper choked on the wine he'd just sipped. He set down his glass, his mind working at a furious speed on how to respond.

Why on earth had Lady Jemima recounted the incident to the queen? It was supposed to be a secret. If not a total secret, as it seemed nothing ever was, but as secret as possible. It was certainly not an anecdote for the queen!

Now Her Majesty must be told the truth if there was to be any propping up of Lady Jemima's reputation. He could not allow the queen to believe that Lady Jemima was a lady who simply had a propensity for setting herself on fire for no reason.

He leaned a little in the queen's direction and said in a low voice, "Your Majesty, you should know that Lady Jemima was in a carriage accident, received a severe blow to the head, and it has affected her…actions. From time to time."

The queen raised her brows. "Is that what she said? A woman setting herself alight must say something, I suppose. Well, I applaud the originality of the excuse."

This was extraordinary. The queen did not believe what he'd just said. She assumed Lady Jemima invented it as an excuse to explain away her dress on fire.

"Pray tell me, how was fire put out with no lasting ill-effects?" the queen said.

"That? Oh, well, I…you see…I was forced to…place the lady in water. A fountain. Speedily."

The queen hiccupped and whispered, "You threw her into a fountain!" She was promptly gripped with laughter. She was so gripped with it, in fact, that she took the attention of most of the table.

Everyone was all smiles to see the queen in the midst of such merriment.

She raised her glass and, through peals of laughter, said, "Lady Dudmore, I am most amused."

Jasper was glad somebody was amused.