Chapter Eighteen

Jasper had finally been untied from Varnay and hoped to never be in such proximity to that rogue again. Lady Jemima, along with everybody else but the queen and two of her footmen, had departed. He could finally drop the forced smile he'd been wearing all morning.

He rubbed his jaw. Apparently, he was so unused to smiling all the time that his muscles had been made sore from the strain of it.

The queen waited until the doors had been shut and the tennis courts were enveloped in silence.

"That was quite the performance," she said.

At that moment, either one of them might have laid down their defense of pummeling the other with a tennis racket, had it not been the queen making the comment.

They both very sensibly stayed silent.

"Now," the queen went on, "I have nothing against a rivalry, or even the blows each of you delivered. I suspect you will both develop black eyes and look very ridiculous, thereby paying the price for such tomfoolery."

Jasper touched his right eye and could already feel the swell underneath it. He supposed it would end as black as midnight.

"However, there is to be no duel over this," the queen said.

Jasper's shoulders slumped, as the idea had presented itself several times over the past hour. He would like nothing more than to meet Varnay on a green, though he had always deemed dueling a very stupid way to ruin one's life. Or end it.

"It may be a matter of honor, Your Majesty," Varnay said.

The queen sniffed at his words. "Really, Varnay? Now you are concerned about honor, are you? One might wonder why the feeling did not come upon you before you littered England with bastard children from Cornwall to Scotland."

Varnay went positively purple. Jasper might have surmised he'd been up to such debauchery. He would also guess the rogue paid no support to any of the unfortunate women he'd seduced.

"Let me spell out the consequences of a duel and then we will see how much the idea of honor still moves you," the queen said. "One of you would likely end dead, and the other will wish he was dead. The one who lives will experience a few minutes of victory. Then, it will be off to the coast to flee England, never to set foot on her shores again. He will go to the continent, and he will call upon friends to help him. Those friends will very naturally answer the call, by way of a job as a clerk in government somewhere. The pay will be abominably low. The living quarters will be such that this man can never have guests from the sheer embarrassment of it. They will, at first, be invited to all the best houses. But then, people will tire of the poor man and his clothes will get very shabby and he will be quietly forgotten. Drinking will become his only enjoyment. No woman of quality will go near him so he will resort to other companionship, likely paid for. He will end alone, dying of syphilis, and all because he could not creditably play a game of court tennis without seeming a petulant schoolboy."

Jasper had known the queen long enough to know that she was capable of such a speech. Varnay apparently did not and staggered back at the picture painted for him.

They both knew, though, that everything she said was true.

"That fate seems rather stupid, if you ask me," the queen said.

She rose and both men bowed.

"Escort me out, one on either side. We will return to the house and everybody shall understand that there is to be no duel. Do not test my temper again. You may both dine in your rooms for the midday repast, so you may calm yourself and reflect. And for heaven's sake, Barstow, stop smiling at everybody in that disturbing way as if you've lost your wits. It is very discomposing."

Jasper had since retired to his bedchamber to assess the damage to his person. And his clothes for that matter.

He informed Randolph of the details of the morning.

His valet whistled. "And I thought the battle of the lady's maids was running hot. Well, this neckcloth is quite ruined, though I may be able to salvage the coat. I'll have a run down to the tennis courts later and see if I can locate the missing button. Your face, though…"

"Not my whole face, I do not think," Jasper said. "Only parts of it."

He'd peered in the glass and found himself staring at a swollen and soon to be black eye, a long scrape on his nose, and a split lip.

"No, of course not your whole face," Randolph said. "Your forehead is looking very good. If Lady Jemima is partial to foreheads, then no real harm done."

"Very funny."

"I know. Now, were you able, in the midst of this debacle, to seem more fun?"

"I doubt it. I tried smiling but the queen said it was discomposing."

"Well, perhaps Lady Jemima thought better of it."

Jasper did not know what Lady Jemima thought of what she'd witnessed at the courts. She had been one of the first out the doors.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jemima walked with the duchess and Miss Pickering down to the lake. The past hours had been strange and Lady Dudmore's midday repast had been a hushed affair.

Jemima thought it was meant to be lively, as sideboards were set up in both the dining room and drawing room, with everyone just going round and taking what they liked, rather like an indoor picnic.

However, after the court tennis catastrophe and the queen making the duke and Lord Varnay stay behind with her, nobody knew quite what to think. Many had looked out windows and seen the two gentlemen escorting the queen back to the house, but what had happened afterward?

Jemima had overheard quiet talk that they both must be sent away, but then others said that they had not. It was finally understood that they had been confined to their rooms for the meal, like schoolboys who had challenged the headmaster.

The queen finally resolved it all by announcing, "We will forget the shambles of a tennis match we observed this morning and we will all pretend it never happened. Including those involved in it."

Now, the duchess said, "I suspect the queen put the fear of God into them. She's very good at that sort of thing."

"I have not seen my brother," Miss Pickering said, "but I am certain he is very sorry over it."

Jemima pressed her lips together, lest she smile. Miss Pickering was very sincere in that hope, but Jemima doubted Lord Varnay would feel very sorry over hitting the duke. He would only be sorry over the queen's displeasure.

"I doubt either one of them is sorry," the duchess said. "Let us just hope they are more in control of themselves as we prepare to witness another ludicrous sport that is bound to go wrong somehow."

"Both the duke and Lord Varnay are experienced sailors," Jemima said. "They both acquitted themselves very well at Lord Bestwick's regatta on the Thames."

The duchess laughed at this idea. "We will see how they make out without rudders."

They had reached the shoreline and discovered that Lady Dudmore had gone to great lengths to see to her guests' comfort. There were several tents set up where a person might retreat from the sun, one tent housed all manner of refreshments, and there were plenty of chairs placed about for those wishing to be either in the sun or under a tree.

A tent in the middle of it all flew the royal standards and that one would be for the queen. The duchess had already told Jemima that if one wished to enter, one must ask permission and be invited in. They would steer clear of the whole palaver, as it would be one toadying applicant after the next, each taking their chance so they might brag of it later.

The lake itself was very large and Jemima could see two rowboats in the distance and set far apart, both sporting flags. One flag was blue and the other was white. The sailors would begin at the starting line just in front of them, then make their way to the white flagged boat, go around, then on to the blue flagged boat, and then head back to where they started.

It seemed a long way to go without a way to steer.

"Here we go, let us place ourselves in this tent," the duchess said of the one closest. We will have fine seats and a fine view while the rest of these people mill around the queen's tent, hoping to be acknowledged."

Jemima was very approving of the idea. Being nearby the queen made her nervous. She did not wish to make any missteps and it was very hard to guess what the queen would say next. Or worse, ask next.

The gentlemen were already down with their boats and Jemima did not have the first idea of how they were attempting to prepare for such a race. It seemed most of them had taken on the strategy of rubbing their chins and considering the matter.

The duke was still acting very strangely, one minute looking his usual serious self and the next smiling wildly. She could not imagine what was wrong with him. Though, she could see a few things wrong with him that were more apparent. One of his eyes had become squinty and was beginning to blacken and his lower lip appeared swollen.

At least the duke and Lord Varnay could not come to blows if they were in separate boats.

The tent was very roomy and they were the only people in it. A small table had been set up in the back of it, housing lemonade, tea, and a variety of biscuits.

For once, Jemima was not hungry. At the midday repast, she had served herself an enormous amount of food. On three separate occasions.

The duchess went back to examine the offerings of the sideboard while Jemima and Miss Pickering sat down.

"I am certain my brother is distraught over what you must think of him," Miss Pickering said. "You know, after this morning."

Jemima was rather surprised that she should be singled out in such a way. "Why should he be, though?" she asked. "I would imagine that if he is distraught at all, it is over what the queen thinks about what she witnessed."

"Oh no, I do not believe so," Miss Pickering said. "He will be far more taken up with worry over your opinion."

Jemima looked at Miss Pickering quizzically. What was she hinting at?

"He does have hopes, of course," Miss Pickering said softly.

"Hopes?" Jemima said. Surely not. Lord Varnay was amusing, but there really was nothing between them.

Miss Pickering nodded. "Naturally, I have my own hopes too. I cannot imagine a finer sister."

Goodness. Had Lord Varnay and Miss Pickering discussed a possible match? Jemima had given no indication of it being of any serious interest.

"Miss Pickering," she said, "I could not imagine any finer sister than you. But really, it is not to be. If I have led anybody astray on such a matter, I do apologize."

Miss Pickering appeared very crestfallen to hear it. "Oh I see. It is to be the duke, then."

"Certainly not," Jemima said. Though she did not think her protestation sounded very vigorous. At least, not to her own ears. When would she give her hopes up? She would be convinced she had given them up, and then they would sneak back up on her, like a fox slipping into a henhouse.

The duchess returned with a cup of tea. "I suppose all the footmen are busy circling round the queen. This is to be a serve yourself affair. Ah, Lord Hartford is with the boats and he's got his gun. The race, if that is what we are to witness, is set to begin."

Jemima was grateful for the duchess' return. She had rather not continue the conversation with Miss Pickering.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jasper circled his boat. This was the next to last hurdle to jump over for Lady Dudmore's ridiculous party. This evening there would be some sort of lawn bowling and that would be it. There would be the ball on the morrow, and preposterous costumes to be worn, but all he had to do was get through it and keep Varnay away from Lady Jemima.

The end of this adventure could not come too soon.

Though rudderless sailing was an absurd notion, his competitive spirit would not allow him to simply drift here and there, while some other gentleman prevailed.

Further, he did not think any other gentleman would be as enterprising as he would be. They would all attempt to use an oar to steer, which was the most obvious idea.

He, however, had prior experience. Jasper and Randolph had once sailed off the coast of Brighton when Jasper had been eighteen. The rudder's brace of screws and the attachment to the tiller had come loose and they had watched in amazement, and then alarm, as the rudder floated away. They could not catch it as it kept dipping under the waves and getting further and further away and they had nothing to steer with.

Jasper had dived in after it, but it would not be caught. He'd realized that if he swam much further, he'd never get back to the boat and was forced to turn around. They had both considered how far they would drift and if there had been any chance of them coming near a spit of land. Or happening upon a fishing vessel. Both solutions seemed unlikely.

They'd tried using an oar, but it did not have the width that was required.

Then, Jasper had an idea. They still had the tiller, and they had a centerboard they could pull up and use in the rudder's place. It had been an awkward set up—they'd had to loop a rope through the holes left in the tiller and then feed it through the top hole in the centerboard. The holes in the centerboard were meant for a peg so one might raise the board when sailing downwind. They were very small, but he and Randolph eventually forced the rope through one of them and knotted it securely.

The centerboard was larger than the rudder and it made the whole set up unwieldy, it had been quite the effort to steer the boat. Compounding the problem was the lost stability from losing the centerboard from its place. They had steered it though, and they had made it back to the shore.

He would try that today, and the most difficult aspect of it would be to avoid shifting his weight from one side to the other or allowing a heel too steep, as the centerboard would not be there to stop him from tipping over.

Jasper glanced to his right and left, satisfied that the rest of the gentlemen, including Varnay, were poised to use their oars.

He'd already got everything ready to set up, but he did not wish to give away his game and give the other competitors time to copy it.

When Hartford fired his gun for the start, the rest of them would push off and make their way as best they could.

He would not. He would methodically tie the tiller and centerboard and then set off. If everything went as planned, he would gain on them and take the lead.

It must work. He must come out of this house party having done one thing at least that Lady Jemima could admire.

Jasper had tried to remember to smile, but it was so distracting to keep remembering it and the queen had named it discomposing. As he circled his boat, he'd remember to do it, and try to make it seem more natural. Then he'd forget. Then he'd remember again.

It was a nightmare to try to seem jolly all the time.

The other gentlemen got in their boats, readying their oars to push off. Jasper did not.

Lord Hartford looked at him quizzically. Jasper called, "Proceed, Lord Hartford. I am ready."

Lord Hartford shrugged and likely imagined it was some sort of bravado on his part. Some of the other gentlemen appeared confused. Varnay, to Jasper's amusement, looked at him suspiciously.

Hartford raised his gun, pointed it over the water, and fired.

Jasper jumped in his boat and set to work as the other gentlemen did their best to push off.

He kept one eye out to see how they were doing. All of them were launched, but most of them were going in circles or drifting. They could not manage the sail and the oar at the same time. Lord Henry had already lost an oar and was scrambling for the other one. Lord Pine had allowed his sheet line to get away from him and his sail flapped in the wind, the boom hitting him in the head.

Jasper was certain he'd had the right idea. He whipped out the centerboard, cut away a length of the sheet line, used the rope to tie the tiller to it, and pushed off.

The first leg was downwind. He let the sail out and kept himself in the center of the boat. He would go slow and steady, as that was all that was required to win this ludicrous race.

As he glided by the other sailors, Varnay stood up in his boat, no doubt to see how he was doing it.

Jasper heard Mrs. Ventriss shout, "Very well done, Lord Varnay!"

There was nothing well done about it—standing in a small boat was always a very stupid thing to do, as Varnay soon found out. He lost his balance and went over the side.

Jasper left Varnay and the others behind, all of them in a state of disarray.

Tennis might not be his game, but sailing was.

He attempted a smile as he sailed past Lady Jemima's tent.

She looked at him rather wide-eyed. He supposed she'd not imagined he would take such a commanding lead so early in the race.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Oh dear," Miss Pickering said, just as her brother went over the side of his boat and into the water.

Mrs. Ventriss had raced to the shoreline and Jemima wondered if she were planning to dive in after the lord.

"He is not the only one, though," Jemima said, wishing to make Miss Pickering feel better. "Lord Michaels has just gone into the water too."

"I hope they can all swim," the duchess said. "But I say, the duke seems to know what he's about. He's already got to the first flag."

Jemima nodded. She was not certain how the duke was doing it. He'd got some piece of wood from inside the boat and was somehow using that as a rudder.

"I cannot tell if the duke is happy or unhappy about it," Miss Pickering said.

"Nobody can, Miss Pickering," the duchess said. "I do not understand all these odd expressions he shows us today. Is he in pain? Has he developed an overfondness for laudanum? Is it some kind of palsy?"

Jemima could not say, as she was very confused over it herself.

The duke had rounded the second rowboat and now headed back to the start. As Jemima knew from watching the race on the Thames, the wind was going against him now and he must tack back and forth.

It was likely to be a difficult process, as there were boats drifting here and there and everywhere.

The duke weaved back and forth, nearly missing several boats that were floundering. His own boat almost went over several times and did not seem as steady as the others.

He sailed by Lord Varnay, who was soaking wet and predictably furious. Lord Varnay really ought to just resign himself to his fate—he had no hope of a win.

It seemed the rest of the competitors had taken that sensible notion, as most of them were attempting to turn their boats round and head back to shore.

The duke handily won the race without anyone ever coming close on his heels.

More importantly, there had not been any encounter between the duke and Lord Varnay in which they could exchange blows.

The crowds had come out of the tents and all applauded the duke for his win. The queen called, "Bravo, Barstow. Very well done. Very clever."

The duke bowed. Lord Varnay had hurried over to the duke's boat to examine his arrangements and then stalked off.

"Oh dear," Miss Pickering whispered.

Really, Lord Varnay should learn to be a better sport. A tantrum over losing could not be attractive to anybody.

The duke himself was, unfortunately, looking very attractive just now. The wind whipped his hair, his cheeks were ruddy, and he stood without his coat on, his frame clearly visible. Even with his rather beat up face, what a man.

If only that man liked the real her.

Jemima thought they would stay down at the lake and wait to offer their congratulations to the duke, but the duchess had other ideas. She was certain Jemima required a nap before dinner, though Jemima insisted that she did not feel at all tired.

She had given up her protestations when it had occurred to her that it was the duchess herself who was tired. But then, after depositing Jemima in her room, the duchess went back downstairs.

It was very odd. Had she done something wrong? She did not think so, but why was she to be quarantined in her room until it was time for dinner?

Aggie bustled about the room, straightening her things. She had smuggled out a large plate of biscuits from the kitchens to be at the ready when needed.

"It was no trouble at all to slip out with the plate," Aggie said. The queen's lady's maids and Fleur are still at each other's throats and the kitchen staff are in a state over the outdoor dinner. Apparently, it's a lot of work."

"Outdoor dinner?" Jemima asked.

"Aye. It's to be next to the bowling green, wherever that is. One of the kitchen maids told me they have to set up all these small round tables that will only fit four people and then the butler will take over to supervise the laying of linen and such. There will be torches on the lawn and candles on the tables so everybody can see what they're eating. Then, the gentlemen are to be blindfolded and fling around bowls. It sounds an uncomfortable sort of evening and I'll be happy to be snug below stairs."

It did sound rather uncomfortable, and for reasons that Aggie had not thought of. Only four to a table? That somehow felt very personal. Who would be at her table?

She could not take much more of seeing the duke. She'd seen him entirely too much over the past twenty-four hours. He was very hard to forget when he was in view all the time.