Chapter Twenty-One

Jasper had spent the hours with his feet up in his bedchamber. He'd rather be pacing in his confinement, but two of his toes had swelled up from blindfolded lawn bowling. He'd thought the queen might relent in her dictate that he and Varnay be confined to their rooms for the day, but she had not.

She'd said the punishment was to remind them of what it might be like to lose their liberty. Then, to further make her point, she'd arranged for them to have a slice of untoasted and unbuttered bread for breakfast, and another slice with an apple for midday. If Randolph had not smuggled in a plate of ham and rolls, he would have starved to death.

If Jasper had discovered anything from the experience, it was that he could never be imprisoned—he would go positively mad.

Nevertheless, the minutes and then the hours had finally passed. He'd been let out of his room to go and select his costume and was at least pleased that Varnay was not doing the same. Gregory had led him and Randolph to the north wing and, on the way, had explained that the queen thought they ought to stay separate and Jasper got to go first by rank.

There had been little enough to choose from as it had been picked over by every other guest in the house.

He'd taken what seemed the least terrible and now Randolph was doing his best to compose it into some sort of costume.

"It is not that the feathers were such a bad choice," Randolph said, "considering the only other choice left, but they are not from the same bird. Are you a pheasant or a grouse?"

"I do not know, and I do not care," Jasper said. "I will just consider myself fortunate that I got there before Varnay. He will, I imagine, be very put out."

"Do not throw anything at him at the ball!" Randolph cautioned.

"Only if he throws something first. I will answer any insult from that rogue."

Randolph sighed and looked down at Jasper's feet. "I do not know how you will get those swollen toes into shoes."

"I will jam them in, if necessary. Now come, get all of this ridiculousness on my person. I have a lady to find."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Aggie had been as good as her word and Mrs. Redkin had opened the costume rooms for her. Jemima's maid had gone right to what was wanted, she'd said it was no trouble at all to find because of the lighter color among all the browns.

She would go as a swan and Aggie had done well in her arrangements. They'd selected the cream gown, as it was not white but it was the closest to it. Aggie had artfully arranged all the feathers into an elegant wrap and composed the headdress too.

As far as the available costumes went, which Jemima had got an idea of from Aggie, the swan was by far the prettiest.

Jemima considered herself exceedingly fortunate. This was to be the most important night of her life and she would not find herself dressed as a squirrel, or a dormouse, or a stoat.

She went into the duchess' room and found the lady swimming in a large beaver fur coat and wearing a rather horrible hat that appeared to have beaver teeth on it.

"This is an effrontery," Fleur said, standing back and staring at the duchess. "What will those two nothings of queen's lady's maids say? I will be blamed!"

The duchess laughed. "You had better prepare a very terrible look then." To Jemima, she said, "I went to the costume room, and, yes, I am a duchess so everybody made way for me. However, I could not see my way clear to force some hopeful young lady into such an outfit as this. I have no cause to be alluring at my age, and so beaver it is."

"That was very kind, Duchess."

"And you look smashing. Those hopeful ladies will wonder how you acquired such a lovely costume. Now come, it is time to meet your destiny, assuming we do not discover the duke and Lord Varnay rolling round and pummeling each other on the ballroom floor."

Jemima had nearly forgot about Lord Varnay's existence. Her attention was all on the duke, and only the duke.

They descended the stairs, and the butler handed her a dance card as she entered the ballroom.

Jemima looked about. Her own face was not covered, but many people's faces were. Where was the duke?

She did not see him. At least, she did not recognize him. It was rather alarming to be surrounded by so much fur and horrible masks. A red squirrel, a pine marten, a badger, two voles, a deer, three foxes, a hedgehog, and then the queen as a Scottish wildcat—or the Highland Tiger, as it was known.

Just now, a giant weasel strode toward her. Was it the duke? No, the shoulders were not broad enough.

"Lady Jemima."

Jemima sighed. Rather loudly and she did not make the first attempt to hide it. "Lord Varnay," she said.

"May I?" he said, looking to her card.

"No," she said flatly. She knew very well that to refuse meant she ought to sit out the first set, but she had no intention of doing so. Nobody could stop her from saying no to Lord Varnay and yes to the duke.

"No?" Lord Varnay asked, as if he'd not heard her correctly.

"No," she said again.

"Lady Jemima, I must caution you, if you have developed hopes in another direction, well he…"

"Well he what? He's going mad?"

Lord Varnay was dumbstruck.

"I know what you are, Lord Varnay," Jemima said, "and I feel very sorry for your sister. Now go away. I only wish to dance with the duke."

"And I," a voice, his voice, said behind her, "only wish to dance with Lady Jemima."

Jemima spun round. There he was, looking glorious. Or at least, as glorious as one could do when one was dressed in an enormous necklace of black and brown feathers.

From somewhere behind her, Jemima heard Miss Pickering say softly, "Come, brother. Come away."

She supposed Miss Pickering was successful in her entreaties, as the last Jemima heard from Lord Varnay was a series of oaths.

"Are you a pheasant?" Jemima asked. She did not know why she asked. It felt the sort of thing one said when one was nervous and looking for something to say.

"Both a pheasant and a grouse, I'm afraid."

Jemima laughed despite herself. "Very apt—you are both pleasant and a grouse."

"I have been more of a grouse than I had intended to be. Or ever thought I was. May I?" the duke said, his hand out for her card.

"You may," she said, handing it over.

Before he penciled his name in, he paused and glanced at the doors that led to the stone balcony.

"Do you really wish to dance?" he asked.

"No, not really," Jemima said.

"Excellent, as I am certain more than one of my toes is broken. Perhaps we need some air."

"I am very sure we do."

They set off for the doors and slipped out. Whether they had been noticed, Jemima did not particularly care. If she could not ruin her reputation by getting drunk and setting herself on fire, she did not think slipping out with the duke would pose a disaster. Even if it did, she did not care.

The moon hung heavy in the sky as clouds scudded past it. The duke looked down at her.

Jemima threw herself into his arms. "Just say it before anything else happens!"

He gripped her hard against his chest. "Lady Jemima, you always surprise me and I would be honored if you would agree to surprise me for the rest of my life as my duchess. I adore you and will go mad if you refuse me."

"Even if I do not have a head injury?" she whispered, peering up at him.

"Even if you do not have a head injury and I do not have a head injury," he said. "You, just as you are, and me attempting to improve."

"Oh I do not think you need to improve very much."

"Liar," he said with a smile.

He lowered his head and gently kissed her lips. His lips, as it happened, were rather glorious. Jemima kissed him back enthusiastically.

He picked her up and carried her to a bench and she found his arms wonderfully strong. He sat down and she very pleasantly found herself on his lap—exactly where she wished to be.

There, they continued to become acquainted with one another's person. His face was terribly battered but it was to be her face now. She kissed the bruise below his eye.

Jemima had shocked her maid by mentioning that once she was wed, she would know what was underneath the duke's clothes. She took the opportunity now to trace out the outlines of his chest.

He kissed her neck rather wonderfully, and then her hand and up her arm, swatting away her swan feathers.

Somewhere, away from them, she could hear the distant music of the ballroom. When she cared to look, which was not very often, she saw the shadows of couples dancing inside.

"You cannot unsay it or undo it now," Jemima said, the feathers in her hair in disarray and the feathers on her dress positively crushed.

"I will never unsay it, my own lovely swan. Though, I ought to write to your father that we propose an engagement."

"He will be delighted."

"And your mother?"

"She will wonder what happened," Jemima said, laughing.

"I am still wondering what happened," the duke said. "I do not know how it happened, but it is perfect that it happened."

"I'll likely turn your household upside down. There must be no end of things those grave environs have never seen. Pouring liquids on cake is really only the beginning of it. Just ask Mr. Gamon."

"Stupid Mr. Gamon, attempting to change a single thing about Jemima Fornay."

"Ah, I like that you did not call me Lady Jemima. I will call you Barstow."

"You are my Jemima now, and you cannot undo it or unsay it," the duke said laughing. "Not in the disarray you are in at the moment."

Very suddenly, the doors to the veranda crashed open and the duchess stood in their frame.

"We are engaged!" Jemima shouted.

"I should hope so," the duchess said. "Gracious, we must get you into some sort of order."

The duchess hurried forward, and she did the best she could in fixing hair and feathers. Though, when they all three returned to the ballroom, it was unlikely that anybody was fooled.

The engagement was speedily announced to tamp down any talk about the couple's absence and subsequent disheveled appearance.

Lord Varnay stormed out of the ballroom, not at all bothering to hide his fury. He was quickly followed by Miss Pickering and Mrs. Ventriss. Everybody else, though, including the queen, seemed pleased.

Jasper and Jemima spent the rest of the evening in quiet corners breaking every rule that was generally followed at a ball.

The duke had promised her that he had made the firm decision to be more fun, and he was making a very determined start with it.

When it came to physical contact, Barstow was very fun indeed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The marriage contract had been signed and while Jasper and Jemima would have liked nothing more than a quiet visit to a church with a few friends and family, that was not to be. Jasper was a duke, and Jemima was a duke's daughter. The queen and the Duchess of Ralston both claimed to have had a hand in the match. The ton all wished for an invitation, not because they were so interested in seeing those two people wed, but because they were interested in saying things like: "Naturally I was there. The queen was looking very well indeed."

Those that did not receive an invitation promptly took themselves out of Town and claimed they sadly had been forced to turn down the invitation. As they would not be in Town.

So, a society wedding at St. George's was had and an elaborate wedding breakfast was hosted in the duke's house. As the weather was particularly fine, the newly wedded couple may have revisited the scene of a certain dress on fire and certain swim in a certain fountain. This time, though, the flames were only between themselves.

After they'd managed to fulfill their societal duties, they set off for Surrey. Their wedding trip was not what would be considered usual for such an elevated couple. There would be no trip to the continent. Rather, they would hole up in Bellview cottage. The very cottage Jemima had once imagined she would retire to as a spinster.

As they'd been both apprised that neither of them suffered from a head injury, they went on horseback, leaving Randolph and Aggie to follow them in separate carriages.

This proved an interesting choice, as there were no other servants in Bellview cottage and they were left entirely alone that first night. The estate's steward had left some food for them to cook, had either one of them knew how to work the stove.

For the first hours, food was not missed. Jemima was fascinated to discover that the duke, just as the Duchess of Ralston had predicted, had been hiding a wild beating heart.

He was, at first, cautious. He did not wish to alarm his new bride with anything she had not seen before. Or thought of doing before.

However, Jemima had rather a wild beating heart herself and her mother had not been shy in providing sufficient information. She convinced the duke to throw his caution to the wind by the gentle hint of ripping his clothes off.

By the time Randolph and Aggie arrived the next morning, they found a very happy and very starving couple sitting in shredded clothes.

Over the years, the duke was as good as his word in his pursuit of being more fun. Being jolly did not come easy to him, but steady effort will nearly always carry a person to the finish line eventually. He even relearned how to smile without causing people to fear he was ill.

Jemima did, as she had predicted, turn the duke's household upside down. Gone were the staid regulations and schedules and in were spontaneity and fun. The staff were kept on their toes and the house was lively. One minute they were going out and the next they were having their close circle of friends in for dinner. One minute they would travel to the duke's estate, but then they changed their minds and went to Brighton instead.

They were adventurous at table, and the duke's cook was urged to ever more radical experiments. Some of those experiments were delightful, and others were not. Their venture into the culinary traditions of the Far East had particularly had its highs and lows. It hardly mattered, as they had a very jolly time over it.

Over time, they, or perhaps only Jemima, were forever encountering animals who for some reason had nowhere to live, and then must live in the duke's house. Sometimes Jemima did not even mention a new addition. Or more than one addition.

Jasper had almost fallen over when he'd spotted a box tucked in the very back of the drawing room and discovered it was filled with quite a number of kittens from two different litters. He never did find out why they'd had to set aside one of the drawing rooms on the estate as an aviary—where were all these parakeets coming from? Then, quite naturally, any animal with a problem had to be taken in. It was supposed that Jasper was the only duke in England who had a three-legged dog, a blind cat, a rabbit missing an ear, and a deaf parrot who despite being deaf never stopped talking.

For all the duke's staggering around and wondering what would happen next, the servants took the whole thing in stride. Their duchess was also fond of taking in any person who seemed to need a home, and most of them had slipped in a good-for-nothing nephew or otherwise unemployable relative.

It was a mad, happy house and when children came, it was as if the duchess had birthed a whole battalion of hooligans determined to find fun and amusement in every corner.

This was another surprise to Jasper. His own childhood had been filled by grim servants and he'd only ever had a brief interview with his parents before he retired to bed.

His own children ran roughshod all over the house and it was not unusual to discover that one was under the dining table halfway through dinner. Or another had furnished a set of apartments for themselves in the attics, slowly stealing furniture from other rooms. Or another had filled a fountain with flour in an attempt to make a very large cake. Or yet another had decided to free the parakeets from the aviary. Again.

Fortunately, Jasper Pennington, the Duke of Barstow, loosened up quite a bit over the years. Really, he was happy to do so—there hadn"t seemed to be much of a choice.

Of course, it was not only the duke who had surprises in store. Jemima might be gregarious and fun and the duke very buttoned up, but when it came time to close the bedchamber door and do some unbuttoning, he was very unbuttoned.

Whatever wildness the duke would not show the world, he was more than happy to show his wife.

His wife, for her part, was enthusiastic to see it.

Lord Varnay did not get the ending he was hoping for. Or scheming for. It became so well known that he was a rogue that he had not the slightest hope of landing a young lady with a hefty dowry. When his debts grew so great that he must either secure any sort of dowry or fly to the continent, he finally wed.

Mrs. Ventriss was more than delighted to become Lady Varnay. From that day forward, Lord Varnay rarely had a moment alone. His lady was so attached to him that if he even stole away to his club, she would arrive by carriage and send a footman in to retrieve him. Viscount Varnay would live the rest of his days on a very short leash.

Though Jemima had seen Lord Varnay for what he was, she could not condemn his sister, Miss Pickering. If the lady had developed any untoward habits or unfortunate views, the fault must be laid at her brother's door.

When that first season came to a close, Jemima sent the lady to live with a cousin in the Yorkshire Dales. Harriet Dawson had not a drop of spirits in her house and her moral compass was strictly set and immovable. In the quiet of the Dales, Miss Pickering was eventually freed of the unfortunate taste for brandy that Varnay had encouraged in her. She also began to consider who she was and what she wanted, with no direction from an unreliable brother.

The following season, Jemima sponsored the lady, while the duke funded a respectable dowry. Miss Pickering married a baron from Hampshire and settled happily there.

It would turn out that all Miss Pickering had ever wished for in life was safety and security, and she found both. London, the ton, and her scheming brother had always felt like playing with fire, and she would be forever grateful that she had not been burned beyond recovery.

Randolph went on serving as valet for another year, but it was obvious to both Jasper and Jemima that the valet and Aggie were being drawn together. They were very well suited, as Aggie could give as good as she got, and they eventually wed.

As the village outside of the duke's estate in Somerset was sadly lacking an inn with a tavern, it was decided that a building, stables, and supplies would be their wedding present. The Wild Boar opened its doors soon after.

When they were in Somerset, the duke and Jemima often rode over for dinner and had a jolly time indeed. They might even spend the night in one of the inn's rooms. At least, Jemima had a jolly time. Randolph never gave up taking liberties and going too far with the duke and he was further egged on by Aggie, who found her husband wildly amusing.

The day after Lady Dudmore's ball, Mr. Harkinson had been alerted to the engagement between Lady Jemima and the duke. A letter was received to the house on Grosvenor Square. The Duke of Barstow wrote that he would like to see His Grace at his earliest convenience to gain his sanction and discuss a marriage contract.

His Grace was, of course, elated. Mr. Harkinson, however, dropped with a thud onto the carpet in the drawing room. After he was revived with a vinaigrette, he was carried to his room. He was examined by the duke's London physician and diagnosed with a nervous condition. He privately thought he'd hardly needed a doctor to tell him that!

Shortly thereafter, he was sent home to recover in the quiet of the country.

Mr. Harkinson spent more than a few months waiting for someone to charge through the door and name him as the author of the disastrous marriage between the Duke of Barstow and Lady Jemima Fornay.

Nobody ever did, though. Over time, it appeared nobody ever would. Much to his surprise, the duke and Lady Jemima seemed rather fond of one another.

He'd expected bitterness and recriminations, but it seemed they'd just decided to put up with each other.

He'd got away with it and remained a member in good standing of The League. He was still a fraud, but he was the only one who knew it.

As the next season rolled round, Mr. Wilburn would lead the league's matchmaking adventures. Viscount Bramley, eldest son of the Earl of Wisterley, was being pressed to wed.

Mr. Harkinson thought the Earl was putting on the pressure because the estate required an infusion of cash. He also thought the young viscount was doing his best to resist that pressure.

Not an ideal way to begin a matchmaking adventure.

That, happily, was Mr. Wilburn's problem.

The End…

At least, the happy end for Jasper and Jemima. Two new charming people are about to descend upon London to shake the meddling butlers to their shoes.

.