Chapter Two

Jemima had been the smallest bit nervous to discover what she would find at Almack's. However, as the carriage ride had been one long lecture on comportment and appropriate topics of conversation, she now felt rather relieved to be inside the doors.

Whatever was to happen, she could not be lectured in public.

She looked about while her father collected her card. The rooms were not as impressive as she'd imagined. She guessed the supposed exclusivity of it made displays of grandeur unnecessary. At least, she hoped that was the reason—the carpet that had been tread on by so many feet was verging on shabby and the red velvet ropes across the ballroom doors looked faded from the sun that must stream through the windows during the day.

Her mother leaned toward her and said softly, "Your father comes with Lady Jersey. Be everything modest."

Everything modest. That was a catchphrase of Mr. Gamon's. According to that fellow, when in doubt—be modest. If you could manage it, abashed was even better.

As much as Jemima disdained everything Mr. Gamon had ever said in his life, she had no wish to land in Lady Jersey's bad books. Modest it would be.

"Countess," the duke said, "may I present my daughter, Lady Jemima."

Jemima curtsied very low and stayed there for a moment before rising. She did not suppose another lady could out-curtsy her, as she'd long made it a game to see how far down she could sink without toppling over.

"Charming," Lady Jersey said. "She is absolutely charming, Duke."

Jemima noted her mother beaming with pride over it. It was to be supposed that her very low and extended curtsy had somehow camouflaged the forwardness of her hair color. What she looked like would not affect Lady Jersey—it was all in the obeisance to the lady.

That was helpful to know.

To Jemima, the lady said, "As it is your first ball in Town, I will take the honor of choosing your partners." Lady Jersey turned to the duke and rattled off a list of names. She ended with, "Barstow is here, and I have heard he finally becomes serious, if you understand me."

Both of Jemima's parents nodded enthusiastically over the mysterious Barstow and whatever he'd decided to get serious about.

"I will arrange it," Lady Jersey said, taking Jemima's card and sailing off with it.

How extraordinary. She'd thought gentlemen would approach her directly but it seemed they were to be assigned to her. That would have been a piece of information useful to know, Mr. Gamon.

The duke looked at his wife and said, "Barstow."

The duchess smiled. "Barstow."

"Who is Barstow?" Jemima asked, her curiosity piqued.

"The Duke of Barstow," her mother said. "Eminently eligible for a few seasons now."

"I see," Jemima said. "What has he got serious about?"

Both her parents looked at her as if she were daft.

"Marriage, Jemima. The duke has got serious about finding a wife."

Of course that would be it. As far as she could tell, that subject was all anybody thought about when they got to Town.

"Is he handsome?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" her father said. "He's a duke."

Jemima thought it mattered very much, but she did not see the benefit of arguing the point. "Well, we'll see if I like him, and if he likes me. The real me, mind you, not the abashed wonder of a lady Mr. Gamon was trying to invent out of the air."

"Jemima," her mother said, "while we, very naturally, adore the real you, the duke is…well, darling how would you describe it?"

Her father said, "Barstow? He's a man of sense and refinement."

"Very refined," the duchess said, nodding. "So perhaps be you, but less…you."

"A quieter you," the duke said. "That would suit very well, I think."

"A quieter me," she said ruefully. Thinking to tease her parents, Jemima said, "Well, I don't know what I'm supposed to do about my hair."

Her mother patted her arm. "Do not give a thought to it. Lady Jersey seemed to hardly notice."

How comforting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jasper had spotted Lady Jersey cruising toward him like a shark after a fishing boat, waiting for bait to fall into the water. He knew very well he was on the verge of being assigned to some lady making her debut.

He supposed Randolph was right about how gossip formed and traveled. He'd given out too many clues regarding his intentions and Lady Jersey would know perfectly well why he'd made a sudden reappearance at Almack's.

She would be eager to impress some lady's father by delivering a duke to his daughter's card.

"Your Grace," she said, fluttering up to him.

She paused and stared at him expectantly. He presumed she waited for him to say, "Do call me Duke, Countess."

He did not.

"Ah, well, in any case, how do you do? We have not seen you here in ages and of course are delighted that you should grace us with your presence. Your Grace."

He knew very well that he made Lady Jersey nervous. He knew equally well that he could put her at her ease if he cared to do it. He did not care to do it, though. She was a melodramatic sort of person and if he were too friendly, she would be off to every drawing room in Town on the morrow, claiming they were close confidantes.

"Now, as one of the patronesses of this great institution," Lady Jersey hurried on, "it is my pleasure, my obligation really, to make those judgments on who ought to dance with who on behalf of our newest members. It so happens that Lady Jemima Fornay, daughter of the Duke of Eddelston, is here for her first ball."

Eddelston. Jasper liked that duke exceedingly. He was a man of sense, belonged to White's, and had sold him an excellent horse at a fair price. In fact, he remembered Eddelston mentioning a daughter who would come out soon.

Lady Jersey was waving the lady's card in front of him. "Might I put you down for supper?"

"Where is she?" Jasper asked. Duke's daughter or not, he did not wish to be introduced to a lady he did not view as comely. Especially when she was the daughter of a duke he respected. It would be all too easy for a father to get his hopes up, and then blame the gentleman if they were dashed.

"Just there, with her mother and father," Lady Jersey said, her voice an octave higher than it ought to have been.

Jasper sought out Eddelston.

And then he saw her.

He did not breathe for a moment.

What marvel was this? She was stunning—tall and well proportioned, and she reminded him of nothing so much as Botticelli's Birth of Venus. That hair—auburn with glints of fire—what must it look like let down, as it was in the painting? That alabaster complexion against the vibrancy of her hair. What color were her eyes? He could not tell from this distance, but they seemed dark. Brown or hazel, he thought.

Her dress was exquisite, all refinement and not overwhelmed with bits and bobs and shiny accoutrements. She wore a simple gold chain round her neck, which was just what was needed for such a dress.

She had an air about her, as if she were fully cognizant of being a duke's daughter and did not come trembling into her first ball.

As much as he'd discounted any sort of pitter-patter that Randolph might have mentioned, he did feel something. Something he'd never felt before. He was not even certain what it was—some sort of recognition of her.

And she was a duke's daughter. She would have all the manners and comportment he required.

"She'll do," he'd said brusquely to Lady Jersey, taking the card and writing himself down.

Lady Jersey had taken the card back and ensured he'd put himself down for supper before moving away, practically at a run lest he change his mind.

Since then, he'd escorted one lady after the next through the dances, perennially keeping an eye on the titian-haired beauty.

As always, he had mixed feelings regarding the ladies he danced with. On the one hand, their nervousness, or worse, their attempts at appearing bold through their nerves, showed a respect for rank. They were young ladies just entering society and he was a seasoned duke, why should they not be nervous? On the other hand, there was not much rational conversation to be had and it was rather boring.

He had hopes that Lady Jemima would be somehow different.

In any case, he was to find it out. The inexorable evening had worn on and it was finally the dance before supper.

He went to collect her and he was no less impressed to view her in close range than he'd been all night. She was spectacular. Her eyes were deep brown like strong coffee and they had a liveliness to them.

"Lady Jemima," he said, executing a quick bow.

"Ah, you must be the Duke of Barstow."

He held his arm out and she laid her hand upon it. "I am. I know these arrangements are awkward—having your card filled out for you and then having no idea who will turn up."

She laughed. Surprisingly loudly, he thought.

"Oh I knew who you were," she said. "My mother pointed you out and Lady Jersey says you have finally become serious about finding a wife. Everybody is talking about it."

Jasper was nearly struck dumb by the statement. Whether or not it was true, why would she say it aloud? It was the sort of thing that might be known, but a lady should not advertise that she knew it.

Regaining his composure, he said, "Gossip is a pedestrian pastime."

As they took their place in the line, Lady Jemima shrugged and said, "So many interesting things are."

What did that mean?

The dance proceeded and she really was rather good. She danced with both precision and enthusiasm and seemed to enjoy it with a lack of artifice. There were so many ladies who moved through a dance with some sort of air of boredom and disdain, as if they hardly knew what they were doing there or thought too much enjoyment might come off as déclassé.

But the loud laughter and what she'd said about him looking for a wife and her comment about gossip which he did not even understand…it was all very odd.

Perhaps it was just an anomaly. Or perhaps it was nerves? That might very well be it. One could not know all the ways that a lady's nerves might show themselves.

Certainly that must be it. She was a duke's daughter after all. She could not have meant to be so bold or direct or whatever that had been. It had only been her own peculiar way of covering her nerves at her first go at Almack's.

The dance ended and he led her to the supper room. Now, they would have extended conversation and he would work to put her at her ease. She would calm, and he would begin to know her beneath her unfortunate anxiety.

She was simply breathtaking to look at. If her conversation and comportment were what he hoped, well he did not see that he would have to look further.

He led her to her chair and motioned for a footman. As he had been afraid, it did not seem as if any improvements to the offerings at Almack's had been made.

"How weak is the tea?" he asked the footman.

The young man's cheeks pinked in answer.

"I see," Jasper said. "Bring the sour lemonade, then. And the dry cake. I would not eat that stale bread you have on hand if it were being served in the palace."

The footman ran off to do his bidding.

Lady Jemima said, "The poor fellow. He made none of the arrangements but must be the recipient of all the bad news."

"Did you find me too hard on him?" Jasper asked. He did not personally think so, he'd just asked a question. And then delivered his opinion on stale bread.

"Well, it was a rather solemn tone to employ about tea and cake and lemonade. But no matter—I have a particular trick to fix a dry cake."

The footman returned with their plates, while another had fetched two glasses of lemonade.

"Now, my father's cook swears he is an excellent baker," Lady Jemima said. "He is rather terrible though and my father does not have the heart to tell him. So, we all make adjustments."

Lady Jemima took a teaspoon, dipped it into her lemonade, and carefully dripped it on her cake.

"You see? Now the cake will be moistened. Any liquid will do—at home we've used tea, wine, lemonade, all sorts of things."

Jasper was rather dumbfounded. He glanced around the table to see if anyone else had noticed this aberration in table manners.

The Dowager Duchess of Ralston was determinedly staring at Lady Jemina.

What was Lady Jemima thinking to make such a display at Almack's or anywhere else? She was out in society for her first ball. Eyes would be upon her. Judgments would be made. It was not the time to seem as if one had been brought up by a farmer.

The dowager duchess' attention had remained fixed upon Lady Jemima and she was a dragon of a lady. She was one of the old cabal of matrons that passed their opinions down as if from a chancellery court. And wrote as many letters outlining their opinions as that court. He could only imagine what that lady would say about dripping lemonade on one's cake as if one were at a family picnic.

The dowager suddenly smiled. She took up her teaspoon, dipped it into her tea, and dumped the contents on her thin slice of bread. She nodded in Lady Jemima's direction.

"Ah, see? That lady has taken up the habit," Lady Jemima said. "Go on, try it out."

"I think not," Jasper said.

Lady Jemima shrugged. It was the second time she'd shrugged in his direction, as if his thoughts did not matter to her one way or the other.

Could all of this, the shrugging and pouring lemonade where it was not meant to be, still be jangled nerves? He must hope so.

"You seem a very serious sort of person, Duke," Lady Jemima said.

Jasper's eyes widened just the smallest bit over that comment. For one, it was exceedingly bold and inappropriate to attempt to size up a person's temperament upon first acquaintance. For another, he'd not given her leave to call him Duke!

"You might as well know, I do not think myself so serious," the lady went on. "I tell you that because I am determined to just be myself. I'm no good at appearing abashed, you see. So, I decided that everybody can either like it or lump it."

Like it or lump it? Be herself? What on earth was she talking about?

"Oh dear, I can see I've put you off," Lady Jemima said.

"No, certainly not," he said reflexively.

"Well, it's a shame," Lady Jemima went on. "You're very handsome, I suppose you know."

Jasper was at once taken aback, affronted, and complimented. What was a gentleman meant to say to such a thing? He could not own that he was handsome. He was not even certain that he was. He hoped so and had not seen anything particularly off-putting in the glass, but it was not for him to determine.

And what did she mean, that it was a shame? Was she writing him off so casually? He was a duke; nobody wrote him off casually.

"Perhaps you are too hastily leaping to judgments?" he said.

She looked at him quizzically. "Do you think?"

"Perhaps so," he said. Why did he feel like a cornered animal? Why must she be so direct? He did not care for feeling as if he were in the line of fire.

But then, he also did not care for being so casually written off.

"Well, you may be right, I ought not jump to conclusions," Lady Jemima said. She dazzled him with her smile. "I suppose outside of Almack's you might be a deal more fun."

More fun? How was he meant to be "more fun?" He was not certain he could understand this lady.

But, heaven help him, she was wonderous to look at.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I did it, Aggie," Jemima said as her maid unpinned her hair and put it into a braid. "I went to Almack's as entirely me and not at all abashed. Mr. Gamon would be apoplectic."

"And how were the gentlemen taking to the real and unabashed you?" Aggie asked.

"Oh most of them seemed to stand up against it perfectly well," Jemima said. "Lord Varnay was particularly amusing and I think he must have approved of me as he made it a point to introduce me to his sister, Miss Pickering."

"Most stood up to it? Does that hint that some didn't?"

"Well, Viscount Jerome did not like that I pointed out that his coat was musty, but really, it was a kindness to tell him."

"Very kind," Aggie murmured.

"Then there was one other gentleman, the Duke of Barstow. He did not like the unabashed me at all. But Aggie, what a glorious specimen he is. He is tall and has very broad shoulders and very dark hair, his skin is rather tanned so I know he adores his horse, his eyes are so dark it was like looking into a pool of water at midnight. And that chin of his, an artist might have carved it from marble. And then, I might be fooling myself, but I did think he finds me rather pretty—he stared when he thought I wasn't looking."

"He sounds like a regular Greek god," Aggie said. "Now what on earth has he got against you?"

"I am not entirely sure; I think it was just my general manner. He is very serious and formal. He spent a deal of time looking disapproving. It was as if he had the visage of Apollo and the soul of Mr. Gamon."

"Perhaps when you meet him next, he will not be so disapproving."

"You may be right," Jemima said, nodding and yanking on her braid as Aggie struggled with it. "I said it was a shame that he was put off by me, as he was very handsome. Then he hinted I might be judging too early and then I said perhaps he would be more fun outside of Almack's."

Aggie laid down the brush. "You said all that, did you?"

"Indeed, yes I did."

"Well now, he's got a fine dose of the real you," Aggie said. "We'll see what he does with it."

Jemima was thoughtful. Then she said quietly, "Yes, we will see. Perhaps I ought not dismiss the duke so quickly. Though, he did not seem enthusiastic about the idea of being more fun in future."

"Mark me, if anybody is to bring out the fun in a stiff duke, it'll be Jemima Fornay."

Jemima sighed. Her maid was really very wise. Just because the duke had seemed terribly serious and disapproving did not mean he would always stay serious and disapproving. She must just wait to see what the future held.

That idea somehow led to wondering about being held in the duke's arms. She imagined it would be lovely. If he were smiling while doing it.

Jemima spent the time before she fell asleep attempting to imagine the duke smiling. She did not get far with it.