Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

T he ballroom sparkled with golden candlelight and crystal chandeliers, but to Gemma, the glamour only underscored her discomfort.

She stood near the fringes, wearing a dress that once belonged to her mother, its fabric faded and its stitching loose. Though it had been altered to fit her smaller frame, the gown was undeniably old-fashioned. Surrounded by women dressed in the latest fashions of rich satins and delicate lace, she felt like a relic from another age.

Her mother had made certain she wouldn’t be overlooked, taking Gemma’s arm as they entered, presenting her to the crowd as if she was a rare curiosity.

A few guests gave her sidelong glances, barely disguising their disdain, while others whispered behind gloved hands. Gemma tried to ignore their sharp, assessing looks, the polite smiles that barely masked their scorn, and the way mothers pointedly steered their eligible sons in the opposite direction.

“Lady Gemma Bradford,” one Dowager clucked to her friend, though the words drifted directly into Gemma’s ears. “Almost a spinster now, is she not?”

“Indeed,” the friend replied, her fan flicking open to cover a smirk. “Well, I suppose one can still hope, but at her age…” She gave a pitying shake of her head, her eyes passing over Gemma as though she was a painting hung askew.

Gemma turned away, her cheeks burning as she attempted to find solace in the thick velvet curtains that lined the room’s edges, but her mother’s grip tightened on her arm.

“Smile, Gemma,” Lady Treston hissed softly, her lips barely moving. “You look as if you are here to mourn rather than mingle.”

Gemma forced a strained smile onto her face, casting her eyes downward so she wouldn’t have to look at anyone. Her mother released her and patted her hand, her voice turning cloyingly sweet as she addressed a nearby matron. “Lady Pendergast! How lovely to see you!”

The woman’s eyes darted to Gemma. “Is this your eldest, Lady Treston?” Her tone was pleasant, but her smile betrayed her disinterest.

“Yes, indeed.” Lady Treston’s smile sharpened. “My Gemma. So quiet and devoted. She was in a nunnery for the longest time, you know. I believe she is content without a husband. I have my hands full with Elizabeth, though, as you can imagine.”

Gemma bit her lip, resisting the urge to respond, but Lady Pendergast’s eyes had already moved past her, dismissing her as unworthy of any further attention.

The conversations continued around her, filled with subtle remarks that stung like nettles; reminders that, at twenty-three, she was already past her prime. To society, she was practically invisible, her presence tolerated only as a reason to gossip about her mother’s supposed charity.

It didn’t get better as the days wore on. Her mother dragged her to private luncheons and garden parties where wealthy matrons offered thinly veiled insults and strained pleasantries. They would complement her dress, their fingers grazing its fraying edges to emphasize its shabbiness. A hostess would ask her opinion on the latest novels, only to interrupt before she could answer, her interest clearly feigned.

“How marvelous you still enjoy books,” one lady observed with false enthusiasm. “At your age, I would have thought you would be too busy with other matters, of course… if not a husband, then perhaps…well…other interests.”

The ladies around her tittered, and Gemma looked away, willing herself to remain silent, reminding herself that this was all temporary.

One rare afternoon, as they returned from yet another exhausting tea, Gemma managed to steal away to the family study. Her heart lifted slightly when she saw Elizabeth there, perched by the window, eagerly awaiting her.

“Gemma!” Elizabeth’s face brightened, and she gestured to a nearby chair. “You promised to read to me today, remember?”

“Of course I remember.” Gemma smiled, her spirits momentarily lifted. She settled into the chair and began reading aloud, letting the words whisk her away from the stifling world outside. Elizabeth listened intently, her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes wide with excitement as Gemma wove the tale to life.

They were so engrossed in the story that neither of them heard Lady Treston enter the room. Her sharp voice cut through the calm, startling them both.

“Gemma! What on earth are you doing?”

Gemma looked up, startled. “I… I was reading to Elizabeth.”

Lady Treston’s gaze hardened, her lips pursing in disapproval. “Elizabeth does not need fanciful tales and nonsense. She needs proper instruction, not idle diversions.” Her voice dripped with disdain, her eyes narrowing as she looked Gemma over.

Elizabeth, visibly upset, piped up. “But Mama, it is just a story. Gemma was…”

“Enough, Elizabeth!” Lady Treston snapped, silencing her daughter. “You may leave the room.”

Elizabeth looked torn, casting a worried glance at Gemma. But with a nod from her mother, she quickly stood and scurried out, her expression one of reluctant obedience.

Lady Treston turned her full attention to Gemma, her face cold and unreadable. “I took you in, Gemma, hoping you would absorb some decorum, some refinement. I do not wish you to waste your time filling your sister’s head with tales of fantasy.”

Gemma swallowed, her spine stiffening as she held her mother’s gaze. “Elizabeth enjoys stories. She has a lively mind. I did not think it was a crime to encourage her imagination.”

Her mother’s expression hardened further. “That attitude is precisely why you are so utterly unsuited for marriage. Why do you think no respectable man will have you? You are willful, undisciplined and altogether too focused on silly dreams instead of reality.”

The sting of her mother’s words pierced her deeply, but Gemma refused to let it show. “I am sorry that you see it that way,” she said tightly. “But I do not believe kindness and imagination are flaws.”

Lady Treston let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing coldly in the room. “Of course you do not. You think you know better than everyone, just like your father did.” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a bitter whisper. “But mark my words, Gemma. You are my responsibility now, and you will do as I say. You will behave with decorum, attend the functions, and not bring any further shame upon this family. Do I make myself clear?”

Gemma bit back the words rising to her lips, knowing they’d only worsen her situation. “Yes, Mother.”

Lady Treston’s eyes lingered on her for a long, tense moment before she finally stepped back, nodding in satisfaction. “Good. And do not waste any more of your time—or Elizabeth’s—with those pointless stories.”

Without another word she turned and swept out of the room, her presence leaving a chill in the air. Gemma let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling slightly as she sank back into the chair, the harshness of her mother’s words still ringing in her ears.

Elizabeth reappeared in the doorway, her small face filled with worry. “Gemma, I am so sorry… I did not mean to get you into trouble.”

“It is not your fault, Elizabeth.” Gemma managed a weak smile, patting her sister’s hand. “Our mother… has her ways. And her reasons.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were sad as she looked at Gemma, as though she understood far more than a seventeen-year-old should. “I wish you did not have to endure this,” she whispered.

Gemma squeezed her hand, giving her a gentle smile. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You have always been kind to me. That is enough.”

Once Elizabeth had reluctantly left, Gemma’s brave face faltered. She climbed the stairs to her room, her footsteps slow and heavy, her heart sinking as she passed the grand chambers occupied by her mother and sister. Her own room was at the far end of the hall, small and undecorated, with plain walls and a simple bed. There was no warmth there, and no comfort; just a cold, empty silence.

Gemma closed the door behind her, finally allowing herself a moment of vulnerability. She sank onto the bed, her shoulders trembling as she buried her face in her hands. She had allowed herself to hope for happiness, to believe that she had found a place where she was wanted, but it had been nothing more than an illusion. She was back in a world that neither wanted nor understood her, surrounded by people who saw her as a burden and a misfit.

Her chest tightened painfully as a tear rolled down her cheek. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to lessen the ache that filled her, refusing to let herself cry.

Reaching for the worn book she had brought with her from the Dowager’s, she forced herself to continue reading, clinging to each word as though it was a lifeline out of endless loneliness.

Yet, even as she read, the words blurred, her mind drifting back to the life she’d left behind.

The quiet estate, the gardens, and Frederick.