But how to persuade Jemmah that he was serious in his intentions after years of scant contact with her?
Such impulsiveness on Jules’s part would’ve send a buzz through the ton’s elite parlors if he were a rakehell or knave, but his reputation as a grave, severe sort made the notion preposterous to all but Theo, Sutcliffe, and Pennington, and he anticipated a full-blown cacophony when word leaked out.
And it would.
All it took was two or three visits to the same address, and the upper ten thousand would eagerly check their post daily for a wedding invitation.
How could he expect Jemmah to take him earnestly when what he proposed flew in the face of common sense and contradicted his typical behavior?
True, she’d kissed him like a long-starved woman, but he suspected she had been deprived of affection for years.
Had she responded because she desperately craved acceptance and love, or because she felt something for Jules?
Male pride demanded the latter, but prudence suggested the former.
Mightn’t Jemmah’s reaction be attributed to both?
Yes.
That seemed most logical.
He stepped to the side, permitting a nurse and her three rambunctious charges to pass.
Jules would use every advantage to win Jemmah and her mother over. He began making a mental list of tactics he intended to use.
A few minutes later, he rounded the corner onto Mayfair, just as Theo’s carriage rumbled to a stop before her mansion. He quickened his pace, his pulse keeping time with his hurried stride.
Jemmah alit, wearing a simple blue coat, a trifle too short, and a plain straw bonnet. She reached inside the conveyance, and after withdrawing a battered valise, faced the grand house.
Did her shoulders slump the slightest? The regal column of her neck bend as if she bore a weighty burden?
“Miss Dament.”
His regard never left her as his legs ate up the distance between them.
Never had he beheld anything half as lovely as when she turned, and upon spying him, joy blossomed across her face. All these years of being a sensible, logical sort, and now he felt as giddy as a lad in short pants or a foxed-to-his-gills tippler at being gifted a wondrous smile.
“Your Grace.”
She dipped into a smooth curtsy as he bowed, but not before he saw her red-rimmed eyes, framed by spiky lashes.
And the telltale salty trail across her cheeks once more.
An ink-stained fingertip poked from the gloved hand clutching the valise. Perhaps the drawings she’d promised were tucked within the dilapidated piece of luggage that was older than she, if it was a day.
She’d known deprivation, and a dull ache settled in his gut at the awareness.
Much had happened to his Jemmah in the years since they’d parted ways, most of it not good.
As the carriage rattled away, he took her valise and her elbow, but rather than escorting her up the front steps, Jules directed her ’round back, toward the mews.
Confusion knitting her brow, she cast a glance behind her.
“Where are we going?”
“Where I can have a word with you in private.”
Once hidden from the street, he placed his forefinger beneath her chin and raised her face.
“What has happened, dear one?”
The light faded from her lovely eyes, and the tears pooled there slowly leaked from the corners.
Such anguish of spirit reflected in her soul that he gathered her in his arms.
To hell with decorum and propriety.
She needed comfort.
Simple as that.
Sagging into his chest, she wept softly, brokenheartedly.
Her scent, that light clean smell of soap and lavender and perhaps the tiniest hint of rose water wafted upward as her shoulders shook with her grief.
“My dear, Jemmah. Please tell me. What has caused you such distress?”
Her hat’s tattered edge scraped his chin as she struggled to compose herself.
“Mama has turned me out, and I’ve nowhere to go but to impose upon Aunt Theo’s hospitality.”
“Why would she do such a thing?”
He veered a swift glance around.
Good.
No one ventured near or detected their presence behind the neatly-trimmed seven-foot shrubs bordering Theo’s house.
In a few concise, shuddery sentences, Jemmah explained what happened after he left the ball last night.
“So, because I refused to cede the opportunity to Adelinda, as I have almost everything of import my entire life, my mother put me from our house. I was only permitted to take what I could fit in one bag.”
Jules stroked her slender spine, desperate to comfort her. “Well, I can think of two ladies who will be euphoric at this turn of events. Three, if you count Sabrina. She was over the moon with excitement when I told her you’d generously offered to teach her drawing.”
He wasn’t exactly distressed either.
Her change in circumstances played quite nicely into his intent to woo her.
Jemmah sniffled and dashed her fingers across her face. “May I impose upon you to borrow your handkerchief?”
Great galloping giraffes.
The poor darling didn’t even own a scrap of cloth with which to dab her impossibly expressive eyes.
Jules passed her the starched and neatly-folded monogrammed square and waited while she dried her face, then blew her nose. Once she regained her self-control, he collected her bag and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Gazing down at her, he smiled tenderly. “I’d be a liar if I pretended I’m not thrilled I shall be able to call upon you here now.”
An adorable flush swept her face, accompanied by a winsome upward tilt of her mouth.
“Yes, there is that to look forward to. If Aunt Theo agrees to me staying with her.”
“She will, of course. And do you look forward to me paying my addresses?”
He hadn’t meant to go that far just yet, but the opportunity had presented itself, and he had impulsively told her he meant to court her.
Rather than using the front entrance, he steered her to the open French windows outside the ballroom.
Servants drifted in and out of the room, clearing up the remaining vestiges of last night’s celebration.
Theo’s poodle, Caesar, trotted through the empty ballroom, ebony nose and tail in the air, his nails clicking on the parquet floor.
Instead of answering straightaway, Jemmah tilted her head and regarded him through those thick, tear-damp lashes, her speculative gaze penetrating, yet reflective.
“The dowager has offered me an opportunity someone in my position isn’t likely to have replicated.”
“So have I, my precious Jem.”
Drawing her to the side of the house, Jules pulled her near. A damp breeze fluttered the cherry blossoms, sending a pink petal shower onto the sandstone pavers they stood upon.