And long, long ago, Miss Jemmah Dament too.
Contemplating a match with Miss Milbourne had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with benefiting the dukedom. More fool he for not having listened to Theo’s blunt warnings against such a hair-brained notion.
Jules was capable of finding a diamond of his own choosing, thank you very much.
One whose multi-faceted inner beauty glowed far more brilliantly than Miss Milbourne’s exquisite outward countenance.
Shaking his head, he rubbed his brow against the slight twinge tapping there and glanced around the lavish parlor. The undrawn draperies permitted moonlight to stream through the emerald-and-gold brocade-festooned windows and cast a silvery, iridescent glow over the gilded, carved furnishings. Muted music filtered into the peaceful chamber even as the Sevres mantel clock lazily chimed ten o’clock.
He’d best hurry or Sabrina would think he’d decided to remain at the ball longer and she’d retire for the night. She’d only been permitted to stay up so late because she’d obediently taken an afternoon nap. To disappoint the child after she’d already endured so much tragedy in her short life was unthinkable.
Jules didn’t make promises he didn’t mean to keep.
Should he unlock the door before taking his leave through the other pair?
No. Theo’s servants would see to the matter.
She really ought to consider securing unused rooms when she entertained, especially with the likes of Miss Milbourne prowling about.
He’d mention the subject when next he saw his godmother.
Wending between the numerous pieces of furniture in the moon’s half-light, he smacked his shin into the settee. Pain spiraling from calf to knee, he softly cursed and bent to rub the offended limb.
“Dammit. Must Theo constantly rearrange the furniture? Two hell-fired times since December.”
A startled gasp, swiftly stifled, had him jerking upright, whacking his shoulder this time.
Bloody hell.
“Who’s there?”
Silence met his inquiry. Had he stumbled upon a lover’s tryst? A thief? A wayward servant or inquisitive guest? He fingered his throbbing shoulder, pressing the pads against the pain.
“Reveal yourself at once.”
Silence.
Running his fingers along the settee’s back, he located the pedestal sofa table.
Other than shallow breathing, the culprit kept quiet.
Squinting, he made out a light-colored form reclining on the dark blue-and-silver striped cushions. A woman, and by all the stampeding elephants in Africa, he bet his silver buttons, and the two new bruises he surely sported, he knew who lay there.
Like a slowly uncoiling rope, the tension eased from his taut muscles.
He fumbled a bit until he found the engraved silver tinderbox beside the candelabra, and moments later, a wax taper flared to life.
“Hello, Your Grace.”
Miss Jemmah Dament, her rosy lips curved upward in a small closed-mouth smile and her face still sleep-softened, blinked groggily.
Hello, indeed. Adorable, sleepy kitten.
He lifted the candle higher, taking in her svelte figure, her delectable backside pressed to the sofa, one hand still cradling her cheek. Surprise and carnal awareness, pleasant and unexpected, tingled a rippling path from one shoulder to the other.
The plain, awkward little mudlark had transformed into a graceful dove. One who rivaled—no, by far exceeded—her sister’s allure.
“Well, hello to you as well, Miss Jemmah Dament.”
As if it were the most natural thing in the world to be found napping during a ball at her aunt’s house, and then awoken by a man crashing into her makeshift bed, she sat up and brushed a wayward curl off her forehead.
Jules set about lighting the other three tapers. Their glow revealed striking pale blue, wide-set almond-shaped eyes, fringed by dark lashes, and tousled hair somewhere between rich caramel and light toffee.
He hadn’t seen her up close in...?
How long had it been?
Cocking his head, he searched his mind’s archives.
At least since last summer.
Yes, that afternoon in August, in Hyde Park, when she’d walked past wearing a travesty of a walking ensemble. A sort of greenish-gray color somewhere between rotten fish and bread mold.
Yawning delicately behind one slender hand, she smoothed her plain ivory gown with the other.
Except for a yellowish-tan sash below her breasts, the garment lacked any adornment. The ribbon didn’t suit her coloring, and although he couldn’t claim to be an expert on feminine apparel, the frock seemed rather lackluster for such a grand affair.
Another of Adelinda’s cast-offs?
Jules canted his head as he closed the tinder box.
He couldn’t recall ever seeing Jemmah wearing anything new. And yet her sister always appeared perfumed and bejeweled, attired in the first stare of fashion. Such blatant favoritism wasn’t uncommon amongst the elite, nor did it shock nearly as much as appall.
He, too, was his mother’s least-favorite child, but by all the candle nubs in England, if he ever had children—in the very distant future—they’d not know the kind of rejection and pain he and Jemmah had experienced because of their parents’ partiality.
He’d love and treat his offspring equally as any good and decent parent should.
“Ah, Your Grace, you’re surprised to see me, I think.”
Rather than coy or seductive, her smile and winged brows indicated genuine amusement. Her vivacious eyes sparkling with secret knowledge, she ran her gaze over him, the full radiance of her smile causing something prickly to take root in his chest and purr through his veins.
“I am, but pleasantly so. Your appearance at these farces is even rarer than my own, Miss Dament.”
His by choice, but what about Jemmah?
Did she want to attend and was prohibited?
“I’m here at Aunt Theo’s insistence. Mama couldn’t put her off this time. But I’m afraid even I have too much pride to be seen in a morning gown from three seasons ago. Besides,” she lifted a milky-white, sloping shoulder as she fiddled with a pillow’s tassel, “I don’t know how to dance, and this is a ball after all.”
No self-pity or resentment weighted her words, just honest revelation.
Jules had forgotten how refreshingly forthright she was.
Still, how had such an important part of her education been overlooked?
Did Theo know?
Probably, since she’d mentioned trying to intervene on Jemmah’s behalf many times. Much to Theo’s dismay, Mrs. Dament refused all offers benefiting Jemmah, but when it came to Adelinda...
That was an entirely different matter. For that greedy puss, nothing was spared.
Pity for Jemmah engulfed him.
She unfolded—for there was no other way to describe the smooth, catlike elegance as she angled to her feet—and after sliding her obviously-mended stockinged toes into plain black slippers a trifle too large, and gathering her gloves, dipped a nimble curtsy.
“Please excuse me, Your Grace.”