Page 18 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
Gemma’s heart began to pound in her chest, loud and insistent. Jameson Brookfield, the very man whose name had lingered unspoken between whispered gossip and pointed glances these past few weeks, stood at their threshold? Unannounced? Withbusinessfor William?
Whatever warmth the fire offered did little to ease the chill that crept up Gemma’s spine. Something was amiss.
She rose slowly, eyes flicking from her brother’s guilty expression to her mother’s stricken one. Only Simmons remained composed, though his knuckles whitened slightly around the silver tray in his hands.
“Shall I show him in, My Lady?” he asked, voice low but steady.
No one answered immediately, and the silence was suffocating. Gemma’s lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Jameson Brookfield—the infamous rake, the man she had hoped to never see again outside the ballrooms of London, was now waiting in their entryway.
“Why is he here? Can you not stall him?” her mother said.
"No, My Lady. He was most insistent on the immediacy of the matter."
William squared his shoulders, visibly gathering his composure. "Very well. Show him in, Simmons."
"William, you cannot be serious," Helena protested. "After what occurred last night—"
"It is precisely because of last night that we must receive him," William interrupted. "Whatever his purpose, it would be foolish to turn him away."
The moments that followed were a blur of hasty preparation. Helena straightened her cap and smoothed her skirts while Gemma attempted to arrange her features into a semblance of dignified composure. William hastily tied his cravat and ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it.
Simmons returned moments later, announcing with practiced solemnity, "Lord Brokeshire.”
Jameson Brookefield entered the morning room with measured steps, his expression grave but determined. He was impeccably dressed in a bottle-green coat that enhanced the color of his eyes, his cravat was tied in a simple yet elegant style. Despite the early hour, he appeared perfectly groomed and alert, giving no indication of having spent the previous night embroiled in scandal.
Gemma felt an intense resentment towards him for what had transpired between them.
He bowed first to Helena, then to Gemma, whose eyes he politely avoided, and finally to William, before speaking. "Lord Sinclair, Lady Sinclair, Miss Sinclair. I apologize for the intrusion at this early hour, but I believe the circumstances warrant immediate attention."
William gestured stiffly to a vacant chair. "Please, be seated, Lord Brokeshire."
"Thank you." Jameson settled himself with casual elegance, seemingly oblivious to the tension suffusing the room. "I shall come directly to the point. Last night's unfortunate incident has placed Miss Sinclair in a compromising position, for which I bear full responsibility."
Gemma opened her mouth to protest, but a warning glance from her mother silenced her.
"Indeed, it has caused quite a stir," William replied carefully. "Though I understand from my sister that the encounter was entirely innocent."
He certainly had not acted like he understood so, Gemma internally fumed.
"Innocent or not, the damage to Miss Sinclair's reputation has been done," Jameson said bluntly. "Lady Montford's tongue works faster than a weaver's shuttle. By now, the tale has likely reached every breakfast table in Mayfair, growing more scandalous with each retelling."
Helena made a small sound of distress, quickly muffled behind her handkerchief.
"Which brings me to the purpose of my visit." Jameson turned to William, his expression solemn. "Lord Sinclair, my purpose in calling is to propose for your sister's hand."
The room fell still. The gentle ticking of the longcase clock in the corner became suddenly pronounced, marking each heartbeat of silence that followed this extraordinary declaration.
Gemma felt her heart racing, a tumult of emotions swirling within her breast. Her fingers, which had been idly smoothing the embroidery upon her lap, grew still. William's countenance transformed into a mask of surprise and suspicion, his eyebrows drawing together in a manner most foreboding.
"You propose matrimony, sir?" William inquired with marked incredulity. "Forgive my astonishment, but your lordship's reputation does not suggest a gentleman in pursuit of securing a wife.”
Lord Brokeshire inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the justice of the observation. "I am well aware that my past conduct has not recommended me as a candidate formatrimony. However, I assure you that my intentions toward Miss Sinclair are entirely honourable."
"Honourable intentions formed mere hours after my sister was discovered with you in circumstances of a most compromising nature," William remarked, his voice betraying a bitterness he struggled to contain. "How exceedingly convenient."
"William," their mother, Lady Helena, interjected softly. Her complexion had grown pale, though a hint of colour now returned to her cheeks. "Perhaps we ought to hear his lordship's proposition in its entirety."
Lord Brokeshire bowed slightly in Lady Helena's direction. "I thank you, madam, for your consideration. I am fully aware that this proposal comes upon the heels of an unfortunate circumstance. Yet I assure you that my regard for Miss Sinclair is genuine, and my desire to protect her reputation and ensure her future happiness is sincere."
