Page 32 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
Why had she entered into matrimony with Jameson Brookfield? To save her and her family’s reputation, certainly. Because she had not been wed in three seasons, yes. But there had been something else, something she scarcely acknowledged even to herself. She had been struck by the intelligence in his eyes, the composed dignity of his bearing. He could hardly be called handsome in the conventional way, for his angles were too distinct and his stare too intense; but one could not deny the strong mark of character visible upon his countenance. She had seen small signs, in the way he was kind to her in the most mundane ways. Surely these small acts of kindness counted for something. Perhaps it was not the romance that Abigail had but it was in its own way a sign of caring.
When William had proposed the match, with his disdain evident in every syllable, she had surprised herself by agreeing.
The carriage was waiting when their tea ended, and Gemma embraced Abigail warmly before stepping outside. Her journey home was quiet, whereas her thoughts were anything but.
Mrs. Winfield's townhouse was in Mayfair, not far from Berkeley Square, and the journey passed quickly. As they approached the Brookfield residence—her home now, though it still felt foreign—Gemma noticed another carriage departing. A glimpse of a familiar profile caught her attention.
"William," she murmured.
What business could her brother possibly have with Jameson? Their mutual antipathy was well-known in London circles. Had they argued? Worse, had they come to blows?
The carriage came to a stop before the grand entrance. Gemma gathered her shawl around her shoulders and descended, nodding her thanks to the footman who assisted her.
She entered the townhouse as the sky dimmed to a dusky lavender. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The silence was thick, as it always was.
But tonight, she did not mind it.
If Jameson Brookfield was a mystery, then she would unravel him. Thread by careful thread. Because beneath the rakish coolness and clever remarks, she had glimpsed something else and she meant to find it again.
Handing her shawl to the waiting butler, Gemma inquired, "Is Lord Brokeshire at home, Reynolds?"
"In the study, My Lady. He requested not to be disturbed. Lord Sinclair came to visit earlier.”
Gemma nodded, surprised. "I see. Thank you, Reynolds."
Gemma climbed the sweeping staircase to her chambers, where Martha waited to help her change for dinner. As the maid unbuttoned the back of her visiting dress, Gemma found herself pondering the strange intersection of her old life and new.
"You're frowning, My Lady," Martha observed, helping her into a dinner gown of pale blue silk. "Was the visit not pleasant?"
"The visit was lovely," Gemma replied. "I'm merely thinking of... complications."
Martha's clever fingers worked quickly with the pearl buttons of the gown. "Would these complications have anything to do with Lord Sinclair's visit today?"
Gemma turned, surprised. "You know of it?"
"The entire household knows, My Lady. They weren't exactly quiet in their disagreement." Martha lowered her voice. "Mr. Reynolds had to send the younger footmen on errands to prevent them from lingering at the study door."
"What did they argue about?"
Martha shrugged. "Business matters, mostly. But your name was mentioned."
"My name?" Gemma stilled.
"Lord Sinclair suggested that Lord Brokeshire had overstepped in taking you as wife. That you were better suited to another match he had in mind." Martha's eyes flashed with indignation. "The nerve of him, speaking as if you were a parcel to be redirected!"
Gemma felt a chill settle in her stomach. What was her brother doing? Had William lost his logic? It was not in his nature to act so impetuously. "And what did Lord Brokeshire say?"
A smile tugged at Martha's lips. "He said that you were his wife now, and that Lord Sinclair had forfeited any right to concern himself with your welfare when he made it clear you were unwelcome in his home."
Gemma sat at her dressing table, absorbing this. Jameson had defended her? Or at least, defended his claim to her? It was an extreme stance, her brother had some right over her of course. But to hear that he had taken up responsibility of her was…Well. It was certainly something.
"His lordship also suggested that Lord Sinclair focus his attentions on matters of business, where he was already failing quite spectacularly without additional distractions," Martha added with evident satisfaction. "That's when the real shouting began."
The dinner gong sounded through the house. Gemma rose, allowing Martha to make a final adjustment to her hair.
"Will that be all, My Lady?"
"Yes, thank you, Martha."
