Page 37 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
"Most young ladies prefer more romantic fare," he replied, making no move to increase the distance between them. "Byron or Shelley, perhaps."
Gemma lifted her chin slightly. "I find something deeply appealing in Wordsworth's reverence for nature and simplicity.Not all of us require brooding heroes and tempestuous affairs to capture our imagination."
"No?" Jameson's lips curved into the half-smile that had launched a thousand swoons across London ballrooms. "What does capture your imagination, I wonder?"
The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken possibility, and Gemma found herself leaning imperceptibly closer, drawn by some invisible force she could neither name nor resist.
"Truth," she whispered, surprising herself with the rawness of her answer. "However unadorned or inconvenient it might be."
Jameson's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping momentarily to her lips before returning to meet her own. He seemed on the verge of speaking, the carefully maintained distance between them, both physical and emotional despite their recent alliance.
"My Lord," came the butler's voice from the doorway, shattering the moment with all the grace of a great ox in a drawing room. "Lady Sinclair has arrived to call upon Lady Brokeshire."
Gemma watched as Jameson's expression closed like a book snapped shut, the momentary vulnerability replaced by his customary mask of polite detachment.
"How fortuitous," he said, stepping back with practiced ease. "I'm certain you are eager to speak with your mother. Please, don't allow me to detain you."
"Jameson," she began, though what she intended to say, even she did not know.
"Until this afternoon," he said, with a formal bow that felt like a door being firmly shut in her face.
As he strode from the library, his back straight and shoulders set with military precision, Gemma clutched the volume of Wordsworth to her chest, her thoughts in disarray.
What in heaven's name just transpired?She wondered, pressing a hand to her flushed cheek.And more importantly, why do I feel so inexplicably disappointed by its interruption?
***
Helena Sinclair was gracefully perched on the edge of a delicate rosewood chair in the drawing room.
Gemma sat opposite her mother, pouring tea with the steady hand she had cultivated through years of practice, though her mind remained distracted by the curious encounter in the library.
"You seem preoccupied, my dear," Helena observed, accepting the cup with a slight frown creasing her brow. "Is all well in your new household?"
If by 'well' you mean utterly confounding, with a husband who alternates between distant formality and moments of alliance and such startling intimacy that one can scarcely catch my breath, then yes, splendidly so, Gemma thought to herself.
Aloud, she merely said, "I am adjusting, Mother. As one might expect."
Helena's frown deepened. "I cannot help but worry, Gemma. The swiftness of this nuptial arrangement…. the circumstances..." She trailed off, setting her teacup down with a nervous clatter. “Not to mention that Lord Brokeshire’s reputation which precedes him…”
"I am well aware of my husband's reputation," Gemma replied, attempting to keep the defensive note from her voice. "Though I find there is often considerable distance between public perception and private reality."
"You sound quite taken with him already," Helena said, her tone hovering between surprise and concern. "I had not expected... that is to say, given the arrangement's nature..."
Gemma felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I merely suggest that perhaps Lord Brokeshire is more complex than society's gossip would indicate."And perhaps more dangerous to my peace of mind as well.
"I pray that is so," Helena said, though her expression suggested limited faith in this possibility. She leaned forward, lowering her voice as though the very walls might carry tales. "But you must be careful, my darling. Men of his ilk can be most charming when it suits their purposes."
And what purpose would that be?Gemma wondered.He already has my hand and my dowry, paltry though it is. What more could he possibly want from me?
Something must have shown in her expression, for Helena reached across to pat her hand consolingly. "Forgive me. I did not come to upset you with dire warnings. I simply..." She hesitated, her fingers plucking nervously at her shawl. "I only wish for your happiness."
"I am fully aware, Mother," Gemma said softly, the familiar weight of duty settling heavily upon her shoulders. She forced a reassuring smile. "And I am not unhappy, truly. Lady Brokeshire has been civil, nice even, and the household is well-appointed. I want for nothing."
Except perhaps answers to the mounting questions regarding my enigmatic husband and the curious effect he seems to have on my typically rational faculties.
Helena's expression brightened somewhat. "That is such a comfort to hear. And speaking of society, Lady Jersey's musical evening is on Thursday next. I do hope you and Lord Brokeshire will attend."
"I imagine we shall," Gemma replied, recognizing her mother's swift pivot to more comfortable territory. "The maid mentioned to me that Lady Brokeshire mentioned this morningthat we have been invited to the Hartington ball as well. I expect she will convey that to me directly as well."
