Page 31 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
"It was indeed," Abigail said dreamily, selecting a small rosewater cake and placing it on her plate. "He asked if I would be at the Everly ball next week. I believe he means to call again soon."
"You should allow him," Gemma said. "He seems a sincere sort."
Abigail had been Gemma's friend since their introduction at Miss Harborough's Seminary for Young Ladies three years prior. Where Gemma was reserved, Abigail was exuberant. Where Gemma preferred books and quiet contemplation, Abigail thrived on society and conversation. Yet somehow, their differences had forged a true friendship.
"And what of you?" Abigail leaned forward, her blue eyes bright with curiosity. "How goes life in the grand townhouse of Lord Brokeshire?"
Gemma hesitated, her fingers curling around the warm porcelain cup. "It is... quiet."
"That does not sound promising."
"It is not unpleasant," Gemma added quickly. “He is by no means cruel, on the contrary, he has been…generous and occasionally kind I daresay.”
This was true enough. Jameson had presented her with a household allowance far more generous than she had expected. He had given her free rein of the library, a magnificent collection that occupied two floors at the back of the house. And when shehad mentioned missing her pianoforte, one had appeared the following week without comment.
"Only occasionally?" Abigail tilted her head, sending a perfect golden curl bouncing against her cheek.
“Even though he is distant and detached, I cannot claim that he is unfeeling. I have seen him soften, when he thinks I am not looking. Once, I dropped a book, and he bent to retrieve it before I could. He said nothing, just left it on the table. But there was something in his expression..." Gemma trailed off, recalling the moment. The brush of his fingers against the leather binding, the slight pause before he withdrew his hand. As if he wished to say something but thought better of it.
"People say he was to wed once. Lady Caroline Wexley," Abigail leaned closer. "She jilted him for a marquess with more land and fewer morals."
"I'd heard the name," Gemma said. "But not the tale."
In truth, she had heard whispers about Caroline Wexley from her lady's maid, Betsy, who had apparently once served in the Wexley household. Martha was a fount of information, some of it perhaps embellished, but much of it useful.
"It was quite the scandal. He hasn't entertained a serious courtship since. Until you."
Gemma sipped her tea, considering this. "It was hardly a courtship.”
Abigail's expression softened. "Oh, Gemma. I know the circumstances were not ideal. But perhaps, in time..."
"Perhaps," Gemma echoed, though she felt little hope. Her matrimony had been a business transaction, plain and simple. Her reputation would have been destroyed indefinitely, and Jameson Brookfield needed a wife of suitable background and temperament. She was not entirely sure why he had taken her as his wife. It seemed that he had not much to gain.
"I do not know if he sees me at all," she confessed. "Not truly."
"Perhaps he is afraid to."
Before Gemma could question this curious statement, the door opened and Mrs. Winfield entered, accompanied by another visitor—Lady Harrington, a formidable dowager whose opinion was sought on all matters of society and propriety.
"Miss Sinclair! Or I should say, Lady Brokeshire now," Lady Harrington pronounced, lowering herself carefully onto a settee. "How fortunate to find you here. I've been most eager to make your acquaintance."
"Lady Harrington," Gemma curtsied. "The pleasure is mine."
"Hmm, yes." The older woman scrutinized her through a lorgnette. "You are prettier than I expected.”
Abigail shot Gemma a warning glance. Lady Harrington was known for her sharp tongue and sharper eyes. Nothing escaped her notice, and she wielded secrets like weapons in the battlefield of London society.
“A most interesting choice, your husband. Tell me, dear, are you happy?"
The question was direct, almost impertinent. Gemma felt the weight of three pairs of eyes upon her.
"I am content," she answered finally. "Lord Brokeshire is a fair man."
"Fair!" Lady Harrington laughed. "My dear girl, one does not enter into matrimony for fairness. One weds for advantage, or for passion. Which was it for you, I wonder?"
Mrs. Winfield intervened, her gentle voice providing welcome relief. "Lady Harrington, you must try these lavender shortbreads. Cook has exceeded herself."
The conversation drifted to safer topics—the upcoming season, the latest fashions from Paris, speculation about whomight receive invitations to the exclusive Almack's assembly rooms. Gemma participated politely, but her thoughts kept returning to Lady Harrington's question.
