Page 28 of Twelve Drummers Drumming

“Stepsister? Oh, of course. Sometimes I forget just how complicated the Fitzroy family really is.”

The candles were starting to reach their last, and many of the guests had started to think about calling their carriages, now eleven o’clock had just rung out across London.

Jemima wished silently that the two women, who clearly had nothing better to do than to comment on her dancing, or lack thereof, would leave, but they appeared to be in no hurry to return to their homes.

She could not believe it. She had really convinced herself Hugh would attend the ball, had really thought he would wish to see her, more formally at last.

After all their conversation, all those kisses…her cheeks reddened slightly. It had all been leading to something, at least that was what she had thought. She had believed Hugh would wish to court her, to dance with her, to see her with her family.

Even despite all the teasing she had endured from Caroline, she had longed to see him. Yet Jemima had spent the entire ball waiting for something to occur that never did.

She had even put a modicum of thought into her attire, not something she had been wont to do before.

Her satin dress rather stood out beautifully when it was lying on her bed, but here in the evening it was Caroline, of course, that glowed—yet Jemima had purposefully chosen sapphire ear bobs to match, her black slippers had been embroidered delicately with sapphire thread. Even her hair contained a sapphire ribbon pinned up by the lady’s maid she shared with Caroline.

And yet despite all of that effort and thought and concern over her appearance, Hugh had not come to the engagement ball.

Jemima had waited downstairs half an hour before guests were invited to arrive, eager for his arrival. As guest after guest arrived, she had looked past them, sure the next person would be Hugh.

She had spent just over three hours waiting for him.

She had greeted people and bore the indignity of her father standing behind her, as though checking at every moment that she was acting with proper decorum.

And he had not come. And now the ball was almost over, thought Jemima dully.

It was foolish of her to raise her hopes up so high. She should have caught herself from making such a mistake. But then, she countered silently, she had never had such a close attachment to a gentleman before in all her life.

No man had ever looked at her the way that Hugh did; no man had ever spoken to her like Hugh had; certainly, no man had ever kissed her in the manner that Hugh did in that dark alleyway, away from the world.

A shiver made her smile, but it was short-lived. What had those kisses meant if Hugh did not wish to attend her family ball? Was there any earnestness in his attentions, or was this all just a flirtation for him? She knew so little about soldiers, after all.

Obviously, Captain Hugh Rotherham had not considered the engagement party worth attending.

Not that any of her family had noticed her misery, Jemima thought bitterly. Her father had seemingly forgotten that he had even invited someone on her behalf, and her stepmother lost all notion of the rest of her family as soon as Caroline had walked into the ballroom.

Jemima had to admit her sister did look beautiful. The cream satin gown and tiny diamond bob earrings complemented her red hair perfectly.

Sadness overwhelmed her, weighing her heavily against the chair. Hugh had certainly been worth caring about—yet her feelings were clearly not reciprocated.

Jemima heard a bubble of laughter and raised her eyes to see Caroline whirl about in the dance. Caroline had forgotten her teasing of earlier, had seemingly forgotten the rest of the world existed now she was dancing in the arms of Dr. Walsingham.

Any other time, the offense of being ignored so publicly would have rubbed against Jemima’s temper; but not this evening. This evening, Jemima was a little heart sore.

“Miss Fitzroy?”

Jemima blinked. She knew that voice…

Standing just to her left, previously out of her view thanks to a gaggle of elderly gentlemen with smoking pipes, was a tall man with wild, jet-black hair, seemingly untamable. He had dark sparkling eyes and wore his best regimental uniform, topped with a scarlet jacket. The crutch on his left side was steady, yet his face seemed unsure of the reception he was about to receive.

And well he might be.

“You finally decided to attend, did you?” Jemima said, pain in every syllable, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. “After everything that has—that we—you would think you could orchestrate arriving on time!”

Her words had caught the attention of the two matronly women sitting to her right, and one of them peered up at the gentleman facing Miss Jemima’s ire.

Hugh smiled nervously, all of his usual confidence gone. “Your family has a wonderful home here, Jemima, and—”

“Home, home, is that what you wish to talk about?” Jemima heard her words as if they were a long way off. She knew what she was saying was cruel, yet she could not seem able to stop herself, so great was her disappointment.

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