Page 25 of Twelve Drummers Drumming

Only ever able to meet by appointment in the town, she and Hugh had spent the best part of five days over the last week walking together, avoiding the past, talking about the present—and at least in her mind, secretly hoping for the future. It was a dangerous area they avoided speaking of, yet Jemima desperately hoped he would one day speak it.

He would, wouldn’t he? After all, it would be most disgraceful if he did not, after stealing so many kisses from her.

Stealing. Jemima tried to keep her expression calm as she thought about it, but her cheeks pinked. She had given them willingly, wished for more, longed for the next moment they would touch.

Jemima smiled as she thought about their meeting that morning, and Hugh’s words to her as they fought their way through to Hyde Park.

“I still cannot comprehend why you desire my company,” Hugh had admitted in a slightly embarrassed tone. “Not when you were so prejudiced against the uniform that I wear.”

And Jemima had replied: “Is it so strange?”

They had met by chance, then by design, then by frantic planning, desperate to see each other without the typical chaperones usually enforced on the young and the—in love?

Jemima’s cheeks heated, and a clatter in the room brought her rapidly to the present.

Caroline was rummaging through the chest of gloves and stockings she and Jemima shared. As the two eldest children, they had shared a room for as long as they could remember, yet it was not until now Jemima felt the awkwardness of it.

“You are an engaged woman,” she said suddenly.

Caroline halted in her search for the glove to match the one she already had and stared at her stepsister.

“I know,” she said quietly. “Isn’t it strange?”

Their eyes met. “You have always just been…Caroline. And now you are going to be living elsewhere, and,” with a hesitation, “and be Mrs. Walsingham.”

Caroline broke into a huge smile and began to laugh with joy. “It’s so hard to keep the laughter in! To think, after so long, that Stuart and I—Dr. Walsingham and I, of course,” and the silly grin returned to her face, “will be married before spring is here! It really does make you think just how quickly one’s fortune can change, doesn’t it? I never thought…”

And her chatter returned.

Jemima’s smile hid her grimace. She felt as though she was watching everything on a stage at the opera.

In fact, since Hugh had returned her to her door and bid her a hasty farewell, Jemima had found it rather difficult to complain at all.

She was on a cloud much higher whenever her mind turned to Captain Hugh Rotherham.

They had learned quickly which topics to avoid—those too painful, those which would cause an argument, those which she could never be persuaded to agree on. There were times when he mentioned something that made her bristle, yet her growing admiration for him proved to be a better censure than all previously attempted by her family.

“Jemima?”

And her father had invited Hugh to the engagement ball that evening; it was only a few more hours and she would be able to see him again. They had barely been able to stop meeting each other after their ardent alleyway kiss; what would he say to her this evening?

“Jemima!”

With a start, Jemima blinked. Caroline was not five inches away from her face and had a confused expression.

“Jemima, I have been standing here a full minute, trying to gain your attention!” Caroline said, almost scolding. “What on earth has got into your head that you should be so far away?”

“Nothing of consequence,” said Jemima automatically. She had learned from a young age that having a household full of women could only mean drama at every opportunity, and removing herself from the occasion benefited them, just as much as it did her.

Caroline gazed at her suspiciously, turned to sit on the side of the bed, and looked up at her stepsister with a questioning look on her face. “You’ve been quiet, Jemima.”

“Quiet?”

“Too quiet,” returned Caroline. “This is not like you.”

Jemima rose and wandered across to the large bay window in their shared bedroom, dropping down onto the floor and the cushion she had placed there, gazing out into London.

She did not reply, but once again Caroline did not require her to participate in the conversation. “Normally you would have snapped at me—or shouted at me—or told me how irksome it was for you, having me talk about Stuart…Dr. Walsingham…continuously. Yet you have not crossed me with a single harsh word all morning!”

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