“I know, he gave them to me,” Eliza replied. “They are safe now. Dominic is going to see they get into the right hands at the War Office.”
“Who is this Dominic?” Jemima frowned at the ceiling, wondering if the rhythmic movements of Eliza brushing her hair were helping to calm both of them in some way.
“Dominic Cav
endish is head of the Cavendish family. There are Dominic, Sebastian and Edward, who is the youngest,” her voice softening as she spoke Edward’s name.
Jemima thought back to the group in the corridor. “Edward was the man standing behind you in the servant’s corridor?”
“Yes,” Eliza paused, and smiled shyly at Jemima. “I should like for us to get married.”
Jemima wasn’t surprised, and felt a thrill of delight for her sister that was conveyed in the bright shine of joy in her amber eyes. “He loves you,” she declared with certainty, thinking of the protectiveness she had witnessed earlier.
Eliza nodded with a smile of satisfaction. “As I do him,” she whispered softly. She briefly considered telling Jemima about her own near death experience earlier that afternoon at the hands of Rogan Scraggan, but decided to leave that for another day, when Jemima was stronger.
“That’s excellent news, dear sister. Congratulations, I know you will be very happy together,” Eliza smiled softly at her sister, the first time she had smiled in many months.
Companionable silence settled over them for a few moments, each woman lost in her own thoughts.
Suddenly filled with the urge to discover the truth herself, Jemima turned her gaze to Eliza. “I’m exhausted, but nothing is going to stop me from asking this Sir Dunnicliffe a few questions of my own.”
“I will be right beside you,” Eliza promised. “But now let’s get you fed. Once you have eaten, you can see the doctor and get some rest. We will confront this Sir Dunnicliffe later, and get the truth out of him, even if Peter has to beat him to a pulp.”
Determination rang clear in her voice as she rose to her feet, clearly not expecting any objection from her sister.
Without further ado, Jemima was swathed in a wonderfully soft nightgown, and tucked into the huge bed moments before a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the doctor.
CHAPTER THREE
Sunlight was streaming through the open curtains when Jemima awoke the following morning. She lay for several moments and simply enjoyed the soft sheets beneath her cheek and the warmth of the morning sunlight on her face. It had been so long since she had awoken without thinking about working. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced the luxury of sleeping on such a soft mattress.
In the quiet of the early morning, she slowly became aware of the soft rumble of a snore not far away. A frown crossed her brow as she lay perfectly still and listened. She was alone in the bed, of that she was fairly certain, so where was he?
A cursory glance of one side of the room revealed it to be completely empty. Carefully she rolled over until she was facing the fireplace.
There, lying on the floor, fast asleep, was Peter. His hair was tousled and his chest bare to the waist as he lay on his back before the hearth, covered in nothing but a single sheet that did little to preserve his modesty.
She knew she should wake him up and usher him to his own room, but couldn’t find the heart to wake him.
Once again the memory of their last moments in Mr Simpson’s office returned with startling brutality. The raw emotion, the pain, the heartbreak, the helplessness all came flooding back. He had been absolutely devastated by what he had considered his failure to help her. She was surprised he had found her at all, much less put everything that was his at risk of social censure in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to keep her alive.
Although she hadn’t been raised in the higher echelons of society, she was fully aware that, for someone of Peter’s breeding, being connected to any condemned person, especially a woman, would bring about immediate social disgrace. Despite the risk to his title, estates and family name, he had tried to claim her as his bride anyway.
But where did that leave them?
Her thoughts turned to the first time she had seen him.
She had loved him from the first time she had seen him sitting around the dining table in Devon. She had been working as a servant and had stood at the side of the room beside the footmen, helping serve a meal. The deep rumble of his cultured voice had held her captive. She had served him soup and had been startled as his gorgeous eyes had met and held hers briefly as he murmured his thanks. A thrill of anticipation had settled low in her belly, and she had been aware of him watching her as she resumed her position beside the serving table. As a servant she was supposed to be invisible and forbidden from conversing with the guests unless they approached her. But that was fine with Jemima, as long as she could stand in the dining room and listen to him talk. The silken warmth of his voice shivered over her, holding her captive to his every word.
She knew he was simply staring because of her outlandish behaviour at the table. She shouldn’t have looked at him so directly, but didn’t regret any anger he may have felt toward her. The moment was hers, and nobody could take it away from her.
The following morning she had been sent to light the fires in the bedrooms before people started to rise. She had entered the room without realising it was his. Most of the guests slept with their bed curtains closed, and didn’t know she had even been in the room. Except Peter, who had left the bed curtains open and himself in plain view. She had stared openly at the broad expanse of chest clearly outlined against the stark white sheets. A tiny thrill of feminine attraction unfurled in her belly until she began to grow uncomfortable with the warmth stealing through her.
“Thank you, Jemima,” his soft rumble had made her freeze with her hand on the doorknob and she had reluctantly turned back to him, her heart hammering furiously beneath her breast.
“Y-you’re welcome,” she had replied, rushing out of the room. She had been halfway down the corridor before she realised he had used her name.
Over the following days their paths had crossed on more than one occasion. She had tried to be like every other servant and had stood to one side, her eyes lowered respectfully while he passed, only for him to actively seek to converse with her.