When her stomach grumbled loudly in protest again, Jemima eased out of bed.
Whatever the reason behind Peter’s stubborn determination to pursue her, Jemima had seen the raw emotion on his face in Mr Simpson’s office. It had been a clear and honest reflection of the depth of his anxiety.
So where did that leave them now?
She wasn’t sure, but the insistent rumbling of her stomach would surely wake him if she lay in bed any longer. She quietly eased the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed, relieved that she wasn’t assaulted by the dizziness that had plagued her the day before.
Thankfully, Eliza had left a dress over the back of one of the chairs, along with the necessary accessories. Within moments Jemima, feeling significantly stronger, dressed and tugged her hair up into an untidy knot before donning some exquisite satin slippers.
She moved to the door and stood with one hand on the latch for a moment. Her gaze turned to Peter still fast asleep on the floor. He looked so relaxed, so at ease with his world. If it weren’t for the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the deep grooves bracketing his mouth, she would have thought he hadn’t a care in the world. Despite his stubbled jaw, there was a vulnerability about him while he slept that reminded her of a little boy.
She had missed him so much while they had been apart, and had considered him a part of her past she could never recapture. To see him again now, so close, was like manna from heaven. Unable to resist, she slowly tiptoed across the room and carefully knelt on the floor beside him. She winced as her stomach rumbled loudly in the silence of the room and paused, waiting to see if he had heard it too. Relieved when he continued to sleep, Jemima leaned over him and brushed her lips carefully over his in a feather-light kiss. She had no idea if this moment was going to be the last she had with him, and couldn’t resist feeling his lips against hers once more, even if he didn’t know about it.
When he mumbled under his breath and turned over, she eased back and moved quietly to the door. Taking one last lingering look at Peter, she left the room.
She had no idea where she was going, but the delicious aroma of food wafting up from somewhere was enough to spur her on. One end of the corridor was brighter than the other, so she followed the sunshine, eventually finding herself on a large landing at the top of a flight of long, sweeping stairs leading down to a cavernous entrance hall.
“Good morning,” Sebastian chirruped from behind her, still struggling with the shock of seeing her alive, and looking equally as beautiful as her sister. She looked so unlike the unkempt ghost-like creature that had glided out of the storage room that he struggled to believe it was actually the same person. Despite his love for his wife, he could fully understand why Peter was so smitten with her.
She was gorgeous.
Jemima jumped, emitting a low squeak as she turned and found herself face to face with a tall, black-haired man who had a calm air of
authority about him.
“I’m Sebastian, by the way.” He smiled gently, sensing her disquiet and doing his best to put her at ease.
“I’m sorry,” Jemima replied after several awkward moments of silence.
“Hello ‘Sorry’,” Sebastian smiled, flashing an even row of white teeth at her. “Well, ‘Sorry’, I am not sure about you, but I am starving and if the smells coming from the breakfast room are any indication, I do believe Cook has excelled herself this morning. Shall we?” With that, he held his elbow out for her in a gentlemanly fashion, clearly waiting to escort her down to eat.
With a soft smile of thanks, Jemima took his arm and allowed him to gently guide her down the stairs toward the lavishly furnished room that appeared to be the breakfast room.
As she entered, Edward, Dominic and Sir Dunnicliffe, who were already seated around the table, got to their feet, murmuring greetings as they waited for her to sit.
Dominic took the opportunity to quickly introduce her to Sir Dunnicliffe, once Sebastian had eased her into a chair.
Jemima jumped as a slightly dishevelled Peter appeared at her elbow, clearly newly awoken, but apparently determined not to allow her to stray too far from him. Taking a seat beside her, he winked at her and murmured a gentle ‘good morning’, sitting back to watch as the footman swung into action.
Within moments, Jemima was staring down at a huge, heavily laden plate of the most sumptuous food she had ever seen in her life, with a cup of tea at her elbow, and a rack of toast and pot of strawberry jam before her.
She looked askance at Dominic, only for him to smile secretively back at her, before returning to his own meal.
Shaking her head ruefully at the vast array of pie, bacon, eggs, meets and bread before her, Jemima began to eat, well aware that Sir Dunnicliffe was also watching her. Assured that she was at last eating, Peter accepted his own meal and hungrily tucked in, trying not to openly stare at the stunning vision beside him.
Completely oblivious, Jemima ate slowly, her attention on the man opposite. He was dressed as urbanely as Dominic and Sebastian, but despite his debonair appearance, there was something about him that was different; dangerous and almost sinister.
As she chewed, a small knot of uncertainty began to grow deep within her. Her logical mind warned her to remain calm; that he really didn’t pose any risk to her whatsoever. But the events of the past few months had taught her not to be too trusting of anyone, regardless of how harmless they looked or what they promised.
Despite the presence of several very large and brawny men beside her, her fear grew.
Munching on a richly buttered piece of toast, Jemima lifted her eyes and took the opportunity of Sir Dunnicliffe’s attention being diverted by his conversation with Dominic to study him closely. There was something so familiar about him that Jemima was certain she had met him, or at least seen him, somewhere before, only she couldn’t quite place where. She felt it had been recently.
She scoured her still hazy memory for any trace of the man opposite. She had certainly never met him as he was now. He looked so urbane, as though he had just come in from the streets of Mayfair.
She froze and swallowed the toast harshly, taking a large gulp of tea to stop the racking coughs that threatened. Blinking ferociously, she studied the man opposite more closely, removing in her mind’s eye his neatly starched cravat and pristine white shirt, and replacing his emerald silk waistcoat with the garb of a gaoler.
Dropping her fork, she pushed away from the table, fear locked in her throat. Staring in horror at Sir Dunnicliffe, she knew with absolute certainty that this was the man who had been standing in Mr Simpson’s office, and who had remained with her in the corridor of the gaol while she awaited execution.