The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

“Don’t ye have no family?” Daisy looked at the lace at the neck of Jemima’s gown, demure and obviously of expensive fabric, but by no means lavish beneath the cloak Jemima had snatched before she’d ventured out into the cold what seemed like weeks ago.

Again, Jemima shook her head. “No family at all,” she whispered. “I’m all alone. All alone in the world.”

Daisy made a clucking noise. It was impossible to see her expression for there was no moon. “Won’t ask wot you were doin’ at ‘is lordship’s ‘ouse, then. Lookin’ fer work? A governess, maybe? I ‘eard Mr. and Mrs. Graves o’ Thomas Town were afta a respectable female what can teach them classics to their daughters. They live a good distance away, too. Fact is, me sister wot lives wiv em says they was askin’ round fer a governess. Told me only yestaday, in fact, afore she went back. Ya could always take tonight’s mail coach to Riddell Creek. Thomas Town is only two miles from there. Only thing I can think of. But surely, miss, ya come from somewhere and are goin’ somewhere.”

Daisy’s words continued to haunt Jemima long after she’d gone. Came from somewhere and was going somewhere? There was no place Jemima could safely call home. She’d wracked her brains trying to recall if Sir Richard had mentioned the name and location of his brother. She was certain he had, but in the haste and drama of all that had happened Jemima had cast it from her mind. He’d said only that his brother was a rakish young man returning from the Continent, and that he was expected in London in a week. Sir Richard’s last assurance was that he’d ensure his brother understood Jemima’s circumstances, so that he’d meet her at 4pm on January 6th at St Paul’s Churchyard in London.

But a few days from now in faraway London was a terrifying eternity. How would Jemima manage to get to London when she had no money?

And what of John, Sir Richard’s valet? If Jemima remained at Griffith House, John would return to find her and help her. Surely he would?

But, of course she couldn’t stay.

“I shall go to Thomas Town and inquire,” she told Daisy, fingering her brooch and staring at the road that led to the main road, faintly visible in the light of a waning moon. Her brooch was the one item of value that might pay for a fare to Thomas Town and some food. London was too far to reach in one night.

“Thank you, Daisy.” She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’ve been brave and helpful, and I’m very grateful. When I return to get what I left behind in the Blue Room, will you help me?”

“Course, miss,” said Daisy with warmth, and on that slightly brighter note, Jemima turned and took her next steps into the unknown.

Chapter 3

By pure luck, she was picked up on the road by a farmer traveling to a town near her destination after she’d spent the night sleeping in a barn, where a bale of fresh hay kept her warm. In the morning, she captured her light gold hair, which now fell in unruly ripples to her waist, and retied it into a coil as best she could, sponged the cobwebs and smudges from her dress, and several hours later presented herself at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Graves.

In a comfortable parlor, she was received by the son of the household, Master Roderick Graves, who informed Jemima that his mother was ill, and that he’d been given authority to hire a suitable person to instruct his two younger sisters. Jemima, adopting a false name for the meantime, conducted herself with quiet modesty. She was still numb from her recent ordeals, and was relieved to be told at the end of an hour of unusually directed quizzing that she could begin work immediately.

However, she was taken aback when Master Graves, a thin, nervous, ginger-haired gentleman several years older than herself, and just down from Cambridge, stopped her beneath a hanging structure of evergreens, apples, paper flowers, and dolls representing Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus nailed to the lintel.

“Tradition, Miss Parsons.” He put his hand on her sleeve, just briefly, and Jemima recoiled out of instinct, but was immediately embarrassed by the inquiring look he sent her. Of course, she shouldn’t imagine every person other than Sir Richard would do her harm. Young Master Graves had, after all, just offered her a lifeline.

He looked uncertain for a moment, before saying with an expansive gesture that encompassed the decorations, “My mother, a sentimental woman, enjoys the old traditions, and in order to enjoy good luck in the coming year, everyone who passes beneath the mistletoe must accept a Yuletide kiss until all the berries are gone. Otherwise, a year of bad luck will follow,” he added, with a quirk of his mouth. “Whether you are six or sixty, that’s how we do it in this household.”

“But you are my employer, Mr. Graves,” Jemima mur

mured. Awkwardly, she stepped back, putting her gloved hand to her throat and noticing only then a small clump of soil between two fingers.

“And as the new governess, you will be treated as one of the family. Ah, Emily!” he cried as the youngest Miss Graves, whom Jemima knew to be six years old, bounced into the room. “Meet your new governess, Miss Parsons.” His grin broadened, and his eyes twinkled as he took in Jemima’s obvious concern. “Tell Miss Parsons about our tradition regarding the mistletoe.”

The little girl curtsied and took her brother’s hand, raising her head to address Jemima. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Parsons.” She grinned a gap-toothed smile before repeating in a charming, lisping voice, what her brother had just told Jemima. “Each time someone walks through the door, they have to offer a kiss, and then we take one of the berries off the boughs. There have to be no more berries by Epiphany or the bogey will chase us for a year to give us bad luck.” With great deliberation, she skipped beneath the lintel before tilting her head. Her brother bent down and planted a quick peck on Emily’s forehead, and Emily reached up and plucked a berry, which she tossed into the fire.

“Your turn, Miss Parsons,” Emily said, clapping her hands as the fire hissed, devouring its succulent offering.

Jemima stared at Emily; her lips tightly pressed together as she contemplated the impropriety of following suit for one in her situation. But Mr. Graves was her employer—well, his mother was—and thank the lord she would have shelter and food until she could decide her next move. Finally, she decided that with a six-year-old looking on, she could force herself to do what was required, and raised her head suddenly. Clearly, Mr. Graves had intended a kiss on the forehead, but her quick movement brought her face into his orbit in quite a different location and the kiss that should have landed chastely just below her hairline, instead found its mark upon her lips.

She stepped back as if stung, her cheeks burning. “My apologies, Mr. Graves!” she gasped. “What must you think of me?”

Emily was dancing around them, clapping, but Mr. Graves was regarding her with unnerving intensity.

“A great many interesting things, Miss Parsons,” he said quietly.

Jemima threw herself into her duties as best she could. She had to keep her mind off her helplessness or she’d go mad.

But how would she get herself to London on the appointed day so she could meet Sir Richard’s brother? Had Sir Richard even mentioned the young man’s name?

Yes, in passing. It started with a ‘D’, she thought. David?

Why had she not paid better attention? But then, everything had been frantic and frightening.

Life in the Graves’ household was no less so, even though the family was quiet and Mrs Graves, demure and sedate.