“Well,yes,” Agnes tweeted. “Forgive me, Mr. Shepherd. We are so much less formal in Bermuda. I meant to say Miss Manning.” She giggled, tightening her hold on his arm.
“Jemma is a nickname.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Short for Jane Emily.”
“I see.” He seemed obscenely pleased with himself.
Jemma tilted her head in acknowledgement, knowing at that moment he did indeed recognize her as Jem, the boy outside the Green Parrot.
“An unusual name to be sure. Not common.” His gaze flickered again to the tops of her breasts. “I’ve met only one other with a name similar.” The wide mouth broke into a smug smile.
Jemma stood her ground, refusing to look away. Must he look so pleased? The dark head inclined again. “A pleasure.”
“Come, Mr. Shepherd, we wish you to be on our side for charades." Bertha cooed.
“Yes,” Agnes parroted her sister. “Come Mr. Shepherd.” She ran her fingers over his forearm and batted her lashes at the man.
Someone really must tell Agnes she looks most unattractive when she flutters her lashes, like she's having a fit of apoplexy.
Jemma nodded politely, somehow disappointed that Mr. Shepherd hadn’t made more of their previous meeting. Ridiculous, of course. As the trio turned away, the sound of the Sinclair sisters giggling forced Jemma to grit her teeth in annoyance.
Augie waited until the Sinclairs and Mr. Shepherd were out of earshot. “I don't like him.” Raising his glass to his lips, he drained down the wine in one swallow and waved down a passing servant for another.
“Yes,” Jemma agreed automatically as she watched Mr. Shepherd walk away. “You find him common.”
A mean look crossed Augie’s boyish features. “Yes, common. Perhaps, even a bit vulgar. Only his connections make him remotely appealing. What woman finds an eye-patch attractive? I suppose.” His voice was peevish. “The Sinclair sisters are just pleased to find a suitor, even one as ill-bred as Mr. Shepherd.”
Jemma seemed fixated on the messy bit of dark curl that brushed against his shoulders as he led the Sinclair sisters confidently around the room.Did all London gentlemen wear their hair so unfashionably long?
“And his audacity.” Augie continued. “I did not care for the way he admired you. Why, we are practically engaged.” Augie thrust out his chest as if about to do battle. His hair, a dull shade of brown when compared to Mr. Shepherd’s, flopped over his forehead and he pushed it away in agitation.
“We are not yet betrothed,” she said, her attention drawn away from her thoughts of Mr. Shepherd. “I have not given my consent.” Everyone assumed she would marry Augie, and she likely would, but just now, the notion of marrying the man who stood next to her fairly bristling with petulance, filled her with annoyance.
Augie took back her hand, squeezing gently. “Cease with this nonsense, Jemma. This is what we both want. What everyone wants.” He spoke to her as if she were a wayward child. “It’s been decided.”
Jemma snatched her hand away. “Not by me.”
Augie shook his head sadly. “Your father has overindulged you and allowed you too much freedom. This headstrong attitude will change once we are married. No more riding about shooting pistols and the like. It's made you much too opinionated. Mother says—”
“I don't care what your mother says,” Jemma said in a heated whisper, not wishing to draw attention. “Nor do I care for your highhandedness.”
Augie sputtered a bit, acting as if she'd doused him with icy water.
“My father has said I may decide. Not you. Not Lady Corbett.”
“Don’t be upset, my love,” Augie said in a soothing tone “We have been promised to each other since we were barely out of the nursery. Must you be so stubborn?” He gave her an adoring smile, stroking her forearm with the tip of his finger. “We are meant to be together.”
Annoyance. Irritation. Those were the feelings Augie inspired in her, especially at this moment. Shouldn’t she feel more than annoyance towards the man she was to wed? Augie was sweet, kind andboring.“I need some air.” She put her hand up to stop Augie as he moved closer. “Alone.”
“You are behaving poorly. Mother will no doubt—”
Jemma spun on her heel as he mentioned Lady Corbett again and walked swiftly out of the drawing room before Augie could protest further.
4
Jemma stopped ten paces out of the drawing room and sniffed the air. A delicious, most welcome aroma filled her nostrils.
Oh my. That's chocolate. Simply loads of it.
Lady Corbett's cook outdid herself this evening, serving a wide array of desserts for the enjoyment of the Governor's guests, the foremost of which, were individual chocolate tarts. A favorite of Jemma's.
