Chapter 11
Eleven
Jewel
“WOULD YOU like onion sauce on your venison, Lady Jewel? Or prune sauce?”
Jarred out of her thoughts, Jewel looked up at the footman. “Hmm, I cannot decide. May I have both on the side, please? Thank you.”
As he spooned sauce onto her plate, she glanced around the enormous supper table—which was two tables set end-to-end, actually. All around her, family members were chatting cheerfully, enjoying their time together…completely unaware of the momentous decision she was facing.
Which had nothing to do with the trifling little matter of losing the maid she’d had her whole life.
Was it but yesterday that Henry Breckenridge, the Viscount Copthorne, had asked her to marry him? She’d been able to think of little else since, making it feel as though a week or more had passed.
She’d promised an answer upon her return, which gave her just two more days to make up her mind.
For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why this seemed to be such a wrenching decision.
Henry was handsome, genteel, wealthy, and would someday be the Earl of Guildham.
He treated her like a princess. The two of them got along well, and her parents liked him.
And yet she wasn’t sure she wanted to wed him.
Well, in truth, Henry hadn’t precisely asked for her hand—instead, he’d asked if she would entertain his offer before he approached her father for permission.
Did that mean he was a little cowardly? Hmm, she wasn’t sure.
But she was grateful he’d come to her first, grateful he’d given her the chance to determine her own fate without her family interfering. Grateful enough that she’d kissed him.
Which she feared might have given him the wrong idea.
Still and all, it had been a nice kiss—
“Jewel, what do you think?” her mother interrupted.
“I cannot decide,” she said, then realized no one knew what she meant.
She was grateful for that, too. The last thing she wanted was all their input.
Cousin Diana wrapped herself in a hug. “Well, I can decide, and I’ve decided I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?” Jewel asked, having no idea what they’d all been discussing.
“War,” her brother Hugh said, looking much too thrilled at the prospect. “If King James continues to resist ceding the throne to William of Orange.”
Papa rolled his eyes. “If I’ve told you once, Hugh, I’ve told you a dozen times”—Mama chimed in with him for the familiar refrain—“you are not going to war.”
“Enough have lost their lives already,” Aunty Caithren put in.
“Fewer than twenty,” Uncle Jason pointed out.
“Even one lost life is tragic,” their son Adam said. “If it comes to war—”
“It won’t come to war,” his older brother Griffin said, cutting him off. “Rumor has it that James is preparing to flee the country. And I believe William will permit that, to avoid making James a martyr for the Catholic cause.”
Griffin was wise at age twenty. Jewel wondered if Henry were as wise at twenty-four. Did she know him well enough to marry him?
“I agree,” Papa told Griffin. “It’s in William’s interest for people to think James left the country on his own, rather than having been forced or frightened into fleeing…”
Jewel’s attention drifted off again, her gaze idly skimming the dining room’s burgundy-painted walls and beautiful built-in cabinetry.
Her siblings and cousins, all of them younger than she, seemed blissfully unaware of the pressure they’d face when they got to be her age.
Although she was but one-and-twenty, her brothers teased her about her approaching spinsterhood.
And every time she met a new eligible gentleman, her mother asked if she fancied wedding him.
She knew her immediate family would all want her to accept Lord Copthorne’s proposal. Along with everyone else around the beautifully decorated holiday table. And his kisses were nice.
So why was it so hard to commit to marrying him?
Mama touched her hand. “You look like you’re off in another world. What on earth have you been thinking about?”
“My Christmas gifts,” Jewel fibbed. “They’re all finished now, but I still need to wrap them.”
“You have until tomorrow night. Join the conversation. Would you like some of this cake?”
She glanced down at the venison, creamed spinach, and cauliflower pudding on her plate, all of it untouched. She’d been too busy thinking to eat. “Not yet. Maybe later.”
“I’ll take some.” Though she’d had a slice at the beginning of the meal, Aunty Kendra reached for the cake, surprising no one. “How about you, Cait?”
“Is there any plum pudding?”
“Well, yes,” Aunty Violet said, “but we’re saving it for tomorrow.”
“Why is that?” Aunty Cait asked with a frown.
“Tradition,” Mama told her. “We always serve it on Christmas Eve. To my mind, the flaming pudding signals the arrival of the holiday.”
“Oh, aye? I hadn’t noticed.” Aunty Cait pulled a face. “As Kendra would say, a pox on tradition.”
The cake plate was passed and the family continued chattering. Jewel took a few bites of her now-cold venison, thinking more about Henry. Did he love her? He’d said so, but in such a flowery, rehearsed manner, she couldn’t help but wonder if his words had been sincere. And yet—
“What’s wrong?” her father asked.
She was all set to say “Nothing” in a not-so-kind way, when she realized he hadn’t been speaking to her. He’d addressed the question to Aunty Kendra, who was looking unusually glum.
“Nothing,” Aunty Kendra snapped in the same not-so-kind way Jewel would have.
Jewel wondered what had predicated that odd exchange.
But not for long, because she couldn’t help returning, once again, to the much larger conundrum of Henry’s proposal.
How on earth was she—a girl who couldn’t even make up her mind between onion sauce and prune sauce—supposed to decide her whole future in the next two days?