Chapter Eight
If there was one thing Valentine Sinclair, the Marchioness of Dorchester, did not allow, it was pouting.
She had lived through plenty of scandals, scrapes, and setbacks with her head held high.
Over a bottle of wine or three, she would talk about them all.
At length. But by morning, she would have forgotten she had said anything at all.
The soirée hadn’t started and Mother was already drinking her third glass of wine. She took a sip from a crystal glass, careful not to ruin her rouge.
Cassandra’s entire dining room could have fit in Jasmine’s bedchamber with room to spare.
Even covered with needlepoint rugs, the floor was cold under her silk slippers.
The richest burgundy silk draped her four-poster bed and framed floor-to-ceiling windows.
Golden hues from the sunset bounced off pure white walls, filling the room with the last-ditch effort of the day before nightfall.
The decorative pillars gave the room the feel of a gilded cage.
Perfect for a pretty bird to sit in and be preened.
Jasmine held onto her bedpost, hissing as her lady’s maid, Minnie, tightened her corset.
Jasmine was to wear a white dress with gold trim tonight, like a young debutante.
Every accessory on her body sparkled, from her heavy diamond drop earrings to the two-strand pearl choker necklace that strangled her whenever she swallowed, and a silver tiara with amethysts to top it all off.
Like a perfect princess, ready to walk down the aisle.
It would be a nightmare to keep everything clean all night.
“I’ve been back two days and you’ve stuffed me in a gown for both of them—carajo!” Jasmine hissed as Minnie pulled the laces of her corset so tight the bones dug into her ribs.
“Watch your language! And do not cause a scene tonight,” Mother warned her. “It’s bad enough that I had to make excuses for your whereabouts all day. You could have sent word, or left a note at the very least.”
“I told you where I was going last night,” Jasmine reminded her.
Finished with the corset, Minnie opened a silk petticoat for her to step into, and then her gown.
“You told me you were having breakfast,” Mother corrected her. “You did not tell me you would promenade through Hyde Park without a chaperone. I had to find that out from Lady Penrose.”
“I had a chaperone. Cassandra is married.” Jasmine raised a brow. “And since when do I require a chaperone with the Coopers? They’re family.”
“They’re not blood family. You are being reckless with your reputation. You must think about your future. This is your debut back into society.”
“Certainly feels like it,” Jasmine muttered under her breath. “?Qué sigue? ?Hacerle una reverencia a la reina?”
Eyes narrowed, Mother asked, “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Jasmine fixed her face into a smile and said sweetly, “Not to worry, Mother, I know what’s expected of me. Keep my mouth shut, sit still, and smile.”
I may as well start now.
Jasmine remained silent as Minnie painstakingly fastened every silk-covered button on the back of her gown. Once finished dressing her, Minnie applied a faint dusting of powder to Jasmine’s eyelids.
“Oh darling, you look beautiful,” Mother cooed. She smiled at the lady’s maid. “Minnie, you’ve outdone yourself again. That’ll be all, you may leave us.”
“Thank you my lady.” Minnie curtsied, and then left.
Once the door closed, Jasmine turned to her mother. Not wishing to waste any time, she put one hand on her hip and the other palm up in the space between them.
“Give me the list.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Mother walked to the tea table in the middle of the room, lifted a piece of paper from the center, and handed it to Jasmine.
Careful not to smudge the ink with her gloved fingertips, Jasmine read the list. She blanched at the first name.
“Duke Kendall?”
“It’s not common knowledge, but I hear he is looking for a wife.” Mother’s eyes lit up. “A duchess, Jasmine.”
If she had a quill, she would cross his name out. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something wrong about the Duke. Whenever he was around, it felt like being trapped in a room with a python.
She returned her attention to the list. The next two names were ones she expected, but… “Why do Conde Lorenzo de Morales and Viscount Rothwell have a star next to their names?”
Mother said slowly, “Both have directly expressed an interest in marriage. I’ve seated them next to you at dinner—”
“Mother!”
“I’ve spoken to them both, and I believe you should give one of them a chance. Lord Rothwell is to be an Earl one day, and he’s well-mannered. Don Lorenzo can trace his bloodline hundreds of years—and has two hundred acres of vineyards. He also has a massive estate in Zamora.”
“His sense of self-worth is massive.” Jasmine huffed.
She clenched her jaw and returned to the list. Marqués de San Miro. Lord Jarrow. Vizconde de Fermosillo. Lord Chislehurst—he was fifty! Sometimes she thought her mother threw in horrid names to make the others look better. Then she read the last name, and her stomach lurched. Lord Hartfield.
That can’t be right.
She skimmed the page once more, because surely she had misread. Eight names were on the list.
But not Matthew’s.
And why not? His name had been on her mother’s list since her debut eight years ago.
He was the first gentleman she danced with, arranged beforehand.
Year after year, Mother made Jasmine keep a slot open for Matthew on her dance card, but he never asked.
Until one night he did. They waltzed, and they laughed, and he promised he would call upon her the next day with flowers.
Then their lives fell to pieces.
His name should be there.
“Why isn’t Matthew on the list?”
“Why waste the ink? You always cross him out.” Mother sipped her wine. Eyes conflicted, she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
“Unflattering rumors are circulating about the two of you. The gossips did not take kindly to your actions last night,” she said. “I want you to limit your interactions with him. I have pre-filled your dance card to avoid any mishaps like last night.”
“You had no right to do that! You told me I could dance with whoever I wanted, or not at all,” Jasmine snapped. “And you are not going to limit my interactions with my friends. I’m not a child. I’ll talk to Matthew whenever I wish.”
“Even to your detriment?” Mother’s expression firmed. “If you aren’t careful, your association with him will ruin your prospects of a good match.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a good match!” Jasmine protested. “The right man wouldn’t care!”
“Where is this right man?” Mother made a show of looking from one side of the room to another. “I don’t see him, and I have spent years trying to find him for you!”
“What if Matthew is the right man?” The words left her mouth, but before they could take root in her heart, she continued pragmatically, “You told me that love can grow. And we already love each other, even if it’s not the same.
Even if he has to be convinced to marry me…
” Jasmine squeezed her eyes closed and whispered, “At least he’ll treat me kindly. ”
Mother sighed and faced her.
“There is much you do not know about Matthew Cooper. I cannot allow you to marry him. He has a reputation with women. There are rumors he’s violent, Jasmine. Bare-knuckle boxing at the St. Giles Rookery for fun. He’s unpredictable. You’ve been away for so long—”
“That was your suggestion! Cassandra told me he needed time. You told me he needed time! I come home to an entirely different world, and now he’s not an option at all?
” Tears formed in her eyes, and she swallowed hard.
“I don’t care what gossips say, and you shouldn’t either!
The Coopers call you Aunt.” She took a shuddering breath.
“What happened to my mother who would defend them to her dying breath?”
“I love them, Jasmine. All three of them, as if they were my own children—”
“Then you wouldn’t allow others to treat them like dogs! You should have seen them today, Mother! It was disgusting!”
“Their reputations are not salvageable. I have tried. You cannot change the minds of the ton when a person is branded a murderer. You cannot force others to be comfortable with it. And yes, it’s unfair—”
“He acted in Cassandra’s defense!”
“And it doesn’t matter!” Mother snapped. “Because there is no proof!”
Jasmine paused and blinked. “What do you mean there’s no proof? Lord Blackmoor proved it.”
Mother met her gaze outright.
“Don’t be na?ve, Jasmine. Lord Blackmoor controls the police. He’s Cassandra’s brother-in-law and the son of Matthew’s employer. He conducted the only investigation, and it was rushed and sloppy.”
“There were witnesses. There was a journal—”
“With wet ink,” Mother said succinctly. “And handwriting that didn’t match.”
With one heavy swallow, Mother finished the last of her wine, then set the empty glass on the vanity.
A chill seeped under Jasmine’s skin, and she stepped back, holding onto the dressing table for support. The list crumpled under her palm. “That isn’t possible.”
The newspapers said Sir Reginald had planned Cassandra’s murder for months. He wrote about it extensively in a journal, which was as good as a confession from a dead man. It kept Matthew from being hanged. If someone forged it…
“You’re wrong.” Jasmine shook her head. “It was accepted as evidence. Duke Kendall vouched for it.”
“And now Matthew is his favorite drinking companion.” Mother put her hand on her hip. “What would you have said, had it been Cassandra facing the gallows?”
Jasmine’s mind went blank. She stared at her mother, not recognizing her. Her chest clenched painfully. It wasn’t possible, and yet, there was no other explanation for Mother’s words and her treatment.
“You think they’re lying.”
Mother’s eyes darted away for a second before she recovered and huffed. “Of course not.”