Chapter Twenty-Two
Ladies, it’s Time to Shine!
The ton is sparkling with excitement! Duke Kendall is openly searching for a wife! Tonight, His Grace is hosting a Jewel Ball to celebrate the occasion. Ladies, wear your best gold, glitter, and glamour. You might shine brightly enough to catch his eye!
On the subject of diamonds—after burning hot and heavy, have Lord Lincolnshire and Lady Jasmine’s romance simply sizzled out? Sources close to the family say that an engagement is in the wings, but how long is the Lincolnshire Slayer going to wait before placing a ring on a poor Phoenix’s finger?
While Lord Lincolnshire waits in the shadows, other suitors circle, ready to swoop in. A certain Spanish Count has made no secret of his interest in Marquess Dorchester’s daughter. Witnesses saw Don Lorenzo perched next to Lady Jasmine in the same box at the theatre this past Wednesday.
Another suitor has been knocked from the nest, but has found himself another bird. Lady Ravenshaw was seen wearing a sizable diamond on her left hand at Lady Stretton’s soirée. With a crooked nose, a new fiancée, and a newfound sense of financial freedom, Lord Roth—
Matthew crumpled the paper in his fist, unable to look at the man’s name for the ten thousandth time that week.
“Brother!” Caroline admonished over the breakfast table. “I wanted to read that!”
He tossed the crumpled ball in her direction. It sailed over an ocean of half-empty plates and teacups. She caught it from the air and carefully flattened it on the table.
Matthew’s gaze focused on her. “You wouldn’t be ‘sources close to the family’, would you?”
“Don’t look at me!” Caroline pointed to Trevor on the other side of the table.
The boy blushed and averted his eyes. “I thought it would help.”
“It didn’t.” Matthew brushed a hand through his hair. “No more talking to the papers. Did we not learn from last time?”
Everyone nodded but remained silent. Caroline absently moved food around her plate. Trevor’s knife sawed through a slice of ham—louder without the typical bustle of conversation. Cassandra and Seth indiscreetly studied him, ready to put out any fires if he erupted.
Matthew bit into a blueberry scone. It crumbled into dust in his mouth, and he washed the grit down with a sip of cold tea. Saturday mornings used to mean rest. Now it meant no forward progress on Rothwell’s forgiveness.
It had been two weeks already!
All week, he scrambled to gather pieces of paper he had sent flying into the wind. But now he was at a standstill, waiting on his solicitors to settle an estate in Scotland.
He opened his pocket watch to Jasmine’s portrait, reminding himself why he labored. He completed the requirements set out for him, down to the letter. Now, all he could do was wait.
Following their argument, Lord Dorchester had barred Matthew from the Sinclair Mansion, but not Cassandra. Through her, Matthew sent gifts, but he had received nothing in return. No letters or messages from Jasmine other than updates from Cassandra that she was well—missing him, but well.
Even though Matthew couldn’t speak to Jasmine, he went to the same events she did.
Every stolen glance between them was a shot to his heart, but it gave him something to hold on to.
Heartache threatened to drown him, and rage simmered in the same pot.
He spent his mornings sparring with Seth, and his evenings practicing with Duke Kendall’s pistol.
He could hit the targets perfectly with his eyes open—but not blindfolded.
Now Duke Kendall was hunting for a wife.
Matthew needed to be ready to fight on all fronts.
He looked to Caroline, who bit into a slice of toast while reading from the scandal sheet.
If Duke Kendall asked for her hand, could Matthew refuse?
He couldn’t let Caroline out of his sight, but he couldn’t endure another week without Jasmine.
He needed to speak with Lord Dorchester tonight—he would grovel at his feet if he had to.
Memories tortured him of Jasmine’s lips, hovering over his own, whispering, ‘I want to get used to you.’
He pushed his plate away and sighed.
“I should be going,” Cassandra said.
The men at the table stood as Cassandra did. She gripped the table for support and held Seth’s hand. She was in the wobbly stage of pregnancy, where she insisted she had balance that she didn’t possess. Seth walked her to the door with a concerned furrow to his brow.
“Are you sure you’re up to movement?” Seth asked. “No one would fault you if you wished to stay home and rest.”
“I’m fine,” Cassandra assured him. “Finish your breakfast. I can manage by myself.”
She leaned up on her toes and kissed Seth’s cheek.
Other families might be outraged at the physical affection the Coopers gave their spouses—but his parents had a love match cemented by touch.
Matthew had always wanted that for himself.
He wanted Jasmine kissing him on the cheek before he left for work, to hold her in their own bed, and indulge in intimacies that extended far beyond sexual desire—a true connection of souls.
Now, I’m months away from that.
Before Cassandra left the room, Matthew called out to her, “Sister?”
Cassandra stopped at the door and faced him. “Yes?”
He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and held it out to her. “Would you give this to her?”
She gave him a sad smile and took the letter. “I always do.”
***
Saturdays hurt the most.
During Jasmine’s time in Spain, the haunting echo of Saturday mornings stung, but nothing like this. Somewhere along the line, the longing for the Cooper family was replaced by the all-consuming need for Matthew alone.
She missed his smile, how his mouth fit over hers, the feel of his hair through her fingers, and how their bodies fit together perfectly.
As if they were made for each other.
Most of all, she missed the way he made her laugh.
She should be at the Reeves’ residence right now, surrounded by her family. Instead, she sat on the windowsill of her mother’s sitting room, poking a needle and thread through a silk handkerchief.
She timed her stitches to the ticking of the clock. One-two, one-two, in a loop that seemed to go on for an eternity. She finished with a petal of a red flower and moved on to the next. Flowers of varying colors and skill levels littered the handkerchief—one for every day they were apart.
All fourteen of them.
With each stitch she cursed her father, who insisted on his rules.
Even though Matthew was fixing the issue with Lord Rothwell, it still wasn’t done.
Having no other choice, Jasmine surrendered to her restrictions, but she refused to be separated from Cassandra.
They had been friends since the cradle. The fight for Cassandra’s company was hard-won, and Father only relented because Jasmine threatened to elope with Matthew.
An option she mulled over hourly.
Finished with the flower, she set down her work and leaned on the window. The sun-heated glass warmed her skin, but not her heart. When she closed her eyes, she imagined Matthew’s arms around her.
A soft knock on the doorframe pulled her from fantasy. Cassandra entered the room wearing a cornflower-blue dress and leather walking shoes. Instead of her velvet needlework bag, Cassandra held a straw bonnet in one hand and a cream parasol in the other.
“I could use a walk. Why don’t we stroll through the gardens?”
Jasmine raised a brow. “Should you be on your feet?”
“Not you too.” Cassandra huffed. “I cannot be cooped up for another moment. I need to stretch my legs and breathe fresh air.” She gave Jasmine a gentle smile. “And I think you do too.”
Trusting Cassandra to set her own limits, Jasmine met her at the door and linked arms with her, as they had since they were girls.
In the back garden, Jasmine squinted under the unfiltered sunlight. Cassandra raised her parasol, shading both of them with a tranquil glow.
They walked in silence, broken by the sounds of their footsteps and the buzzing of insects flitting from bloom to bloom.
The flowers surrounding her matched the ones on Matthew’s new handkerchief.
Violets, roses, and daisies rested in their beds, tamed and protected by low hedges.
Their fragrance lifted and danced in the breeze, mixing with the scent of Cassandra’s lavender soap.
In the middle of the garden, they stopped by a stone fountain.
Water trickled from the top of a tower into a deep basin.
Sitting on the edge of the fountain, Cassandra set her parasol to the side and removed her bonnet.
Jasmine did the same. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face and soaked up the sun like a cat.
“How is Matthew?” Jasmine asked.
“He’s in the same state you are.” Cassandra pulled a folded piece of paper from her reticule. “He sent this.”
Jasmine opened the letter and read three words, written in simple script:
I miss you.
“I miss him.” She clutched the letter over her heart, trying to push down her anguish. “Please tell me this is close to being over, I don’t think I’ll last another week.”
“We’re awaiting news from one more solicitor.” Cassandra’s voice pitched with careful optimism, but then fell. “I’m not sure how long it will take. Matthew said it could be weeks.”
Jasmine placed her head in her hands and stifled a sob.
Cassandra eased Jasmine’s hands away from her face and held them in the space between them. Her amber-brown eyes met Jasmine’s—the same shade as Matthew’s—and the ache intensified.
“Stay strong.” Cassandra squeezed her hands. “This will be over before you know it, and you’ll be home with us.”
“I’m going mad. I never thought I would say this, but I need to see him.”
“He’ll be at Duke Kendall’s ball tonight,” Cassandra said. “He’s going to ask your father for leniency. With any luck, you’ll be able to resume your courtship tonight.”
“I’m beginning to doubt whether or not Father will allow him to court me again.” Jasmine sighed. “I’m half-convinced he’s going to marry me to Don Lorenzo.”
“How is Don Lorenzo treating you? There are rumors of the two of you…?”
“Baseless.” Jasmine waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. “He’s close by all the time, and he makes his crude comments, but no more than usual.”
Don Lorenzo was a conundrum. Other than lingering in her orbit like his clove cologne, he hadn’t acted in a way that implied he was a serious suitor.
He hadn’t asked her to dance, or conducted any other courtship rituals, like sending flowers or making calls.
Not that he needed to when they shared every meal and he accompanied her to every event.
Even after most of the Spanish delegation departed, he remained, as if waiting for something.
He could wait a lifetime, for all she cared.
“I’m not interested in him, Cassandra. I’m marrying Matthew—I’ll run away with him if I have to.”
“I don’t doubt your feelings for my brother,” Cassandra assured her.
“I want to keep you safe. We’ll be sisters soon, but you’ll always be my best friend.
You might not be able to punch Don Lorenzo in the face, but I’m the wife of a bastard and I’m pregnant.
” She gave a mischievous wink. “I can do whatever I want.”
Jasmine’s first laugh in days escaped her, a mere puff of air that lightened her lungs enough to breathe. With a playful smirk, she flicked water from the fountain at Cassandra with her fingertips. Cassandra lifted her hands and gave a shrieking giggle.
“What did I do?”
“You like to flaunt your freedom in front of me.” Jasmine flicked more water at her, smile widening. “It borders on unkind.”
“You’ll get here.” Cassandra flicked water back at her. “Be patient.”
Jasmine dipped her hand in the water and splashed a handful at Cassandra, who retaliated until they were both water-logged and laughing.
“Girls,” a feminine voice called out from the walkway. “You misbehave the moment you’re out of sight.”
Jasmine dabbed water from her face with her sleeve, then lifted her gaze to her mother. Though Mama held herself primly, there was a pinch to her brow.
“Mama, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Mama said carefully. “An emissary of Duke Kendall’s wishes to speak with you. His Grace has made an unusual request. You and I should discuss it before you make a decision.”
Jasmine frowned. “What does Duke Kendall want?”
“He wishes for you to be his companion for this evening,” Mama said succinctly. “You have every right to refuse.”
Jasmine’s eyes widened. “What has Father said?”
“He leaves the decision up to you.”
“Nice of him to leave me a choice,” she grumbled. At least her father stood by all of his convictions, including the one where he told her he wouldn’t reject other offers of courtship.
But was that what the Duke was asking for?
Courtship? She was a diamond of the first water without a wedding band, and he liked shiny things.
She imagined he liked it even more when they shined bright enough to burn.
Bright enough to hurt. There could be no other reason for his invitation other than wanting to hurt Matthew. Jasmine wanted to know why.
And how to get him to stop.
She was a fool if she thought she could gain the upper hand over him, but this might be her only opportunity to fully take the man’s measure. Jasmine knew how to handle a man like Duke Kendall—feed them compliments and they would talk all night.
And she needed information.
Jasmine spoke to Cassandra. “Tell Matthew I am his—no one else’s.”
Cassandra gasped. “Jasmine, you cannot agree to this!”
Before Cassandra could protest further, Jasmine turned to Mama. “Tell Duke Kendall I accept his invitation. Have Minnie prepare my black satin dress.”
“Black?” Mama’s horrified gasp matched Cassandra’s. “You cannot wear black to a ball!”
“Not just any ball, Mama. Duke Kendall wants a beautiful jewel on his arm tonight.” Jasmine smirked. “Let’s see how he likes obsidian.”