Page 25 of Her Notorious Rake
“…I heard he does not frequent the gentlemen’s clubs as of late…”
“…Oh? What’s this you say…”
Gemma’s head reeled. Gentlemen’s clubs?
She turned, and found Aunt Philippa with her mouth twisted grimly. Her glance said everything she didn’t speakaloud. Lord Neville was none the wiser, rambling about the career of the singer, of the upcoming operas to be held here in the city.
Gemma’s head swam and she tried to make sense of what she’d just overheard. How it was simply a reminder of who exactly Lord Blakemore was. His charm recommended him, but his reputation preceded him. It seemed everyone knew of it but her.
She stared down at her clasped hands in her lap, swallowing in a mouthful of air.
As the performance commenced, she did not let herself look in Lord Blakemore’s direction but for once or twice, and then she managed to do so whilst his attention was diverted. Lord Neville continued to murmur in her ear, facts about the opera he declared little known, details about the composer Mozart, a man of considerable musical genius, and Gemma acknowledged his comments with such finesse that Aunt Philippa ought to be proud.
As the score swelled throughout the theater, her heart twisted in her chest, thoughts wandering again and again over what those women in the neighboring booth had said about Lord Blakemore. He was not one for marriage, they had declared. He would not settle down and court one young woman, instead carrying on about London at these gentlemen’s clubs.
Gemma’s face went hot as she wondered what sorts of things went on in such places. What sort of women were entertained there?
Her stomach sank and she felt so utterly foolish. Aunt Philippa was right. She ought to put distance between Lord Blakemore and herself, lest he lead her on, play the part of an attentive suitor, and then discard her like chattel.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Gemma pled out of attending the Pall Mall exhibit with Aunt Philippa and Lord Neville, claiming herself to be unwell, and to her relief, Aunt Philippa took pity on her. She sighed, gazing with concern at Gemma languishing in the bed, and clucked her tongue. “Perhaps it is for the best that you remain here today. I should not like for you to weary yourself so much that you catch your death. It is raining today anyway, and you would be in danger of falling ill in this damp weather.”
Gemma nodded, exhaling with relief. “Thank you, Aunt Philippa. I pray that you enjoy the exhibit. And do send my regards to Lord Neville.” She added generously, “Thank him for his attention and the great considerations he’s paid me.”
“But of course,” Aunt Philippa peered out the window. “Ah! My carriage has been brought ‘round.” She bustled over to the door, pausing to offer what Gemma considered to be her warmest smile yet.
“Rest well, my dear,” she said, before disappearing, and shutting the door behind her.
When the door closed, Gemma sighed, closing her eyes as she rested her arm over her eyes. She would retire to the library for the rest of the morning, bury herself in Aunt Philippa’s extensive collection, some of which Father had been bequeathed from Philippa’s and his father. Although, he had sold most other books he’d been given in an attempt to pay his debts.
Gemma nestled in the armchair within the library, read for what must’ve been hours, until a footman opened the door, and announced that Prudence had called.
Gemma set aside her book and rose, hurrying down the hallto the sitting room where she found Prudence, perched on the settee in orange silk that suited her well.
She rose when Gemma entered, and Gemma couldn’t help but beam at her newfound friend. “Prudence!” she exclaimed, hurrying over, grasping the other young woman’s hands. “How good it is to see you.”
“Are you alone here?” inquired Prudence, looking about for Aunt Philippa.
“Indeed. She departed earlier for the Pall Mall.” Gemma sank onto the settee beside Prudence.
“Are you unwell?” Prudence inquired, frowning.
“Somewhat,” Gemma admitted. “I needed a day to rest. We’ve been running about London from one party to the next. Aunt Philippa deemed me vulnerable to falling sick.”
“Ah,” Prudence nodded.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Prudence nodded, her eyes widening at Gemma’s low, serious tone.
“I find myself torn,” Gemma confessed. “My aunt is bent upon Lord Neville and me making a match. But I confess that, while I find him a goodly man, quite decent and honorable in every sense, something…lacks.”
Understanding passed over Prudence’s face. “You mean to say,” she glanced around to ensure they were alone, “You mean to say that, while you do believe him to be a worthy gentleman, you do not see him in a…romantic sense?”
“Precisely,” Gemma gasped. “But he is good, and does not have any sort of faults, if only that he is rather dull in conversation. But should I not overlook this? He has everything to recommend him—manners, wealth, temperament. But—” she shook her head, closing her eyes tightly as a nervous laugh bubbled in her throat. “I cannot abide the thought of him courting me. Though it would seem my aunt is determined toarrange such a union. She practically thrusts us together every chance she gets.”
She bit her lip, guilt prickling in her chest. “Of course, she has done so much for me, inviting me to stay with her, ordering new gowns for me…and for that, I am utterly grateful. I do not wish to seem an ingrate.”
