An Earl's Flaming Journal: A Historical Regency Romance Book, page 3
Jemima stumbled, waking up from her thoughts. She turned to the woman giving her an exasperated look.
“Hmm? What was that, Georgiana?”
“Did you hear a word I said?”
“I …” Jemima caught herself and straightened up. “Of course I did. You know I always listen.”
But Georgiana Lambert wasn’t convinced. She shook her head.
“You need to sort out your lying, Jemima. You go bright red when you lie. It’s a big giveaway.”
Jemima groaned. She had felt her face getting warm as soon as she started talking. It was something Jemima wished wouldn’t happen, but she couldn’t stop it. She just hated lying.
“I hate you,” Jemima mumbled.
Her closest friend laughed.
“No, you don’t.”
“I wish I did right now.”
“From the look on your face right now, I can tell.” Georgiana linked arms with Jemima and urged her to walk again. “What’s got you so distracted? You’ve been out of sorts for the last four days. I’m beginning to worry.”
For a moment, Jemima thought about telling her friend about the journal and its contents. She had to tell someone. But then Jemima realized she couldn’t share this with anyone, not even Georgiana. Her friend could keep a secret, for the most part, but it would take just one slip-up, and everyone knew. Plus, Jemima wanted to keep this to herself for a little longer.
She hadn’t meant to look inside. Jemima had meant to put it in a place where Elizabeth couldn’t get hold of it and then figure out a way to get it back to its owner. But then Jemima began to think through dinner. Maybe there was a name inside. Perhaps an address. Or even places, dates, and times where she could deliver the journal back. It meant snooping in something that wasn’t hers, but Jemima promised herself to have a quick look and then leave it alone. Just enough to get a name.
What she wasn’t expecting when she opened it was to find the first page describing a woman in great detail. Especially, in naked detail. Jemima couldn’t believe what she was reading. Then she turned the page and read a few lines. It didn’t take much for her to realize that what she was reading was about an escapade in the bedroom, in minute detail. It was ... erotic.
And it wasn’t the only one. Jemima found herself reading more of it and realized that it was multiple sexual interactions, a few of them of the same woman and then moving onto another. It was like delving into the mind of a deviant.
He kept written notes of his affairs and lovers? What kind of man was he? Then Jemima remembered the man she had seen climbing into the carriage and how she had thought he was very nice on the eye. She could see him seducing any woman into his bed. But this …
This was another level. And Jemima couldn’t bring herself to put the journal down. She had read it by candlelight until almost dawn that first night, surprised that Elizabeth didn’t wake up in her bed across the room. Jemima knew she shouldn’t be looking, but she couldn’t stop. By the time she finished the journal, Jemima was in no doubt that this man was not only skilled in the bedroom but also someone who saw women as trophies. They were like a collection to him. And he wrote these stories to relive each moment.
That was just ... Jemima didn’t know how to describe it, but it left her body throbbing in all the wrong places, and she kept remembering what she read. Was it even possible to do all of that? Evidently, it was. But it was too distracting, and Jemima wanted it to stop.
If only it was easy to forget.
That journal was occupying her thoughts far too much, and Jemima was beginning to regret opening it.
“It’s nothing, Georgiana,” Jemima hurried on as Georgiana gave her a sceptical look. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
“You’re not thinking about your little admirer Daniel Hann, are you?”
“Why would I be thinking about him?”
“Because who wouldn’t?” Georgiana sighed. “He is a handsome man. Very handsome. Charming, respectful, and commanding. Any woman would want to have his attention.”
Jemima wouldn’t call Daniel charming or respectful, and commanding was not the way to describe his controlling behaviour. But Georgiana didn’t see Daniel regularly, not like Jemima. She only saw what Daniel wanted her to see. Jemima didn’t like being paired with Daniel, but even her friend wouldn’t stop.
“Why is everyone so sure that Daniel and I are going to be courting soon? He’s just a friend of the family, that’s all.” Jemima shook her head. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Don’t be so sure. I saw your mother and Mrs Hann talking the other day, in the coffee shop. I happened to be listening in …”
“Georgiana!”
“What? They were talking loudly enough that the whole place heard. I didn’t need to sit next to them to hear it.” Georgiana urged Jemima to stop as they reached the kerb while a carriage passed. “But they were talking about Daniel approaching you for a proper courtship.”
Jemima groaned. If those two ladies were talking loudly enough for several gossiping women to hear – and the gossips always frequented the coffee shop – then it would be all over the village. People would be discussing that with her, and then Jemima would have to go around denying that it was happening, which would only embarrass her parents, especially her mother. But what about her being embarrassed that people were presuming things about her? Jemima didn’t want people to believe such things.
“Well, it’s not going to happen.” They crossed the road. “Daniel and I tolerate each other’s presence.”
“You haven’t seen the way he looks at you.” Georgiana giggled. “He wants to do more than tolerate your presence.”
Jemima shuddered.
“Absolutely not. There are many reasons why he’s still a bachelor.”
“Like what?”
“He’s controlling about what he wants, and he’s very rude. I don’t care for that at all.”
Daniel kept himself relatively controlled about his parents, but when it was the two of them and a chaperone close by, he would talk to Jemima as if he expected her to agree and do whatever he said. Jemima had told him that he needed to stop his attitude because it’s not very nice, but Daniel simply scoffed and said nobody’s going to tell him what to do.
If they ended up getting married – and the thought left Jemima cold – it would not be a very harmonious one. Jemima tried not to make a scene, but she would stand up for something if she didn’t think it was right. Because she picked and chose her battles, people thought she was someone they could make do anything as she didn’t speak out for the most part. But when she did start standing up for herself, others realized that she was not as timid as it seemed.
“I see.” Georgiana giggled. “I can see marriage being fiery for the two of you.”
“What marriage? There will be no marriage, Georgiana. I don’t love Daniel, and I only see him because our parents are friends and see each other regularly. If they weren’t, I’d keep my distance.”
“Well, he must be in love with you or close to. Otherwise, why would he keep turning up with his parents when he’s free to do as he chooses?”
That was what Jemima had realized a while back, and it made her even more nervous. Unlike her, Daniel had the choice of going with his parents somewhere. He could do whatever he wanted, while Jemima was made to sit and listen to boring conversations and pretend she was enjoying herself.
Having Daniel sitting beside her didn’t make the situation any better, and even if they did have a conversation, there would be people listening in. Escaping into the garden didn’t work because Daniel would just come with her.
I should tell him to leave me alone. Tell him to go away and leave me alone.
But you can’t. Because you know he won’t listen.
“Your parents won’t be happy to hear that.” Georgiana squeezed Jemima’s arm, shaking her head. Dark curls bounced against her cheek, and Georgiana tucked a couple back under her bonnet. “I know they want you to marry and get out of the house. My father is just relieved that I’m being courted at my age. He had given up all hope in my becoming a married woman.”
Jemima grunted. It felt like she was passed around as if she were a piece of furniture for others to own. Her parents owned her until she married, and then her husband would own her. She would have nothing unless she were incredibly lucky. Another reason not wanting to marry: Jemima wanted something for herself instead of giving her husband everything.
It reminded her of the last time she was courted by a gentleman. He had been an up-and-coming young man from Papworth Everard, and initially, he seemed very charming, and Jemima liked it. He had paid her attention. But then, once they had been courting for a month, he began to talk about what they were going to do with their married life and how things would be.
It was then Jemima realized he expected her to go along with it and marry him without any questions asked. He was thinking of turning her into something she wasn’t. Jemima wouldn’t stand for that and told him so. That was when he discovered that Jemima wasn’t the meek and timid girl he had been told she was.
That hadn’t ended well, and Jemima had kept away from courtship since. Her parents, especially her mother, tried to push her into it, but that just had Jemima pushing back. She wasn’t about to be moulded. Whoever she did find love with would have to put up with who she was.
Her mother didn’t like that, but Jemima didn’t care. She deserved more respect than that. No one was going to control her, even if it meant she would be unmarried for the rest of her life.
“Come on …” Georgiana started to tug her towards the shops. “Let’s get something to eat. I think with some cake and a drink inside you, you’ll feel better.”
Jemima didn’t know about that, but she wasn’t going to argue. She loved the cake at the coffee shop. Mrs Flemington was a marvel when it came to her baking, and Jemima would try to find any opportunity to go in there. Maybe some cake would make her feel a little better.
They passed the village hall on the way to the shop, and Jemima noticed there were half a dozen people ahead of her pausing to look at the noticeboard before going on their way. That was unusual, seeing as barely anything happened in the village. If it did, there was no need for the noticeboard as it went around Hemingford Grey very quickly by word of mouth. And yet, Jemima could see a brand new sheet of paper pinned to the board.
“Slow down.” Jemima urged Georgiana’s quick stride to stop and nodded at the noticeboard. “Looks like something new is up.”
Georgiana snorted.
“It’s probably nothing we haven’t heard about.” Then she took a closer look at the notice, and her eyes widened. “Oh.”
Oh, indeed. Jemima had already read it. It was a reward notice. The Earl of St Ives would give a reward to anyone who found a journal that was lost earlier in the week. It described the journal, right down to the way it was tied.
It was him. The Earl of St Ives was the owner of the journal tucked under Jemima’s mattress. The young man who had almost collided with her mother coming out of the tobacconist’s shop.
Jemima stared. He must be in a panic about the whereabouts of the journal. Considering its contents, that was no surprise; if Jemima were in his shoes, she would be hysterical. Anyone could read it.
Jemima had, and part of her wished that she hadn’t.
“Jemima?”
“Hmm?”
Georgiana was now looking at her with a worried frown.
“Are you well? You’ve gone pale.”
“I …” Jemima licked her lips and swallowed. Her mouth had gone very dry. “I’m fine. Shall we have something to eat, Georgiana? That’s what we were going to do.”
Georgiana was still watching her curiously. Her friend knew something was going on, but Jemima wasn’t about to say. She had mentioned finding something and holding onto it for the moment to keep it safe, but Jemima hadn’t disclosed what it was. She certainly wasn’t going to tell Georgiana the contents, that Georgiana certainly wouldn’t keep a secret.
Finally, her friend nodded, and they started walking again. Jemima’s face felt cold, and she felt like she was going to collapse. The earl had noticed that the journal was gone, and now he expected it to be returned. With the reward marked up, it would be no surprise if others tried to pretend they had the journal to get the money. It was a bit of a gamble.
She had to return the journal, but she couldn’t. People would see her do it and realize that Jemima was the one in possession of the journal. One look at her face would give away what was inside; Jemima couldn’t hide that.
From what Jemima remembered, the Earl of St Ives’ home was near Warner’s Park in St Ives. It was only a half-hour walk from her house. It wouldn’t be too much to go for a walk tomorrow and head into St Ives. She was always going on long walks, so there wouldn’t be any suspicions raised. Once she had done Elizabeth’s lessons for the morning, after lunch, Jemima would make her way into St Ives, leaving the journal where it would be found and leave again. She wasn’t going to wait around to meet him or ask for the reward.
Not that she could keep the money. Anything of hers immediately belonged to her father, and Jemima wasn’t about to explain how she came across that much money. Her mother might be delighted to have a rise in their fortunes, but Jemima wasn’t risking her embarrassment.
By the time they reached the coffee shop, Jemima had made up her mind. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t need to cross paths with the earl, and he wouldn’t be any the wiser about who had found his salacious writings.
#
St Ives looked at the clock and growled. Only five minutes had passed since he had last looked at the clock. He needed to stop doing that, and he needed to stop pacing a hole in the carpet. He had only asked the vicar of Hemingford Grey to put up a reward for the journal’s return the day before. It was going to take a while.
But for how long? Did that mean someone had found the journal but was thinking of a way to get more money from him? Or had it not been found at all? St Ives kept thinking that he would find it in the bottom of his trunk where it had somehow fallen or tucked under the seat in his carriage. But so far, nothing.
He needed to calm down and stop thinking about it. It wasn’t doing him any good. The journal had been on his mind so much that St Ives hadn’t been able to focus on his visit at the Jennings house. He had been asked to leave after four days because he was so distracted. Catherine hadn’t been impressed with his attitude, especially after the promise on the first night. St Ives could understand, but it still smarted. No woman sent him away.
He would have another go. Catherine was a fire waiting for him. She would forgive him, and they could get back to their seduction.
Just once he had his journal back, and he was sure that nobody would spread what was in it. He would have to be mad not to think that no one would open the journal to read it. People nowadays were incredibly nosey.
Ely told him that he was a fool for writing things down in a book, and now St Ives could see his point. But he had never lost it before today. He was always very careful.
Not anymore. Maybe this was an indication that he needed to stop. It was too much of a headache when it was missing.
Pacing around wasn’t going to make him feel any better. Perhaps a walk around Warner’s Park would be a good idea. That would take some of the nervous tension from him. St Ives sent for the butler, who helped him into his outdoor coat and hat, handing St Ives his father’s cane. Then St Ives went out the side door; he wanted to check on his horses and look through the carriage one last time before going on his walk. If it were there, then it would be all this worry for nothing.
