Page 8 of A Diamond for a Duke

At Jemmah’s frank pronouncement, Dandridge’s deep set amber eyes widened a fraction, immediately followed by a contemplative glint. He probably wasn’t accustomed to such candor, but in her limited experience, artifice seldom ended well.

“Say what you mean and mean what you say,” Papa had always advocated. “Speak honestly, my precious Jem. But temper your words with kindness and gentleness so they’re diamonds, not toads. One is welcomed, even appreciated. The other detested and often feared.”

Lord, how she missed her father’s jovial smile, perpetually rumpled hair and clothing, and his tender kisses upon her crown. Missed the fairytales he used to tell her as she sat upon his knee. “Toads and Diamonds,” “The Sleeping Beauty,” “Little Red Riding Hood,” and so many more.

Tears stung behind her eyelids, but she resolutely blinked them away. She must continue to be strong. But at times—times like these when humiliation and shame sluiced her—it was so very hard. And she was so very weary and discouraged despite the cheerful mien she presented.

A whisper of a sigh escaped her.

Pshaw.

Enough wallowing in self-pity. Imprudent and pointless.

Perhaps recalling Papa’s counsel hadn’t been the best example for bolstering her courage, especially since he had died in his lover’s bed.

Most mothers would’ve kept that tawdry detail from their children, but Mama used the ugliness to regularly and viciously besmirch Papa’s character to her daughters.

Jemmah in particular.

One didn’t have to think overly long and hard to understand why he’d sought another woman’s comfort. Not that Jemmah excused his infidelity, but neither could she deny he’d been miserable for most of her life.

So had she, and she longed for the day she might finally, somehow, escape and know joy and peace, not constant ridicule and criticism.

Her emotions once more under control, she returned Dandridge’s acute assessment, determined to show her lack of cowardice, and that she wasn’t a weak, pathetic creature deserving of his—or anyone else’s—pity or sympathy.

Well? Have you nothing to say?

The laurel wreath diamond cravat pin gracing his snowy waterfall of a neckcloth cheekily winked at her, and as if he’d heard her silent challenge, and with an unidentifiable gleam crinkling his eyes’ outer corners, the edges of his strong mouth twitched upward.

She’d risked voicing her innermost thoughts, and the handsome knave laughed at her?

Chagrin trotted a spiky path from her chest to her hairline, no doubt leaving a ribbon of ugly, ruddy blotches. No soft flare of flattering, pinkish color accompanied her blushes, but rather ugly splotches mottled her skin, very much resembling an angry sunburn or severe rash.

Papa had attributed the tendency to their Irish heritage.

If that were true, then why didn’t Adelinda with her coppery hair suffer the affliction?

Jemmah knew full well why.

Because in that, as was true of everything else, Adelinda took after Mama.

Jemmah’s looking glass revealed daily, and objectively, that her light coloring and unremarkable features paled in comparison to her mother’s and sister’s flamboyant looks with their rich ginger hair and dark exotic eyes. Neither did she possess their high-strung temperaments nor delicate constitutions. All of which Mama contended a lady must possess in order to become a hautton favorite.

As if Jemmah cared a whit about any of that fiddle-faddle.

People mattered far more than titles or positions.

Her rather ordinary appearance, robust health, and kindly nature were more suited for docile cattle or sheep, and as such, frequently served to vex and disappoint her mother.

Indeed, how many times since Papa’s death had Mama admonished—her voice arctic and condemning—“You look and behave just like your father, Jemmah. I can scarcely bear to look upon you. You’ll disgrace us one day, too. Just you wait and see.”

I shall not.

If anyone brought more shame on the Daments, it would be Adelinda. She’d become so bold in her clandestine rendezvous, someone was sure to come upon her and one of her numerous unsuitable beaux.

Naturally, Mama knew nothing of Adelinda’s fast behavior.

After attempting to broach the subject once, Mama had accused Jemmah of envying her sister. She then confined Jemmah to her room with only gruel and broth for two days, and thereafter Jemmah resolved to keep her own counsel on the matter.