Free The Bone House by Stephen R. Lawhead Page B

know you’re there, and Vernon Ashmole is the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.”
    Egged on, she overcame her innate reluctance, and the two young women went along together. And while it did seem that half the town turned out to help celebrate this illustrious citizen’s birthday, someone did notice that she was there: only a few minutes after slipping into a garden festooned with Chinese lanterns and red silk bunting, the pretty young women attracted the intense interest of His Lordship’s son.
    A glass of wine in his hand and a knowing smirk on his well-featured face, he stared at the two young ladies with the predatory gaze of a lean and hungry wolf, and then, downing his wine in a gulp, tossed aside the glass and strode to where they stood half-hidden inside a rose trellis. “How is it,” he began, looking directly at Gem, “that I know everyone here, but I don’t know you?”
    “Oh, Vernon! I didn’t see you sneaking up on us,” gasped her friend.
    “Nonsense, Juliana,” replied the heir apparent, never taking his eyes off the strange interloper. “Now tell me, who is this ravishing creature?”
    “This is my dearest friend, Gemma Burley,” said Juliana, somewhat taken aback by the young man’s interest in her friend. “She’s come up from London for a few weeks, visiting. I asked her to join me, as I didn’t want to come alone. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Oh, but I’m afraid I do mind—terribly,” he protested. “It is a very grave infraction of the fearfully strict Ashmolean Code of Social Conduct, my dears. You simply cannot come barging into one of Lord Ashmole’s festive celebrations unbidden. There are dire consequences, you see.”
    Juliana laughed. “Pay him no mind, Gem,” she said, putting her flame-red head near Gemma’s own dark curls. “He’s joking.”
    “I never joke about such things,” he insisted. “There are penalties.”
    “What, pray tell, are the penalties,” laughed Juliana with forced gaiety, “for such a grave social infraction?”
    Gemma smiled nervously, uncertain how to take this bold fellow. Whatever else he was, Juliana was right: Vernon Ashmole was a most handsome young man.
    “You must dance every dance with me,” said Vernon with a wink. “A punishment all out of proportion to the crime, but there you are.” Reaching for Gemma’s hand, he coaxed her from the flimsy shelter of the arbour and out onto the lawn where tables had been set up with food and drink, and a wooden floor had been laid over the grass. A string ensemble was playing a Strauss waltz, and Gemma was pulled into the gracefully spinning wheel of dancers.
    The rest of the night passed in a giddy whirl of music, wine, and laughter. Vernon proved an engaging and attentive companion, and before the long summer evening was over, Gemma Burley was well and truly smitten. The blossoming love affair was too much for Juliana, who ended their friendship that very night. Even so, four years later, Gemma’s most cherished memory was of that one magical evening when His Lordship’s son had danced with only her.
    The second time she had been inside the door of Kettering House she preferred not to think about. It was after she had been driven from the family home by her father, who could not face the ignominy of an unmarried pregnant daughter. Vernon had brought her home to announce their matrimonial intentions to his own father. The resulting scene was so harrowing Gemma refused to dwell on it—relegating the unhappy memory to the outer darkness, along with the regret, recrimination, and disappointment of the last four years.
    But now, this day, a new future lay before them. The misery and unhappiness of their plight was over. When Vernon saw them standing there on his doorstep he would instantly realise the difficulty his tardiness had caused; he would embrace them and welcome them into his home— their home—and they would assume their rightful place in his affections. For there was no