Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  Jemmy swallowed uncomfortably and sipped his whiskey. He’d not told Georgie he hadn’t had the courage to send a letter. Gulping the last of the fiery liquid too quickly, he sputtered and coughed. “I should hope Elizabeth knows in what high esteem I hold her.”

  Of course, by not writing to her during the past month, she might very well think he’d acquiesced to her wishes and abandoned his pursuit. That had been cowardly of him. It would serve him right if she’d already accepted another man. That sobering thought brought him up short. Pray God that had not occurred.

  “She might know it with her head, but not with her heart, Jemmy. You have written to her since?” Her innocent question made his heart sink.

  “Since when?”

  “Since your return, ninny. You told me you would write to her the day you came back to Lyttlefield Park, but you never said if she replied.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did she?”

  “No,” he sighed. Time to pay the piper. “I haven’t heard from her since I returned here.”

  “And you’ve done nothing this whole time?” She bounced up on the sofa, indignant. “You haven’t written her a second letter? Honestly, Jemmy, why didn’t you tell me?” Georgie’s voice rose in shrill tones. “I could have mentioned you in my letters.”

  “Did she ever inquire after me in any of her letters to you?” he asked, hope rising.

  “No, she has not. I would have thought that peculiar, but I believed she had no reason to because she was corresponding with you.” The annoyance in her face made him draw back.

  “Perhaps she has done with me.” His heart stuttered at the thought, but it would serve him right for his cowardice in not writing to her. How could he have simply accepted her wishes at face value and done nothing to try and change her mind? He’d been in limbo these past weeks, waiting for some signal from her that he knew would not come unless he goaded her to give it.

  “Nonsense.” Georgie rose, standing straight, eyes clear and determined. “Do you love her, Jemmy?”

  The question froze him. He’d scarcely thought past the physical passion of their last encounter to the more eloquent dealings in his heart. That he might never again hold her in his arms, kiss her lips, behold a smile meant solely for him was unimaginable. The consequences of his non-actions crashed over him with the intensity of an ocean tide so cold he ceased to breathe. He should have remained in London and insisted she see him.

  “Well?” Georgie stared at him, toe tapping on the wet carpet, awaiting an answer.

  “Yes, yes, I do love her. And I may have lost her.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “What a fool I’ve been.”

  “I suppose you are not the first man to come to that conclusion. However, you had best let that realization send you to London first thing in the morning.” Georgie grasped his arm and propelled him toward the door. “Charlotte, Nash, and I will proceed as planned next week. You may tell them you’ve gone ahead for whatever reason you can produce, but you must go immediately.”

  They sped out into the shadowy corridor, and she paused to look into his face. “I only hope you have not left it too late.”

  He hugged her close, thanking heaven for his sister and sending up another prayer. “I hope not too.”

  Chapter 9

  “This just came for you, Mrs. Easton. There’s a gentleman downstairs says he’ll wait for an answer.” Weller handed Elizabeth a cream-colored sheet of folded stationery, inscribed with her name in a strange hand that sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.

  “A footman, don’t you mean?” She took the note from her maid gingerly, as if it might shock her.

  “No, ma’am. A gentleman, Mr. Tawes said.”

  Trying to stem her trembling, Elizabeth ran her fingers over the thick, expensive paper. A gentleman of quality certainly. “He gave no name?” She cut her eyes at the maid, not sure what she hoped to hear.

  “No, ma’am. Mr. Tawes just gave it to me and said to bring it straight to you.” Weller’s long-suffering face made the prickles on the back of her neck rise.

  “You didn’t see him?”

  “No, Mrs. Easton. I just brought the note.” Weller gazed intently at her, tapping an impatient foot, eager to get back to her duties.

  “I just wish I had some idea of who it is from.” Elizabeth turned the small square over, staring at the unfamiliar crest in the blood-red wax.

  “I daresay you’ll know as soon as you open it, ma’am.”

  Elizabeth jerked her head up to meet the maid’s eyes, but the woman’s face carried no tinge of impertinence. It had ever been so with Weller. She spoke her mind with no thought of how it would sound to anyone else, including her mistress. Unfortunately, she suited Mama’s tastes, and so Elizabeth had no hope of hiring a more biddable maid anytime soon.

  “I expect you are right in that, Weller.” Elizabeth slid a finger underneath the seal of wax and popped it off. She traced the crest, then laid it on her writing desk. Gently, she unfolded the creamy note paper.

  My Dear Elizabeth

  Dear God, was it—Her gaze flew down the page to the signature, written with a brave flourish. Her whole body flushed, heat sweeping from her face down to the tips of her toes, as though she stood on a pyre set alight. She spun away so Weller wouldn’t see her red face. Ignoring her racing heart, she scanned the few lines, drinking in every one he had written at last.

  Despite her refusal to see him or speak with him last month, she had to grudgingly admit she had expected to hear from him before now. She’d learned of his removal from London, so she’d expected a letter or a note to arrive from him. He had seemed so passionate, so taken with her, and so persistent those few days he’d pursued her. Why would she not have expected him to continue to attempt to see her? Or to send a note to apologize for his conduct. Or to beg her to reconsider her determination not to see him again.

  As the tally of weeks had mounted with no further word from him, she had grown used to the empty post, accepted that he had acted the rake, and begun to regret their téte-à-téte in earnest. Apparently, he had indeed seized the opportunity, brought on by that indecent pagan festival, to push his way into her bed for a momentary triumph that meant nothing to him at all, save a passing gratification of his lust.

  Perhaps she had been wrong to snub his advances, but she’d been terribly ashamed of her behavior and frightened of how mortified she would feel if she had to speak to him again. Once he’d gone, however, she’d missed his attentions. So she’d resumed attending ton entertainments in hopes she’d find another kind gentleman to catch her eye. It infuriated her that none had done so.

  Now, Lord Brack had finally written and apparently waited downstairs, demanding an answer. Without reading the note further, she crumpled it, her nails digging into her palms with a vengeance. “Weller, tell his lordship he can go—”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  Breath heaving, Elizabeth paused. No, she should read it, then send him away with a very large flea in his ear. She carefully unclenched her fingers and smoothed the crumpled paper out as best she could. The ink had blurred a bit, but it was still readable. More light would help. With a sharp glance at Weller, Elizabeth turned the lamp on the table toward her and held the paper closer to the yellow circle of light.

  My Dear Elizabeth

  How forward of him to call her by her given name when she’d not given him leave. After so much time had passed since they’d seen one another, it didn’t matter a jot that their last true encounter had been exceedingly intimate.

  I pray this finds you well. Georgie has not spoken of any illness, so I have hope that you and your family are enjoying excellent health.

  The very least the wretch could have done was send word by his sister, supposing he was still at Lyttlefield Park.

  I have returned to London at last. Your friend Lady Cavendish, Lord Wrotham, and my sister will be arriving in a few days’time, and I had hoped to renew our acquaintance before their arrival.

  So he wi
shed to “renew their acquaintance” did he? How civil of him. Why would he wish to do such a thing when he seemed to have not a care in the world for her in the past three weeks? Such neglect could not be mended with a simple “how do you do.” Her hands trembled with her effort to restrain herself from tearing the letter into a thousand pieces and feeding it to a goat.

  “Is anything the matter, ma’am?” She spun around to find Weller eyeing her warily.

  “No, Weller, thank you.” Elizabeth breathed deeply, trying hard to calm herself as best she could. Much as she’d like to slap the wretch’s face, she could not see him, and Weller could not act in her place and lay hands on the son of a peer. Her reply must, however, voice her displeasure at his cavalier manner toward her.

  I understand Lady Braeton’s Harvest Ball is this evening, and I hoped I might ask for the first dance with you. We have much to speak of, if you will be so kind as to grant me this boon.

  Your devoted servant,

  Jemmy

  Elizabeth dropped the letter onto the desk and sat down heavily, leaning her head on her hands. What must she do?

  She had indeed planned to go to Lady Braeton’s ball this evening. She and Dickon had always attended together. Tonight, she wanted to attend in order to lay the ghost of Dickon for good, then move on to another part of her life with her late husband’s blessing. What a muddle Lord Brack had made of her plans. She most emphatically did not want to see him, but neither did she want the rogue to prevent her from attending. What to do?

  “Weller, tell Tawes to tell the gentleman there is no answer. Just that. No answer. If he asks to see me, tell him I am indisposed.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” A fiendish glint of approval in the maid’s eyes said Weller relished the answer she was about to deliver—and the havoc it would likely cause. The maid nodded and left the chamber.

  Seized with a fit of pique, Elizabeth grabbed the letter and tore it into tiny pieces. With a cry of contempt, she strode to the fireplace and flung the bits into the flames. They flashed briefly, as they burned. So, she hoped, she had erased Lord Brack from her life.

  * * *

  Jemmy paced to and fro in the receiving room, each minute that ticked by seeming to spell doom for his effort to see Elizabeth once more. An eternity would have been shorter than the time it had taken for the butler to take his note and ramble up the stairs. Jemmy strode out into the foyer but found no one. Perhaps Elizabeth was taking time to write a note agreeing to his suggestion. Somehow, he doubted that, but he had to hope for something in the way of a miracle. At the sound of a step on the stair, he turned, hoping beyond hope that Elizabeth had decided to see him.

  A rather plain woman, severely dressed in black, descended the staircase, looking up and down the foyer.

  He gazed at her expectantly.

  “I was looking for Tawes, the butler, to deliver Mrs. Easton’s answer, my lord, but as I do not see him at present, I’ll give it to you directly.” Her impersonal eyes flicked over him.

  “Thank you, Miss . . . ?”

  “Weller, my lord.”

  “And what is the answer, Miss Weller?” Jemmy held his breath.

  “There is no answer, my lord.” The maid’s stony face as she made this pronouncement sent a chill through Jemmy that settled like a block of ice in his stomach.

  “No answer?” Had Elizabeth broken with him completely? Cursing his own cowardice for not writing her sooner, he cast about for some other means of contact. “Then can you tell me if Mrs. Easton plans to attend Lady Braeton’s ball tonight?”

  “Mrs. Easton is indisposed, my lord.” Not one jot of sympathy showed in the maid’s frowning countenance.

  “I see.” How else might he find out her plans? He’d wager his horse Elizabeth was angry rather than indisposed. The question remained, was she going out for the evening? “In that case, I wish to speak to Lady Wentworth.”

  The maid narrowed her eyes, and her cheek twitched, but she said only, “Of course, my lord,” before turning sharply on her heel and quitting the room.

  Did she dislike everyone, or just him? He’d almost wager his was not a special case. Jemmy returned to pacing around the small, dim reception room to which the butler had shown him a quarter of an hour before. Though the fire roared in the grate, the room remained chilled, just like his heart. He had bent over to study a series of miniatures of children on a long, polished table when the maid returned, triumph in her smile.

  “Her ladyship is indisposed at the moment as well, my lord.” The servant stuck out her chin, as though she dared him to dispute her claim.

  Jemmy sighed and clenched his fist behind his back. He’d be damned if he’d let the maid know his anguish at this news. Another avenue closed against discovering Elizabeth’s plans for tonight. “And you are certain Mrs. Easton is indisposed? She doesn’t intend to venture out this evening?”

  “I’m sure I am not privy to all my mistress’s doings, my lord. Only what she’s told me.” A gleam appeared in the tall woman’s eyes. “Although, if I was the wagering sort, I’d lay my money on Lady Shoreham’s masquerade ball. You find a lady dressed as Aphrodite, and you will have your answer.”

  So the minx had had plans to go out this evening. “I thank you very much, Miss Weller. I am in your debt for that advice.” His mother had been related to Lady Shoreham, he believed. It would be the work of a few moments to beg an invitation to the gathering. “I wish you good day.”

  As she turned to go, Jemmy caught a self-satisfied smirk pass over the woman’s face. That look of triumph again. As if he’d been bested.

  He strode into the foyer, where the butler had put in an appearance and already had his coat and hat to hand.

  “My lord,” the elderly man held his greatcoat up, and Jemmy slipped his arms through.

  The maid’s actions continued to perplex him. She’d seemed well-satisfied that Elizabeth had refused to see him. Likely enjoyed the look of dismay on his face when she pronounced the words. So why would she then assist his suit by disclosing the entertainment Elizabeth planned to attend?

  The butler settled the coat over his shoulders and held out his hat and gloves, the servant’s lined countenance firm, but neutral. Could he elicit some sort of help from this man? Information about Miss Weller would not come amiss.

  “I gather Miss Weller has been with Mrs. Easton for some time.” Which might be true, even though she had not accompanied Elizabeth to Lyttlefield Park for either house party.

  “Yes, my lord. She been the lady’s maid to the Misses Worth for ten years now. And five years as Lady Wentworth’s lady’s maid before that. You’ll not find another one so loyal to a family.” The man’s jowly cheeks rippled as he spoke, his chin raised.

  “I could see her devotion to her mistress when I spoke with her.” Devoted enough to lie for Elizabeth? He set his hat on his head, a nagging voice in the very back of his head urging him not to let it go.

  The butler opened the door.

  Damn, but he needed to be sure.

  “A moment, Tawes?” Jemmy nodded and backed up into the foyer. He thrust his hat back at a footman and dug into his breast pocket for his card case. “Might I have a pen, Tawes?”

  “Of course, my lord. Robert.” He hailed the footman who held Jemmy’s hat.

  “Yes, Mr. Tawes?” The man stepped forward once more, back ramrod-straight.

  “Fetch Lord Brack a pen, please. Do you require paper, my lord?”

  “No, thank you. I believe my card will suffice.” Jemmy drew the small white card from his case, engraved with a large, bold B.

  The footman hurried into the receiving room Jemmy had just quit and returned swiftly with a pen and inkpot.

  “Thank you. If you’d set them right there on the table.” He indicated a long, polished high table that contained a vase of yellow roses.

  “I think I will send up one more little note to Mrs. Easton, after all.” Jemmy grabbed the pen and scratched two lines on the back of his card.
Hope to join you at Mrs. Shoreham’s this evening. Looking forward to the first dance. He laid the pen down and blew on the card for several seconds, holding it so the butler could plainly see the message. “You will see that gets to Mrs. Easton, won’t you, Tawes?” Jemmy cut his plaintive gaze to the butler’s face.

  “Very good, my lord.” Tawes turned the card over and bowed.

  Jemmy cursed under his breath as the butler turned from him. He’d been so certain—

  “My lord?”

  A wave of relief surged through him. “Yes?”

  “I thought I should mention that Mrs. Easton will not be attending Mrs. Shoreham’s this evening.”

  “Ah, I did not know that.” Jemmy clenched his fist. Miss Weller was a slyboots, after all. “I thought her plans had been fixed on the masquerade.” He tried to look glum, all the while repressing the glee that made him want to kick up his heels and laugh. Miss Weller might serve her mistress well, but he would do his best to circumvent those efforts.

  “No, my lord.”

  “She’s decided on Lady Braeton’s instead, has she?” Jemmy shook his head and pulled his best Friday face. “A real pity, for I am quite promised to Mrs. Shoreham. Old friend of the family, you understand.” Why was he standing here prattling on to a servant?

  “I do indeed, my lord. Shall I inform Mrs. Easton—”

  “No, no. We shall have to meet another time.” He held out his hand, and Tawes dropped the card into it. “Please do tell Mrs. Easton that I shall call upon her in a few days.” Retrieving his hat and fixing it to his head, Jemmy strode out into St. James Square and breathed deeply. A narrow escape of a wasted evening, but he’d managed to finally get the truth.

  If Elizabeth thought she could avoid him while they were in the same city, she would find him a persistent suitor. He’d been wrong to discontinue his courting of her but would beg her pardon with deep sincerity while they danced the first dance together tonight.

  Chapter 10