Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Good evening, Lord Brack.” Lady Braeton all but cooed his name, her eyes a vivid blue that matched her gown.

  “Good evening, my lady. My great thanks for your kind invitation.” He’d managed to beg that invitation at the very last minute.

  “Lady Joanna Knowlton, may I present Lord Brack? Lady Joanna is my next oldest daughter, my lord. She will officially come out next Season.”

  Ah, that explained his presence here tonight. Her ladyship was a matchmaking mama, still on the hunt. Her elder daughter, Lady Grace Knowlton, had married Lord Longford earlier this autumn, so apparently, Lady Braeton had her eye on him for Lady Joanna. Unfortunate, but he would have to disappoint both ladies. “I am delighted, Lady Joanna. May I claim a dance this evening?”

  “Indeed, you may, my lord. Will the third set suit you?” The lady’s low-pitched voice fell pleasantly on his ear from her delightfully bowed mouth. Jet-black hair, alabaster skin, and the family legacy of crystal blue eyes, all set off by an ice blue gown, made Lady Joanna a delectable future partner.

  Alas, only for the dance. His heart was engaged elsewhere, and he’d be off to find his lady as soon as he did his duty to his hostess. “Such a charming room, Lady Braeton.” He smiled, glancing about as if taking in the room’s splendid appointments.

  The gold-papered walls glittered in the light of a thousand candles. So much light should have banished the darkness completely; however, shadows still lurked in the corners. Did Elizabeth stand there, trying to hide? Or had she already marked his entrance and decided to pay him no mind at all? The possibilities pierced his mind like sharpened stakes.

  “Lord Brack?” Lady Braeton tugged on his arm.

  Startled, Jemmy tried to play off his momentary lapse. He fixed a pleasant expression on his face and said, “You should entertain more often, my lady. Lady Joanna and I could put this room to good use.”

  Her daughter didn’t seem to mind his absentmindedness. “Oh, yes, Lord Brack. I have often told my mother that exact thing.”

  “That will do, Joanna. Perhaps you should go find your Papa. He was speaking with Lord Arrington, who is your first partner of the evening.” Lady Braeton couldn’t have made her feelings plainer if she had physically shoved her daughter away.

  Lady Joanna bowed, then sped toward her father, a tall, distinguished gentleman sporting a monocle and a quizzing glass hanging around his neck.

  “Shall I help you find a partner for the first dance, my lord? So you can make good use of my ballroom tonight. Where is Lady Amelia Bart?” She peered around the room, brows puckered in a look that did not become the lady.

  “I shall seek her out, my lady; you may depend upon it.” He tried to affect a look that said he’d like nothing better than to stand up with a girl who inevitably trod on his toes each time they danced. “But I must move on. I have quite halted the line.” A bow and a grin as he made a swift escape directly toward the refreshment room. A fortifying libation was always a requirement after any encounter with Lady Braeton.

  Skirting a quartet of young ladies, heads together, plotting, in their bright frocks near the doorway, Jemmy almost ran into the Marquess of Theale. “Ho, your lordship.” He put out a hand to avoid an actual collision. Theale was splendidly outfitted this evening in a tailcoat so exquisitely cut it must demand everyone stare in envy. “Are you on the run or in the chase, my lord?”

  Nose red, eyes blurry, Theale raised his quizzer to him, then nodded in answer. “Brack. Good chap. Trying to take one of my daughters off me, are you? Too late, too late. She’s got her mind made up to outrank her sister. Nothing but a duke will do for her now.” Theale swayed unsteadily on his feet.

  “Here, my lord. Take a seat.” Jemmy tried to steer the inebriated peer into a large, soft chair from which he hopefully would not rise before the end of the evening.

  “Good lad.” Lord Theale relaxed back into the seat, eyes closed.

  Jemmy shot a look back at Lady Braeton. A foxed guest lay within her domain. She smiled brilliantly at him. Lord, now she would probably try to engage him to Lady Joanna in gratitude for scotching this little incident before it became a major disruption. Truly, no good deed went unpunished.

  Glancing around the room again, searching desperately for Elizabeth, Jemmy spied Lord Wilton flirting with Lady Catherine Buckminster. Damn. He’d have to do his duty and speak a word in Wilton’s ear. Lady Catherine was his cousin, just out last Season, and not someone to be trifled with. Life had certainly been simpler at Lady Cavendish’s house for the past weeks.

  “Excuse me, my lord.” He bowed to Theale, who beamed at him and let out a whiskey-tinged hiccup and waved him off with another mumbled “Good lad.”

  Jemmy wove his way across the crowded floor as an alarming number of couples gathered for the first set. Good thing Braeton’s home sported a ballroom larger than the usual terraced house. The crush of people had grown thick indeed. Half the ton must have turned out for the Harvest Ball.

  Just as he reached Catherine’s side, Jemmy glanced back to the entrance once more in the forlorn hope of finding that Elizabeth had appeared. Perhaps he’d been mistaken and she’d actually been indisposed. Curse his luck. He opened his mouth to greet his cousin and stopped, one hand suspended midway toward her.

  Mrs. Elizabeth Easton, attired in a ravishing turquoise and cream evening dress, smiled and chatted avidly with Lady Braeton.

  The room froze around him, the world reduced to his heartbeat roaring in his ears. All he could see was the vision of loveliness standing across the room, more breathtaking than he remembered. His whole world. Every detail of her seared itself into his memory—the small circlet of pearls nestled in her blond hair, the perfect bow shape of her red lips, her white breasts peeping from her daringly low-cut gown, the peacock feather fan dangling from her wrist. Even from this distance, he could recognize her voice as she took leave of her hostess and moved into the room.

  “Lord Brack! What a pleasant—ouch!” Lady Catherine squealed as Jemmy clamped his hand around her wrist.

  “Do pardon us, my lord,” he called back at the shocked face of Lord Wilton. Towing Catherine as he hurried around the room, eeling them through the thickly packed guests.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Jemmy?” Catherine struggled to free her wrist, already recovered from her cousin’s absconding with her. Her peevish tone registered loudly with Jemmy, though he cared for it not a jot.

  “I am taking you, dear cousin, to meet a very good friend of mine.” Thank goodness Elizabeth’s bright gown stood out against the darker shadows of the room, else he’d have a deal of trouble finding her again. She’d stopped to talk to her sister, Miss Worth, standing beside Lord Haxton. So much the better. She’d hardly give him the cut direct before her sister’s new fiancé, according to Georgie.

  “Well, you needn’t crush my hand into the bargain, Jemmy.” Catherine pulled against his vice-like grip, and he eased it a trifle.

  “I’m sorry.” He glanced at her and grinned. “Good to see you, cuz. Even though I can’t agree with your choice of partners.” They had rounded the end of the ballroom and were within a few yards of his quarry. Elizabeth had not seen him yet, thank God.

  “What do you mean? Lord Wilton—”

  “Lord Wilton is a rake and a rogue, even if he does stand to inherit the third-largest estate in England. You should steer clear of him.”

  “Mama said—”

  “I’m sure Aunt Augusta has said many fine things about Wilton. Your papa, however, would want to avoid the scandal if the scoundrel ruined you. He’s done that to young girls before, so the rumor goes. Now”—he stopped and turned his back to Elizabeth and her sister—“I am going to introduce you to Mrs. Easton, her sister, and her sister’s betrothed. You will be pleasant and cordial, and I will not tell your parents you were flirting shamelessly with a known rakehell.”

  “I was not flirting with him,” Catherine protested. “He was flirting with me, and I was quite enjoyin
g it!”

  “Then we will find a less dangerous gentleman to flirt with you. Now, come and be introduced.” Jemmy wound her arm through his and boldly stepped toward Elizabeth, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Lord, but she looked magnificent.

  Laughing at something her sister said, Elizabeth looked up, straight into his face. Her eyes widened, two deep blue circles swimming in a sea of white for just a moment before she lowered her eyelids against the sight of him. Her neck flushed a deep pink that spread upward to darken her cheeks.

  Miss Worth turned toward him, joy lighting her face. “Lord Brack. How do you do? I asked my sister about you just the other day.”

  “It was kind of you to think of me, Miss Worth.” Jemmy tried to focus on the woman he was speaking to, but his attention kept straying to Elizabeth, like a magnet to its true north. “May I present Lady Catherine Buckminster, my cousin? This is Mrs. Elizabeth Easton, Miss Worth, and Lord Haxton.”

  They all murmured “how do you dos” as Jemmy held his breath, gazing at Elizabeth, who seemed even more lovely than he remembered, though her face had paled at the sight of him. The skin of her long neck had a creamy glow at least, her beautiful blond hair piled on top of her head, careless ringlets framing her face. When his gaze shifted to her full, red lips—he might never breathe again. Christ, he must find some way to make this stunning woman his.

  “So pleased, Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth threw one agonized glare at him. “But you must excuse me.” She bowed and began to turn away, her mouth in a rigid line that broke the spell.

  “Mrs. Easton.” Jemmy dropped Catherine’s arm, stepped toward the retreating woman, and boldly took her hand. He couldn’t allow her to slip away. “I am particularly pleased to see you this evening.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” With a glance around the company, she drew herself up, giving her wrist enough of a shake to signal her displeasure at his action.

  Sighing, he released her, praying she would not bolt across the floor where the dancers were in the midst of “Maiden Alley.” “I had hoped you might allow me to partner you in the next set.”

  Her lips thinned, though her cheeks had gained a spot of color. “I had not planned to dance tonight, Lord Brack.”

  “But plans may change, may they not, Mrs. Easton?” He smiled his most beguiling smile. “Surely one comes to a ball because one wants to dance.” God, but he wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless.

  “Then rather let me say I had not planned to dance with you, Lord Brack.” Her blue eyes were cold as icicles and twice as hard.

  “Elizabeth.” This might be his only chance to plead his case. Catherine was chatting with Miss Worth. Haxton had carried himself off, most likely in search of a drink. Jemmy could certainly use one about now as well.

  “I have not asked you to call me so familiarly, Lord Brack.” Her nose flared, but deep in her eyes, a quiet pain lurked.

  “I know you have not; however, I believe we are close enough in acquaintance to be termed intimates.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened to red, and she grudgingly nodded, though her jaw firmed. “Very well, in private you may call me Elizabeth, Lord Brack.”

  Stubborn woman. He forced a smile. “Thank you, Elizabeth. And I beg you to call me Jemmy.”

  A laughing couple bumped into him, almost throwing him into Elizabeth.

  Lord, he could not do this in the middle of the room. “Come with me, please.” He grasped her arm and steered her toward a quiet corner. “Elizabeth, I truly beg your pardon for not writing to you after I left London.”

  “That was quite all right, Lord—”

  He glared at her, not wavering, until she sighed.

  “Very, well. That was quite all right, Jemmy.” The name came out grudgingly but landed sweetly on his ears. “I made it quite obvious I did not wish to see you. You were under no obligation to write.”

  “You know very well what I was obliged to do. And I did write, the very day I returned to Lyttlefield Park, but I tore it up.” What a caper-witted lump he’d been. He should never have left. “I tore up a hundred letters in the past weeks, too cowardly to tell you what I feel. What I have felt since that night in October.”

  “I prefer not to speak of that, my lord.” She tensed, glanced about, then slumped. “If that is all, my lord?”

  “Devil take it, that is not all, and you know it.” The last thing he wanted was to quarrel with her. A gentler road might make for a smoother ride. “May I have the next dance, Elizabeth? I would very much like to dance with you tonight.”

  Her mouth screwed up. Her lips opened.

  He steeled himself for the “no” that was sure to come.

  “Oh. Well, then, yes. I will dance the next with you, my lord.” Surprised, as though she hadn’t meant to say those words, she slowly closed her lips.

  “They should be making up the set shortly. Shall I take you for some refreshments until then?” The more time they spent together, the better his chances to woo her back to him.

  “No, thank you, my lord. I . . .” She searched the floor. “I see Lady Stephen Tarkington just there. I should speak to her.” She managed a small smile, so sweet it almost gave him hope. “I will wait for you there.”

  Bowing, he tried to ignore the havoc in his heart as the beautiful figure in turquoise swayed in a most alluring way as she made her way toward Lady Stephen. A vision he intended to see every day for the rest of his life.

  Jemmy recalled himself—mustn’t let everyone know how moonstruck he was over this lady—and returned to his cousin and Miss Worth. “Excuse me, ladies, may I fetch you some refreshments?”

  “No, thank you, my lord.” Miss Worth squeezed Catherine’s hands. “Then shall I see you later this week, my lady?”

  “Yes, Miss Worth.” Catherine beamed. “I shall look forward to it.”

  Elizabeth’s sister curtsied and sped off toward Lady Wentworth, who was in fervent conversation with Lady Braeton.

  “Can you take me to my mother, Jemmy? I have such exciting news to tell her.” Catherine’s pink cheeks and sparkling eyes bespoke her excitement.

  “You look like the cat who ate the canary, complete with feathers sticking out of your mouth, cousin. What are you about?” Jemmy presented his arm, wishing someone would offer him a strong drink. Between watching over his cousin, being accosted by a drunken lord, and trying to woo Elizabeth back, he was done in before the evening had scarcely begun.

  “And a very tasty canary it was, too.” Catherine hugged his arm as they continued around the dance floor. She seemed in the best mood and more animated than he’d ever seen her. “Miss Worth is betrothed to Lord Haxton, whose younger brother, Lord Christopher Stanhope, is about to be created the Earl of Anthorn-on-Pye for meritorious service to the Crown.”

  “I had heard of Lord Christopher’s good fortune.” Jemmy sighted his Aunt Augusta and steered them toward her. “Why does Stanhope’s good fortune make you so happy?”

  “Because Miss Worth has invited me to tea with her on Thursday with Lord Haxton and his brother.” Catherine gripped his arm, digging her nails into him, even through the superfine. “I could not have hoped for a better introduction to his lordship. He doesn’t frequent the ton gatherings, so it is rather difficult to scrape an acquaintance with him.”

  “Well, I certainly wish you luck, Catherine.” Lord Christopher was a much better match for her than Wilton. As a third son, Lord Christopher Stanhope had been mostly overlooked on the marriage mart. No longer. He’d wager a considerable sum on that. “He’s about to become the eligible parti of the Little Season, so by all means, take any advantage you can, cousin.”

  “Take advantage of what?” Aunt Augusta, whose hearing at age sixty was much better than it should be, eyed him dubiously.

  “Of all her good fortune, which I will leave her to tell you.” He winked at his cousin. “Thank you so much for your company, Catherine. I hope it has been as advantageous for you as it has been for me.”


  “Why must you always talk in riddles, Brack? Your father should have taught you better. Come, Catherine. With what nonsense has Brack been filling your head?” Giving an imperious inclination of her head, his aunt captured her daughter’s attention. “Thank you, Brack. If we need further assistance, I shall call upon you.”

  “Your servant at all times, Aunt.” Jemmy bowed and swiftly took himself off. Anyone would know his aunt and father as brother and sister the moment they spoke. He pitied Catherine only a little less than he did Georgina. He’d always thought he and his sister must take after their mother in terms of temperament.

  Wanting a drink even more desperately now, Jemmy headed once more for the refreshment room. Wine rather than whiskey tonight. He had to have a clear head when he finally got Elizabeth out on the ballroom floor and asked her to marry him.

  Chapter 11

  “Why, oh, why did I believe Weller?” Elizabeth muttered under her breath as she fled toward Fanny. An older gentleman stepped in front of her to let the Duchess of Granville pass. She hopped to the side to avoid one collision, and nearly cannoned into Lady Waterbury. She must keep her wits about her if she was to survive the coming encounter with Lord Brack. Her face had glowed with heat from the moment she looked up and saw him.

  Weller had promised that she’d told the gentleman Elizabeth was indisposed and not attending any entertainments this evening. Then she’d embellished the tale, aiming for misdirection. Apparently, the maid had been less convincing than she believed, with Elizabeth paying the price of a most awkward engagement to dance with the one man she’d hoped to avoid for the rest of her life.

  “Elizabeth, how do you do this evening? You seem rather out of breath.” Fanny looked about, a knowing smile on her lips. “Is he very handsome?”

  “Is who very handsome?” Elizabeth gulped in air, her heart racing. She spied Lord Brack moving across the floor. Good, he was taking his cousin to the Countess of Oundle.

  “The gentleman who is chasing you.”

  “Don’t be a goose, Fanny.” Now he was heading toward the refreshment room. Perhaps he would forget when to return. “No one is chasing me.”