Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Elizabeth. Goodness, we didn’t expect you home until at least tomorrow. Come kiss me, my dear.” Her mother set her teacup into its saucer and presented her right cheek.

  “Hello, Mama.” Elizabeth dutifully bussed the proffered cheek but cast a curious gaze around the room. “Where are the girls? Surely they are dining in tonight?”

  “Sadly no, my dear.” Patting the cushion beside her, her mother smiled invitingly then picked up her cup once more. “Since I didn’t expect you to return so soon, I gave permission for them to dine with Lady Mary Callon-Gorge.” Mama kept chattering while she rang the bell and ordered more tea. “Why have you returned so early? How was Lady Cavendish—I mean, Lady Wrotham’s wedding? Did you bring a piece of the wedding cake home for Dotty?”

  “No, Mama. I am sorry, but I completely forgot to bring it.” Best sit across from her mother while delivering her news. Elizabeth sank down into the green wing-backed chair opposite the sofa.

  “Well, dear, Dotty will be so disappointed. She has talked of nothing but dreaming of her future husband.” Mama shook her head and paused for a sip of tea.

  “I am sorry, Mama.” Elizabeth seized the moment to take the conversational reins. “I will explain it to Dotty when she comes home tonight. But I wanted to tell you my news.”

  “News?” Mama’s eyes grew round, glee spreading across her face. “Tell, tell! One says nothing ever happens in the country, but Lady Wrotham’s parties seem determined to break that rule.”

  “I’ve asked Papa to join us. He will want to hear this as well.” Elizabeth turned anxiously as the door opened, but it was only the maid with fresh tea.

  “Oh, dear. I do hope it is not bad news.” After pouring, her mother dropped four large lumps of sugar into her own cup.

  Elizabeth shuddered as always at so much sweetness, adding one lump to hers. “That may well depend on what you and Papa can tell me. There is a sort of mystery afoot, and I dearly hope you can enlighten me about it.”

  “Mystery? Elizabeth, please tell me you have not gotten yourself mixed up in some intrigue down in Kent, of all places. First, it was those robbers you told me of, now something different has occurred?” Her mother’s eyebrows swooped upward, alarmingly close to her hairline.

  “No, Mama. Not intrigue. At least, I don’t think so.” She sipped the hot tea, and the tension in her shoulders lessened. “But it does apparently concern you and Papa.”

  “What concerns Papa?” Her father came through the doorway, a cherubic smile on his handsome face. “Good afternoon, darling. Did you just now return? We have missed you.” He strode forward to kiss her cheek. “I am so used to having you back with us I don’t quite know what to do when you are gone anymore.”

  She must seize this perfect opportunity to tell them. “That is what I wished to tell you about.” Elizabeth set her cup down and squeezed her hands together. “Papa, Mama, I am to be married again.”

  “What?” Her parents spoke in unison, her mother suspending her cup before her face while her father froze in the act of reaching for a piece of bread and butter.

  “Married again?” Mama rattled her teacup into its saucer. “But you have just put away your mourning, Elizabeth. I assumed you would grieve for Dickon at least a little while longer. You seemed so heartbroken when he died.”

  “I know, Mama.” Heartbeat speeding up, Elizabeth set her cup down before she spilled it. Indeed, it seemed strange to say out loud that she would marry again. Only the image of Jemmy’s dear face gave her the courage to continue. “I did not believe I would ever love again, but it has happened.”

  “Is it that chap you sisters were talking of the last time you came home? Lord Brack?” The bread and butter continued into Papa’s mouth. “Afraid I don’t know him.”

  “Did you meet him at Lady Wrotham’s party? You never said a word about him to me.” Mama turned a cool eye to her husband. “When did Bella or Dotty speak of this Lord Brack to you?”

  “In October, I believe. About the time Bella’s betrothal was announced. Perhaps you were distracted by Lord Haxton’s presence.” Papa gave her an arch look that was ignored.

  “Well, I must say you have been a slyboots about this, Elizabeth. Now”—Mama settled back again, hands crossed over her stomach—“who is this Lord Brack?”

  “I believe you know his father, the Marquess of Blackham?” Elizabeth sipped her tea, keenly interested in her mother’s answer. At last, she would find out the reason for Lord Blackham’s rejection of her.

  Her mother gave a strangled shriek and clutched her throat.

  “Blackham!” Papa spat the name as if it was poison. “You wish to marry the Marquess of Blackham’s son?”

  “Ohhh . . .” Her mother had slumped over on the sofa, moaning in a low, guttural voice. The usually serene expression on her face had flown, leaving wild staring eyes of vivid blue in a stark white face, held in the grip of an unspeakable horror.

  Shocked and confused at this totally unexpected reaction, Elizabeth carefully set her cup down once more. “Yes,” she answered, shakily. “His eldest son, James, is Lord Brack.” The suspicion that all was not well, based on yesterday’s interview with Lord Blackham, had erupted into full-blown fear. What in the world could have happened to provoke a reaction such as this from her parents?

  “It is out of the question, Elizabeth.” Her father drew himself up, tall and forbidding.

  “But, Papa—”

  “No, Elizabeth.” Her mother had sat up and recovered her voice, though she still clutched her throat. A wash of pink had suffused her face, so perhaps she would not faint after all. “He is a cruel, cruel man. You must not marry him.”

  “I’m not marrying Lord Blackham, I’m marrying his son. Jemmy is nothing like his father from what I have observed.” Fear flooded her mouth, leaving a sharp, coppery taste in its wake. She’d clung to the hope her family would be supportive of her marriage to Jemmy, even if his father was not. They might have been able to live at Worth House for the time before Jemmy came into his inheritance. Without their assistance, however, their marriage would hinge solely on Jemmy’s grandfather, a completely unknown factor. The impossibility of it ever taking place began to loom larger in her mind.

  “He must take after his poor mother, then.” Groping in her pocket, Mama produced a handkerchief and pressed it to her streaming eyes.

  “You knew his mother?” Elizabeth seized on this smidgeon of hope in the swirling chaos. “Then surely you must believe me when I tell you Jemmy is a wonderful man who will make me as happy as Dickon ever did.”

  “His mother, God rest her soul, was a sweet girl. So he may be all you say he is. But if he’s got Blackham’s blood in him, well . . .” Her father shook his head, his face grave. “I warn you, he could change.”

  “What did the man do to make you say such a thing?” Fear bubbled in her veins. Jemmy was nothing like his father, but dear God, could he become so in the future? The marquess had struck her as being stubborn and rather harsh, but not the monster her parents seemed to loathe. “You must tell me.”

  “He killed Louisa.” Her mother broke down completely, sobbing with such anguish Elizabeth flew to her side and threw her arms around her.

  “Oh, Mama, certainly not.” She held the shaking woman, her own confidence shaken to the ground. “Who was Louisa?”

  “Lord Blackham’s second wife and your mother’s best friend.” Her father clenched his teeth and abruptly strode to the bell and rang.

  “I’m so sorry, Mama.” Elizabeth hugged her mother tighter, tears starting from her eyes. Lord Blackham must be a fiend to have done such a thing. But what had he done? How had he managed to escape justice? Even a peer could not kill someone outright and not expect to be arrested. Last century, Earl Ferrers had found that out to his dismay. And why had she heard nothing of this from Georgie or Jemmy? Did they not know? “What did he do? Are you certain it was not an accident?”

  “No. It was no accident.” Hiccupping, he
r mother sat up, wiping her streaming face. “He knew she should not have any more children, yet he insisted on keeping her breeding. My poor Louisa.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth sat back as well, less certain of Lord Blackham’s villainy. A woman entered marriage knowing her duty was to bear her husband children, with the attendant risks that childbirth entailed. “Then he didn’t mean to kill her, Mama. Childbirth is always uncertain. And I’m sure it was sad for you to lose her as she was your bosom friend, but Lord Blackham—”

  “Lord Blackham knew so many children so quickly would kill her. The doctor told Louisa she should wait for at least a year after her last child was born or it could go badly for her. But she would not listen and refuse Blackham her bed.”

  Such blunt talk before a man froze Elizabeth. Surreptitiously, she glanced at her father, whose stony face held no sign of blush. Most gentlemen would have run from such a conversation. She cleared her throat and sipped the now-cold tea.

  “Do not be shocked at my frank speech. I have hated Lord Blackham these twenty-five years since Louisa’s death.” She waved a hand at her husband. “You needn’t mind your father. He’s heard this all before.”

  Another shock, but before she could quite take it in, the door opened, and a footman bearing a decanter and glasses entered.

  Elizabeth stared at the dregs in her teacup while the man deposited the tray on the sideboard and disappeared out the door. Certainly, she sympathized with her mother’s sentiments; however, she was not quite as convinced as Mama that Lord Blackham had intentionally meant to kill his wife. Neither could she understand Lord Blackham’s refusal to allow her to marry his son. Her mother and perhaps her father might have an objection, but Jemmy’s father should bear her family no ill will. Some piece to the puzzle was still missing.

  “Mama, even if this is true, I still do not understand why Lord Blackham will not allow Jemmy and me to wed. Your friendship with his wife and your accusations of his . . . killing her, unless you did so publicly, shouldn’t have caused such a refusal.” Raising an eyebrow deliberately, Elizabeth stared at her mother. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

  “Yes, my dear, there is.” Her father drained his glass and poured another. “What she is not telling you is that Lord Blackham offered for your mother before he offered for her friend.”

  Elizabeth gripped the handle of the cup so tightly she feared it would snap. Mama almost married Jemmy’s father? The very idea made her skin crawl. She shivered and sank back on the sofa. “Obviously, you refused him.”

  “My family wanted the match very badly. Wanted to have their daughter a marchioness. And I dutifully met his lordship at balls and parties.” Mama’s face was blank as she sat lost in the memory. “He was older, but not too objectionable. Very distinguished-looking, I thought at the time. I could perhaps have made the match, but then . . .” She turned to Papa and held out her hand.

  He took it and kissed her fingers.

  “I met Wentworth at Lady Gill-Abbot’s ball, and I knew, I just knew I could never marry anyone else. My father called me a fool, but he agreed to the match and refused Blackham’s suit. The marquess was livid.” She narrowed her eyes at the remembrance. “Why he would think all he needed to do was make an offer and his title would do the rest, I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “Having met the man, I can understand it.” Grimly, Elizabeth recalled the marquess’s haughty tone and demeanor. He would certainly think his title reason enough to marry him.

  “After I met your father, I didn’t encourage Blackham at all.” She swallowed hard. “But Louisa did.” She clutched her husband’s hand. “I was never quite sure if Louisa had come to care for Blackham, or if perhaps she felt sorry for him. Or if the idea of being the Marchioness of Blackham turned her head. Blackham had made no secret of the fact he wished to wed again, and quickly. He’d not been out of mourning for his first wife a week before he appeared at Almack’s, trying to court me. After I refused him, Louisa set her cap for him.”

  The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to sort themselves out in Elizabeth’s mind. Her mother had been the marquess’s preferred choice. And the marquess always got what he wanted, according to Jemmy. Only this time he hadn’t. So he had married Mama’s best friend as revenge? “Did you see your friend much after her marriage?”

  “No. I never saw her again.” Tears glistened in her mother’s eyes. “And that . . . fiend she married refused to even let her write to me.” Her head came up, a triumphant smile on her lips. “But we managed to outsmart him. Louisa was not forbidden to write to her sisters, so she wrote to Mary, her next youngest sister, and would sometimes enclose a letter for me as well that Mary would send on. So I knew when her first child, the heir, was born, then a pair of twin daughters, and another daughter.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “At last, came a letter from Mary without one from Louisa, telling me that my friend had died during the birth of her fifth child. Five children in as many years.” Wiping the tears away, her mother lapsed into silence.

  “Of course, there were the two that were twins,” her father added, as if to keep the facts of the matter straight.

  “Still, there were too many, too close together. Even the doctor said so.”

  “He’d waited twelve years with a barren wife, he told me.” Elizabeth shook her head, deeply saddened. “So I suppose he meant to have as many children as he could as quickly as he could. I can see him wanting that above all else.”

  “That may have had something to do with it.” Her mother sniffed, drawing in ragged breaths. “But I believe he did it to spite me, to get back at me for my refusal.”

  “Mama!”

  “I slighted him. He knew Louisa was my best friend in the world. Everyone knew it, for we were constantly together. So he married her. But when he discovered that hadn’t hurt me, he took her off to the country and wouldn’t let her see me or correspond with me, or so he thought. Then he killed her and. . . and it’s all my fault.” Weeping as though her heart would break, Mama covered her face. “If I hadn’t rejected him so harshly . . . if I had tried harder to discourage Louisa from marrying him, perhaps she would be alive today.”

  “There, there, my dear. I have told you time and again, it was not your fault. And I doubt you could have swayed Louisa, no matter what you said.” Her father patted her mother’s arm, then commenced pacing back and forth before them, looking like he could use another drink.

  “And if you had done so, Mama, neither Jemmy, nor Georgina, nor their brother and sisters would have been born.” Grasping her mother’s hands, Elizabeth peered into her face. “Neither do you know if your friend would have wanted such a thing.” If Jemmy’s mother had wanted the match, even Mama would not likely have deterred her. “You cannot change the past, Mama.” She shook her head sadly. “If anyone knows that, it is I. All we can do is make the best of the present and look to the future.” Elizabeth grasped her courage. “I love Lord Brack and will marry him, no matter what.”

  After a long silence, during which Papa seemed to peer into her soul, he sighed. “She is right, Amelia.” He moved beside Mama, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “I’ve told you time and again, my dear; you must find it in your heart to let this hatred go. Nothing at all is served by it, and it tears you to pieces each time you think of it.” He shifted his gaze to Elizabeth, clenched his jaw, then nodded. “Especially if Elizabeth is determined to marry Blackham’s son.”

  Thank goodness, Papa had come around. He’d always taken her part in any conflict with Mama.

  “I just don’t know if I can, Wentworth.” Mama sniffed into her handkerchief.

  “You must try, Mama.” Elizabeth held her mother closer. “You must find a way to forgive Lord Blackham instead and help to persuade him to allow Jemmy and me to marry. If not, Jemmy will be cut off without a farthing until he turns thirty and inherits his mother’s money. It is not a long time, true, but we simply must wed well before his birthday in August.” They absolutely
could not wait.

  “His birthday is in August, you say?” Her father’s puzzled frown deepened. “Eight months is truly not the end of the world, Elizabeth. I know short betrothals are the fashion these days, but it is by no means an unreasonable time for an engagement. Have you given this due consideration?”

  “Your father is correct, Elizabeth.” Wiping her face and fanning it with her limp handkerchief, Mama raised her gaze and nodded emphatically. “You can wait that short a time easily. You will stay with us, and Lord Brack can keep his bachelor rooms in Town and have a long, decorous courtship.”

  “I am afraid we cannot wait, Mama.” Elizabeth sighed. This would not be easy. “In fact, waiting is quite out of the question.” She must write Jemmy at once, asking him to come to London and meet her family. Once he met them, Mama and Papa must love him as much as she did. They could be married from St. George’s and live here quietly at Worth House until he received his inheritance.

  “What is the rush, my dear?” Frowning, Mama sniffed and added another lump to her tea.

  Steeling her courage with a final sip of ice-cold tea, Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “The rush is to mask the fact, as best we can, that our child will be born a bit too soon after the wedding.” She stared into the shocked faces and stiffened her resolve. “Now, how can we get Lord Blackham to consent?”

  Chapter 20

  “Where is Hal?” Jemmy glanced around the breakfast room the next morning as he sat down to a plate of eggs and sausages. The table’s sole occupant was his father, who sat cracking the top off an egg with military precision.

  “I have no idea.” Father waved away his second son. “The puppy wastes my money flitting from school to school, returns here for a day or two, then takes himself off God knows where. I should put a stop to it, withdraw his funds. But then he’d likely move in here permanently, and that I would not stand for. Let him disrupt someone else’s household.”