Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  The top of the egg popped off, and Father methodically scraped the tiny scrap of meat onto his plate before discarding the shell.

  “Sons can be so inconvenient.” Jemmy signaled the footman for coffee and tucked his napkin into his lap. Hal seemed to lead the charmed life.

  “Quite.” His father sipped his tea, then resumed hollowing out his egg. “I have written to Buckleigh this morning about the settlements for Lady Maude. Once they are satisfactorily completed, we will proceed with the wedding plans.”

  “What?” Startled by the outlandish suggestion, Jemmy narrowly missed spilling the coffee the footman had just set before him. Father had gone too far this time. “I told you, Father, I will not marry anyone other than Elizabeth Easton. I do not care that you will cut me off. Do your worst. In eight months, I will have Mother’s inheritance, and that will be an end of it.”

  “I think you will marry Lady Maude without any fuss, my boy. You may have misjudged what my worst can be.”

  A tickle of apprehension hit Jemmy right between his shoulder blades, the exact spot a knife might be inserted. True, his father was capable of cruelty, as witness his treatment of Georgie, but what more than cutting off his funds could the old man do? “I will take my chances.”

  “Will you? I wonder.” Lord Blackham smiled, and Jemmy’s stomach roiled.

  His father never smiled.

  “You may find it interesting that I have also written to Lady Locke this morning.” A quick glance at Jemmy before he continued scraping industriously at the almost empty eggshell.

  “You have been busy this morning, I see.” With an effort, Jemmy managed to maintain his nonchalance, though his mouth suddenly dried as though filled with sand. Lady Locke was the most notorious gossip in London. Whatever Father had written would be the talk of the ton hours after the lady read the contents of the letter. The woman had a cadre of gossipmongers at her command, ready to spread true tale or vicious rumor in an instant.

  “You should not lie abed so late. You miss the best part of the day. The one thing I approve about your sister is her habit of rising and breakfasting early. She was here hours ago.” He stared pointedly at Jemmy. “I, too, am an early riser. I had just sat down to a cup of tea when Georgina appeared.”

  Foreboding exploded into full-blown fear. Father’s intense stare, coming from that smug face, could only mean he thought he’d got the better of Jemmy. Pray God it wasn’t true.

  “Your sister has always been a chatty creature, and while it is not a habit I approve, it did prove quite enlightening this morning.”

  Swallowing to clear his throat, Jemmy’s tongue stuck to the roof of his otherwise dry mouth.

  “She prattled on about the Countess of Wrotham’s wedding and happened to mention that the bride was in an interesting condition, despite the fact the wedding took place only a few days ago.”

  Confused, yet wary still, Jemmy allowed himself to hope Georgie had been more discrete with Elizabeth’s similar condition.

  “Her confession about Lady Wrotham meant nothing to me; however, it occurred to me that Mrs. Easton might very easily be in a similar situation. Young people have so little restraint these days.”

  Fighting to maintain absolute control over his face, Jemmy tamped down the fear that would give him away, should it become evident to his father. “So unfortunate for you that she is not.” The lie came easily to his lips. To protect his beloved, he’d lie to God himself.

  His father shrugged. “That is one of the problems with society today. They care so little for the truth. A lie will do just as well—and sometimes better if it will make a rumor that much more juicy. So they will be shocked, but oh so pleased, to find that you were stopped from making the grave mistake of marrying Mrs. Easton, who was trying to foist her bastard off as yours.” Father patted the table beside his plate, where a long letter lay half hidden.

  Why hadn’t he noticed that letter before?

  “After Georgina left, I wrote to Lady Locke, who would certainly want to know about Mrs. Easton’s perfidy and your timely escape.” Father sipped his coffee, then wiped his smug lips.

  “You are the bastard, Father.” Jemmy shot to his feet, banging the table and making the dishes rattle. “Elizabeth is—” Some deeply instinctual voice warned him not to confess about the child. Don’t give his father any further leverage. Clenching his fists, he took a deep breath, bringing himself back under control. “Elizabeth is innocent, yet you will cause her to be ruined for what? Why will you do this to her? To us?”

  The evil smile that curled his father’s mouth would have struck terror into anyone who saw it. “As the saying goes, ‘Vengeance is a dish best eaten cold.’ I have waited a very long time for this particular dish.”

  The horror of the situation began to sink in. “Vengeance for what? What slight—real or imagined—is worth ruining Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, the slight was real. Very real indeed.” Father clenched his hands where they lay on the table. Grasping the letter to Lady Locke, he waved it tantalizingly before Jemmy’s face. “If you do not give up this mad quest to marry Mrs. Easton, I will put this letter into Lady Locke’s hands by the next post.”

  Slumping into his chair, Jemmy shielded his face with his hand, thinking furiously. Should he tell his father that Elizabeth was indeed carrying his child? Would the hope of an heir be enough to make him change his mind? Jemmy feared not, and so could not risk that revelation. So that damnable letter must be prevented from finding its way to Lady Locke at all costs. He would have to pretend to acquiesce to his father’s demands, then as soon as he left the breakfast table, ride hell-bent for London. If the weather held, he could be there in a day.

  He could procure a special license and marry Elizabeth immediately. It was not the way he had hoped they would wed, but with his marriage, his father’s threats would become harmless. Or almost harmless. There might still be talk, but pray God, when the child was born, it would favor him, with a bit of Elizabeth thrown in for good measure. Still, enough to put paid to any speculation it was not his child.

  Now to the dilemma at hand. How to prevent that blasted letter from being sent. “Of course, I do not want these false rumors spread.” He raised his head to meekly face his father. “The main thing is to keep Elizabeth’s reputation spotless. I will give you my word I will do as you ask, if you pledge me yours that you will not send that letter.”

  “You will marry Lady Maude?”

  Swallowing down the bile that choked his throat, Jemmy nodded. “If that is what you wish and Elizabeth is not harmed.” There was no honor in this blackmail; therefore, he did not consider himself bound by his word in this case.

  “Buckleigh should arrive later this week. The settlements will be agreed upon and a date for the wedding set. As it is close to the Christmas holiday, I will suggest the week between Christmas and New Year’s. You will meet with Lady Maude, marry her, and give our line an heir of whom to be proud.”

  “Of that you may be sure, Father.” Jaws clenched so tightly they ached, Jemmy bowed and strode from the room. Now to act, while his father was lulled into a sense of security. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made his way up to Fellowes’s chamber and rapped on the door. “I need you.”

  A faint “Yes, my lord” came through the valet’s door.

  Jemmy continued down the corridor to his room. He must avoid the appearance of leaving. Sadly, that meant abandoning Fellowes for a time. No matter. He would compensate the man well. Jemmy popped the door to his chamber open and hurried inside. His steps slowed as other implications surfaced.

  He had no money, save for a handful of coins. That would scarcely do to get him to London. If only he’d thought to draw from his account before coming to Blackham, but that avenue was now closed to him. Did Georgie have any money? Likely not, given her circumstances, but it never hurt to ask. She was a very resourceful girl. Something might turn up.

  With a sigh, he pulled at his cravat. Where the devil was Fe
llowes? The man had been right behind him. Jemmy strode back to the door, unbuttoning his waistcoat. He grasped the latch and pushed down.

  Nothing happened.

  Frowning, he rattled the handle, but it simply wouldn’t move down. He rapped on the door again. “Fellowes? Fellowes. What’s going on here?”

  “Mr. Fellowes has been taken to the village, my lord, and will be put on the eleven-thirty mail coach to London.” The voice of a footman answered him with dreadful precision.

  “Why? And why is this door locked?”

  “The marquess’s orders, my lord.”

  “Damn you.” Jemmy pounded on the door, then ran a hand through his hair. What the devil was he going to do now?

  Georgina.

  Backing away from the door, Jemmy rushed to the secret panel and carefully pried it away. The inky black hole gaped open, and he sighed in relief. A glance over his shoulder, and he sprinted back to the door, pressing his ear against it, but heard nothing. He rattled the latch.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  So Father had posted a permanent guard. He was taking no chances on him escaping. “Tell my father this was hardly necessary.” The old man knew him extremely well, but perhaps not well enough.

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Silence returned, but whether from the footman’s lack of conversation or his absence, Jemmy couldn’t tell. As long as no one tried to come into the room, he was safe. He slipped into the secret passage, pulled the panel closed behind him, and threaded his way through the narrow, dark space. At last, he scratched lightly on Georgie’s panel. It opened to reveal his sister holding a candlestick, her face pale.

  “Jemmy. Do you know what is going on? The door to my chamber is locked.” She backed up as he strode in, going immediately to the door and rattling the latch.

  “Shhh.” Georgie darted forward.

  “Yes, my lady?” Another footman’s voice. Damn.

  “Nothing, James,” Georgie called through the wood. “I just wanted to keep you on your toes while you guard me.” She beckoned Jemmy toward the window that looked out toward the back of the estate. “I was coming to see you. To tell you that I had been locked in again. What do you think it means?”

  “It means our father is a right bastard and about to force me to marry Lady Maude.” The words steeled his resolve. He was not going to marry anyone except Elizabeth.

  “I don’t know what, but something happened at breakfast. I had been telling him about Charlotte’s wedding—not that I thought he was interested, mind you, but one must talk of something—and I mentioned that she and Nash were to expect their first child in the spring. I didn’t think he was actually listening to me, Jemmy, but he must have been because he looked up and, oh, Jemmy, he smiled.” She gulped, her eyes widening in horror. “It was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. If he’d smiled like that at Waterloo, the French soldiers would have run screaming back to Paris without firing a shot.”

  “Huh.” Jemmy snorted, even though the situation was not funny. “I just saw a demonstration of that myself. It does put one’s teeth on edge.”

  “But Jemmy, why? Why did he smile like that and then lock me in my room?”

  “You gave him an idea, bran face. An idea of how to make me agree to marry Lady Maude.” The man’s mind was fiendish, make no mistake about it.

  “What?” Georgie’s hand flew to her mouth, shocked into a large O.

  “When you told him about Lady Wrotham increasing, he decided to blackmail me, threatening me with sending a letter to Lady Locke saying Elizabeth was increasing and she was trying to make me marry her when the child wasn’t mine.”

  “Oh, Jemmy.” Georgie sank down into a chair, her eyes staring. “Lady Locke.” Her eyes widened impossibly large. “She’ll be ruined. You’ll be ruined. Lady Locke will—”

  “I know. I’ve soothed Father with the assurance I will marry Lady Maude to gain time to thwart him.” He gazed about the room. How could he escape?

  “But you’re going to marry Elizabeth, Jemmy. You can’t break her heart!” She grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him like a dog does a rat.

  “Nothing in heaven or earth will keep me from marrying her, my dear.” He stilled her hand, then cocked his head at the door. “He locked my door, so I had thought to escape through yours, but that way is blocked as well.”

  “Father is quite the tyrant, isn’t he?”

  “Quite.” He strode to the one window in Georgie’s room. His chamber was inner-facing, without any windows. His sister’s room, however, overlooked the kitchen garden. Looking down at the frostbitten cabbages and straggling rows of wilted lamb’s lettuce, he cursed under his breath. The two-story drop would likely kill him.

  “You’re not going to jump, are you?” Clutching his arm, Georgie peered out the window beside him.

  “No. I don’t have a death wish.” He shook his head, craning his neck to look down the black face of the wall. “I do wish this blasted wall had something growing on it. I could shimmy down that, I suppose.”

  A scraping noise at the door had Jemmy diving under the bed, skinning the heels of his hands on the floorboards. No one knew of their secret passage, and he preferred to keep that secret.

  “Do not worry, Jemmy. It is only a letter . . . from Charlotte.” Tedium turned to excitement as Georgie grasped the letter more firmly and popped the blob of red wax off the paper as Jemmy pulled himself out from beneath the bed. She unfolded the sheet of fine white paper with flourished writing across the page. When she did so, a smaller, folded piece of paper fell to the floor.

  “What’s this?” Jemmy grabbed the square of paper and rose from the floor. Glancing at the scrap he froze, the handwriting at once familiar.

  “It’s a letter from Elizabeth,” they said in unison.

  “Charlotte writes that she received this letter for you from Elizabeth yesterday.” Georgie waved her letter under his nose. “She feared neither of us would be allowed to receive letters from her but prayed a message from Charlotte would pass through unsuspected.”

  “Clever woman.” Jemmy unfolded the tiny letter as carefully as he could, though his hands shook with the restraint.

  “My dearest love . . .” Head reeling at the impact of her endearment, he vowed they would be together always if he had to burn the house down to escape to go to her. He continued to read, frustration and fear mounting with each word on the page.

  He glanced up at Georgie. “She begs me to come to her. Christ!” Crumpling the edge of the letter in a convulsive grip, Jemmy stared at his sister, frantic. “How can I escape, Georgie?”

  “If only I were Rapunzel, I would let my hair down out the window and you could climb down.” She patted her bright auburn hair, smiling sadly.

  “Hair?” No, but what else could support his weight? A glance around the room, and his gaze lit on the bed. He rushed to the window, doing a rough calculation of the height. God, he hoped he was accurate enough. “It could work.”

  Georgie backed away from him. “But, Jemmy, my hair is much too short to—”

  “Not hair—bedsheets. We can knot them together and toss them out the window.” Excitedly, he searched the room for other cloth that could be employed in a similar manner, but quickly gave it up. “We’ll have to anchor it to something.” The dressing table was too light, the door latch way across the room. The near leg of the bed was closest, so it would have to do. Time was of the essence. “If we tie it to the bedpost, that should serve.” He patted the post. “This bed is solid oak, so it should do fine. “Now, how many sets of bed linens do we have?”

  “I think only the ones that are on the bed.” Georgie trotted to the clothes chest and peered into the bottom. “No,” she sighed after sticking her whole head inside the wardrobe.

  “I pray two sets will be enough, for we have the sheets on my bed as well. If we pull them crosswise it should give us more than enough length.” Jemmy threw back her covers and grasped the edge of the top sheet.


  “Wait.” Georgie grabbed his hand before he could pull it free. “What will you do once you get out? Can you steal one of Father’s horses?”

  “I may have to bribe a groom. Do you have any money?” Cold hard coins would be an asset right now.

  “No, not a farthing.”

  Damn. Well, stealing the horse would likely not be a huge problem, especially if he waited a few hours until most of the grooms were asleep. The journey to London would be difficult, however, if he couldn’t stop along the way to purchase food and drink. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling the short strands. “I’ll manage somehow.”

  Georgie had been standing still, a perplexed frown on her face. “Let me see if I am allowed to write to Charlotte. If so, I can ask to borrow a few pounds.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I can tell her it’s because of the coming wedding to Lord Travers. I’ll tell her I fear Father won’t give me money for wedding clothes, so I want to at least purchase some new ribbons.”

  “The perfect excuse, my dear.” His sister had ever been a master schemer.

  “I’ll put in about your plight with Lady Maude as well, so if Father does think to read it, he will think you are resigned to it and won’t suspect the money is for you.”

  “Another clever woman in my life. What would I do without you?” He hugged her and kissed her forehead. “You start on your sheets, and I’ll grab mine.”

  Georgie stayed his hand. “If I’m allowed to write, it will take at least until tomorrow to receive Charlotte’s reply and the money. Until then, we must act as though nothing is amiss, so our linens must remain on the beds until tomorrow after they bring dinner.” She licked her lips. “Unless they mean to starve us into submission.”

  “Father wants our obedience, not our deaths. We are much more valuable to him alive than dead. But you make a good point about everything needing to seem the same as usual.” The next twenty-four hours would try his patience to the bone, but it must be endured. Better to take this time now than risk not getting to London at all. “Let me return to my room in case Father comes up to talk about the settlements with His Grace.” He grunted as he opened the secret door. “I almost wish he would. I’d truss him up like a guinea fowl ready for roasting and spirit us both off to London and safety.”