Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  “As long as you escape his clutches and get safely to Elizabeth, it will all have been worth it.” She patted his arm, and love for his sister welled up within him.

  “I swear to you, Georgina, I will find you some husband other than Travers. You deserve much, much better than him. Once I’m in London, I’ll write to St. Just again, ask him to please come up with another plan. Rob’s a great one for making plans.” He grinned at her, and she wrinkled her nose.

  “Do not do me any favors on that account, Jemmy.”

  Apparently, there really was little love lost between his sister and his friend. “Still, keep a lookout for him. You don’t have to like him to accept his help.”

  Jemmy grabbed the candlestick and ducked back into the dusty tunnel between their rooms. Pray God, this harebrained scheme would work. He’d keep an eye on the footmen when they brought his dinner. If he could overpower them, he’d run for it, steal a horse, and be gone. At Blackham Castle, it was always prudent to have a secondary plan in mind.

  Chapter 21

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Sinking onto the sofa in the family sitting room, Elizabeth let Charlotte’s letter flutter to the floor like a dying sparrow. Spasms of pain gripped her stomach so badly, she feared she might cast up her accounts.

  “What is wrong—” Mama looked up from her book of Lord Byron’s poetry. “Elizabeth! Are you quite all right?”

  “Charlotte writes that Jemmy is being held captive at Blackham Castle, under lock and key, by his father.” Fantastical words Elizabeth could scarce comprehend. She stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. This explained why the letter had arrived by special courier. Hot and cold shivers wracked her body so violently she could barely sit. She could only gasp in air and try not to swoon.

  “I told you his father was a fiend. Elizabeth? Elizabeth!” Her mother let Byron drop onto the sofa, bounded to her feet, and rushed over to her. “Your face is paper white.”

  The world tried to turn dark, and Elizabeth struggled to remain conscious as she slid over onto the cushion. No, this couldn’t be happening.

  “Elizabeth. Here, breathe.”

  The sal volatile fumes rocked her into an upright position. The stuff was vile, but it worked.

  “What is wrong, my dear? Lord Brack is not injured, is he? Merely detained?” Mama patted her cheeks with little stinging slaps that annoyed rather than hurt. “Blackham cannot hold him forever.”

  “But Charlotte says he will hold him long enough for him to wed the duke’s daughter.” Elizabeth’s heart hitched, beating fast, then slow, aching as though a phantom hand gripped it. “She had it from Georgie. The marquess will keep Jemmy locked up until he agrees to marry Lady Maude Aston.”

  “Lady Maude? Oh, dear. How unfortunate a match,” Mama tsk-tsked. “She must be thirty if she’s a day. Very brave about never being asked, but she has had that unsightly scar on her lip from childhood. Poor thing.” Shaking her head, Mama turned her attention back to Elizabeth. “What can we do to help, my dear?”

  “Can you speak with Lord Blackham? Plead for us? You could persuade him to allow us to wed, Mama.” Seizing her handkerchief, Elizabeth pressed it to her streaming eyes. This was the end. If Jemmy could not get free, this was the end for them. They must marry, and soon, else she would be the scandal of the day in matter of weeks.

  “Blackham could never be swayed by anything I said to him.” Mama returned to the sofa and proceeded to pour tea. “Else I could have persuaded him to allow Louisa to write to me. He despises me. I am the reason he forbids the marriage in the first place.” Mama plopped lump after lump of sugar in her tea. “At least, he cannot compel dear Lord Brack to marry her.”

  “He can, however, keep Jemmy locked in the castle until it is too late,” Elizabeth sobbed. “Until everyone knows I am ruined.” The hatred in Lord Blackham’s heart must be deep indeed if he would revenge himself on an innocent woman and her unborn child, to get at the woman who had scorned him. Little wonder she did, if he always behaved in this manner.

  “It will not come to that, Elizabeth.” Mama’s gaze dropped to her teacup. “Your Papa and I will let nothing ruin either your reputation or that of our other daughters.”

  A pang of guilt struck Elizabeth’s heart. Bella’s betrothal could be broken off if Haxton got wind of this predicament. If one sister was tainted with scandal, all were suspect. Poor Dotty might never even have a Season if her eldest sister was brought to ruin. So what could be done other than try to reason with Blackham?

  “What can any of us do if Lord Blackham won’t even let Jemmy out of the house? Stage a rescue?” A desperate measure, but really, what else could they do?

  “You can marry someone else.” Mama’s lips were firm, her unflinching gaze now on Elizabeth.

  The incomprehensible words sounded as if in a foreign language. Marry someone else? “No.” Elizabeth shook her head, tears flying. She’d rather for her life to be over if she and Jemmy could not wed. “How can you think of such a thing?”

  “To save your reputation and your sisters’ prospects, you will do it. Your father has already spoken to one of his friends from Eton, Lord Robert Naylor, the youngest brother of the current Duke of Penburthy.”

  “A friend of Papa’s?” How ghastly. “I cannot do that, Mama. I love Jemmy. I’m carrying his child. I simply can’t marry another man.” Would the nightmare never end?

  “Women have always done what they must to preserve their family, their honor. If love is sacrificed for this, so be it. It will not be the first time.” Mama stirred her tea. Silent. Waiting.

  What could she do? If she held out for a miracle, for Jemmy to come to her, she would jeopardize not only her happiness, but Isabella and Dorothea’s as well. Her hands clenched of their own accord, until she forced them to relax. “Can we not wait a little while, to see if Jemmy is able to escape?” She might be clutching at straws, but better that than an action she would regret every day for the rest of her life. “Circumstances will not be dire for another month at least.”

  “All the more reason to marry now, before anyone has the barest hint you are increasing. Then you can pass the child off as Lord Robert’s more easily, and there will be no talk at all. These things happen all the time. The trick is to be married before anyone suspects a thing.”

  “But Mama, I can’t—”

  “Elizabeth, you will.” The command in Mama’s voice would brook no demur. “It is through your fault that the family is at risk. Therefore, you will do your duty and marry Lord Robert if he’ll have you.”

  Her fault, her duty. When put that way, it was hard to argue otherwise. She had let her passions carry her away, and now she must pay for that whirlwind evening. Nothing to be done save make herself go through with the marriage, for all their sakes. Little matter that her heart was breaking. “Has Papa written to Lord Robert already?”

  “Even better.” Her mother beamed and slid closer to her on the sofa. “Lord Robert is in Town for the funeral of one of his brothers. Not the duke, and anyway Lord Robert is far down the line of succession. Still, that does put him one step closer to the dukedom.” Mama shook her head. “Don’t worry. The old duke had twelve children. Only one died in infancy, and that one was a girl. So Lord Robert has eight older brothers, most with sons of their own. Barring some biblical disaster, your child will never stand to inherit the dukedom.”

  Elizabeth cared not at all for such things. Jemmy’s child should be Jemmy’s heir, no matter what. Except that likely would not happen now, unless some type of miracle occurred. Tears had started again, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the handkerchief being too sodden to be of much help. “When would you wish me to meet Lord Robert? I assume we will not intrude on his grief—”

  “Your father has invited him to dinner this evening. Take him to meet the children, see how he gets along with them. See if you think you will suit.”

  “That seems to matter not a jot,” Elizabeth mumbled.

  “I hope yo
u find you will suit tolerably well.” Mama pierced her with a keen glare. “Few men these days have the instincts to rescue a damsel in distress.”

  “I must write to Jemmy. Tell him . . .” Elizabeth couldn’t control a sob. “I must tell him I am forced to release him from his promise.”

  “Elizabeth, I am truly sorry, my dear. We must hope it all turns out for the best.” Mama hugged her briefly and straightened. “I will advise you to send your letter, as I did to Louisa, through the countess to your friend, Lady Georgina, if you wish it to reach Lord Brack. Blackham never found out about my and Louisa’s correspondence.” Mama’s smile held a hollow triumph. “You may take some slight comfort in thwarting the marquess at least once.”

  * * *

  Jemmy wound his way through the passage to Georgie’s room, batting at cobwebs that threatened to catch fire from the candle he carried. Just his luck he would set the house afire. Of course, if he did, they would have to let him out of his room. Rather drastic, but he filed away the notion in the event the bedsheets didn’t work.

  He scratched on the back of Georgie’s panel, and it moved instantly. “That passageway is as cold as midwinter’s day,” he said, rubbing his hands busily in front of her crackling fire.

  “That’s because it is midwinter’s day, silly.” Georgie rubbed her hands before the blaze as well.

  “Did the letter get off yesterday to Lady Wrotham?” He hated to think what they would do if the letter had not been sent. But no matter what transpired, he would leave for London on the morrow even if had to turn horse thief of his own horse.

  “As far as I know, it did. James, the footman, seemed rather relieved to take it after I talked his ear off about needing Lady Wrotham’s opinion about a dress for my wedding. I put that in the letter too, just in case Father read it. I think it best he believes that I am consenting to his plans as well.”

  “But secretly you are not?” Jemmy strode to the window, once again trying to judge the distance to the ground. He itched to put their plan into action, but understood the necessity of waiting for Lady Wrotham’s reply—hopefully containing the bank notes that would not only bribe the groom but would see him swiftly to London.

  “Well, if there is another way, I would certainly prefer it to life with Lord Travers.” Georgie shuddered. “I suspect he would be as faithful to me as Fanny’s husband was to her.” Wrinkling her nose, she turned around to face him. “I know one should not speak ill of the dead, but why shouldn’t you if the dead person wasn’t very nice in life? We speak ill of the living who do wrong. Why do the dead deserve less honest treatment?”

  Jemmy chuckled and returned to the fire. “You are one of the most unexpected philosophers I know, bran face. I have no answer for you, other than to assure you I will write to St. Just as soon as I reach London. He’ll have some idea of how to keep you out of Travers’s hands.”

  “You must also write and tell me all about your wedding, Jemmy. I am terribly sorry I won’t be there. I should have loved to see you marry your own true love.” She sighed, drawing her shawl more securely about her shoulders. “But I think you must marry her as soon as possible. Take no chances. Father cannot do anything once you are wed, save take away your funds.”

  “That is enough,” Jemmy said, despair stealing over him. “Although if I have Elizabeth as my wife, I could manage any number of privations.” It was killing him to simply wait and do nothing. Never had he experienced so great a sense of urgency to take action, yet he must stand idly by, talking calmly with his sister before the cheerful fire. As soon as Lady Wrotham’s letter arrived, the sheets would be off the bed and down the wall. He’d get to London the day after tomorrow, the good Lord willing, and put this nagging sense of foreboding to rest as he lay once again in Elizabeth’s arms.

  * * *

  Lord Robert Naylor turned out to be surprisingly cordial, if somewhat aloof. Elizabeth supposed that was to be expected when meeting for the first time the woman one had agreed to marry who was carrying another man’s child. A tall man, with a pleasant, though narrow face and a patrician nose like the bust of Caesar that stood on a pedestal in their library. His brown eyes seemed kind, though fine lines crisscrossed his skin all around them.

  “Lord Robert was top of the form in classics, Elizabeth,” her father said, handing his friend a glass of Madeira as they sat companionably in the family parlor before dinner. “He reads Latin, Greek, and some form of ancient Sanskrit, isn’t it, Robert?”

  “Yes, the daksini dialect. I have always had a fondness for languages.” Lord Robert smiled bashfully and sipped his sherry. “Your father was a fair hand with Latin.”

  “But not with Greek, by God,” Papa laughed. He seemed to be quite enjoying the company of his friend. Perhaps he arranged this marriage to assure himself of more frequent visits from his old school companion. “You saved my bacon there many’s the time. Never would have gotten through my examination in Greek if not for your excellent tutelage.”

  “Always glad to help you out, Wentworth. Any time.” His gaze fell on Elizabeth, and spots of pink appeared in his cheeks. He tossed back the remaining sherry too quickly and began to cough. The rest of his face slowly turned red, until Papa pounded him on the back.

  Lord, don’t let the man expire right in front of her. Elizabeth sat beside her mother, despair over the whole affair suddenly assaulting her. Lord Robert might be a good man and a rather pleasant companion, but he wasn’t Jemmy. He would never be Jemmy. They’d had little time together, and it should have made this decision easier, but that was patently untrue. Her heart knew whom she loved, and she wanted him with an intensity that threatened to make her ill. It simply wasn’t fair. To lose first Dickon, and now Jemmy, was grossly unjust. Didn’t she deserve happiness for more than a little while?

  Lord Robert had ceased choking and had drawn her father into a far corner, talking earnestly, to judge by the sober aspect of his face.

  “You seem to be getting along well with Lord Robert,” her mother leaned over to whisper.

  “I have no choice, do I, Mama? And I have scarcely spoken two words to him.” Hoping to convince herself of the possibility of some affection between the two of them, Elizabeth eyed the man she would soon call husband. Life would be completely intolerable with a man of whom she was not even fond.

  “Before dinner, you should introduce Lord Robert to the children. They have not yet retired, and they need to meet their new papa before he becomes part of the family.” Mama smiled and gave a little wave to the gentlemen.

  The suggestion made Elizabeth cringe, but it was practical, as her mother’s advice often was. The children must know, and she could then gauge better how Lord Robert felt about Colin and Kate as well. “I believe you are right, Mama.”

  Beaming, her mother sipped her sherry, her self-satisfaction glowing all around her.

  With a sigh, Elizabeth set her glass on the table and rose, steeling herself and forcing a smile to her lips. “Lord Robert, I thought it might be good to introduce you to the children. We have time before dinner, and I believe they should meet you and know our plans.”

  Her betrothed paled a trifle but nodded. “As you wish, Mrs. Easton. I think it best as well.” He offered his arm solicitously.

  “We will return directly, Mama, Papa.” Elizabeth took Lord Robert’s arm and led him to the staircase to the third-floor nursery. Touching his arm set off no alarms. She didn’t revile him, thank goodness. Neither did his touch fill her with dread; she felt merely sadness at what was not to be. Resolutely, she continued up the stairs.

  As they approached the nursery, all seemed quiet, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of thanksgiving that her children would make a good impression on Lord Robert. This was such a huge undertaking for a bachelor who had never been around young children. She pushed the door open and met with the angelic sight of Kate rocking her doll to sleep, and Colin holding a colorful book of maps, absorbed in the world of Cornwall.

  “Children.” Eliz
abeth slipped her arm out of Lord Robert’s.

  “Mama, Mama.” They raced toward her, throwing their arms around her and burrowing into her.

  “I’m so glad you’re back.” Kate hid her face in her mother’s skirts. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you as well, my love. Let me look at you.”

  The petite form stood straight, blue eyes front, arms at sides, her white nightgown making her face look pink and rosy.

  “Me too, Mama.” Colin stood beside his sister, pulling himself up to be taller than Kate.

  “I see you too, Colin. You are growing taller every day.” Where had his babyhood gone so quickly? She swallowed hard. “Children, I would like you to meet someone.”

  A wary look crossed Colin’s face as he stared up at Lord Robert. Kate’s brows furrowed immediately.

  “Lord Robert Naylor, these are my children. Katherine and Colin Easton. Children, this is Lord Robert. He is a friend of your Grandpapa’s and”—Elizabeth bit her lip—“and a friend of mine as well.” No harm to do this gradually. “Will you say good evening to him?”

  “Good evening, Lord Robert.” Kate bobbed a quick curtsy, then rushed into her mother’s arms.

  “Good evening, my lord.” Colin continued to stare at the stranger, suspicion in his drawn brows and puckered mouth.

  “Good evening, children.” Lord Robert’s voice had changed.

  Startled by the deeper tone, Elizabeth glanced at him to find his hands clasped behind his back, almost defensively. His tall frame seemed to lengthen until he towered over Colin.

  Colin in turn stretched upward, trying his best to be as tall as possible. “You don’t scare me, Lord Robert.” He puffed his chest out, for all the world like an admiral on the bridge of his ship staring down a French captain trying to board her. “And I can take care of my mother all by myself.”