Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  “I will oversee the maids in packing up all the children’s belongings, my dear. So there will be no question of when it can be done. It must be done by tomorrow night.” Mama glared at Papa, who hastily nodded assurance to Lord Robert.

  “You’ll find the air so bracing in Shropshire, Elizabeth, that once you arrive, you will never want to leave it either.” Papa beamed largely at her. “I daresay after a year of two up there, you will come to enjoy the solitude as much as Robert does. Country estates are a challenge at first, but I know you will rise to the occasion beautifully, daughter.” He raised his glass. Mama and Lord Robert did likewise. After a long moment, feeling like nothing so much as a traitor to herself and Jemmy, Elizabeth raised hers as well. Sometimes one simply had to embrace the inevitable.

  Chapter 23

  Elizabeth sat before the crackling fireplace, uncomfortably aware of the man sitting beside her on the chaise longue. Mama and Papa had retired after the toast to her coming marriage, citing the need for her and Lord Robert to become better acquainted. A prospect she dreaded on several fronts.

  Straightening her shoulders, she smiled tentatively at her companion. She really must pull herself together and accept that Lord Robert would be her husband. He didn’t seem a bad man, only rather self-absorbed and set in his ways. Of course, having been a bachelor all his life, he would be. Still, perhaps she could change those ways so they could be more comfortable together. To that end, she needed to learn more about him.

  “Why have you never married, my lord?” She flicked her gaze from the fire to his startled face. “Surely, the son of the Duke of Ardlow would have been a most eligible catch.”

  His quick smile held a rueful touch. “The first son and heir absolutely was, Mrs. Easton. The twelfth one, much less so.”

  “Please call me Elizabeth.” She swallowed hard but kept speaking. “I think we should try to become more comfortable with one another.”

  “I thank you, Elizabeth.” He sipped his champagne and visibly relaxed against the chaise. “And you must call me Robert.” With a sigh, he drained the last of the bubbling wine.

  “Your father had twelve sons?” Goodness. She’d never heard of such a thing. Fervently, she prayed Lord Robert did not wish to follow in those footsteps.

  “Well, there were twelve children, several girls in the mix, of course, but eight sons, of which I am the youngest.” His brows furrowed. “There are but three of us left now. James, the late duke, died ten years ago, Charles died as a child of the whooping cough, Henry in action during the war, and now Alfred.” His eyes took on a saddened aspect. “He was closest to me in age, two years older at fifty-one.”

  “I am so sorry for your loss, Robert.” She carefully placed a hand on his arm. “You needn’t speak of it if it makes you sad.”

  He covered her hand with his, patting it absently. “Thank you, my dear. It does make one reflect on one’s life. And as you can see, given the circumstances, I had very little to recommend me as a husband. I was always more interested in my studies, and then, of course, I had to make my way in the world. I truly had no means for taking a wife.”

  “What did you do?” He had managed to touch a chord in Elizabeth, making her suddenly interested in this lonely man.

  “My father’s influence got me a position with the Earl of Craigmont, in Shropshire, as his man of affairs. We rubbed along well together, and when he died several years ago, he left me a small, unentailed estate of his, not far from the primary residence. My inheritance, though small, is sufficient to maintain me there.” His face brightened. “So I’ve been able to devote myself to my studies at last.”

  The fervor in his voice, the eagerness that leaped into his face when he spoke of his work, told her exactly where this man’s passions lay. He would never feel that way about a woman of his choice, much less her. Still, he was willing to sacrifice his hard-won solitude to rescue her reputation. The action spoke equally well of Lord Robert’s character and of his fondness for her father.

  Stiffening her resolve, she vowed she would do her best to make him a comfortable home and see to his needs in exchange for the respectability he would give her and the name he would give her child.

  “And here I am to come in and disrupt your well-ordered life. You are very good to do this. Why did you agree to my father’s proposal?” She hadn’t taken time to wonder at his motives, only her own circumstances, until now.

  “Wentworth has been my closest friend for some twenty years. How could I say no?” He knit his brows, seeming quite puzzled that she would ask such a question.

  Swallowing several times, she squeezed her hands together. “Did he explain my circumstances, Robert? Completely?” Assuming Papa had told the man would not do. She must make certain he knew everything before they wed. “He told you that I am . . . with child?” The shame of the words seeped into her soul, forcing her to close her eyes. “I was weak. I fell in love and then . . . he could not marry me.” Lord, she sounded like one of those lurid romances Bella liked so much.

  “Do not distress yourself, my dear.” Lord Robert patted her arm, and she opened her eyes to find his kind. “Of course, your father told me of the predicament. Wentworth would never have kept such information from me. He also assumed, quite rightly, that if I could not have accommodated his request, the information would have gone no further. I have always kept his confidences and he mine.”

  That brought her up short. What confidences could this man have ever had? Again, the feeling that there was more to Lord Robert than met the eye pricked her interest. “So you will have no qualms of raising the child as your own? He or she will be yours in the eyes of the ton and the eyes of the law, no matter if the truth eventually comes out.” She lowered her gaze. “If it is a son, he will be your heir.”

  Robert shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Then he will be more of an heir than I would have had if not for our marriage.” He peered intently into her face. “I am under no illusions about this marriage, Elizabeth. It is a true marriage of convenience, although I hope we will eventually rub along as well as most couples. Your child will be treated as any other child we may have.”

  Elizabeth tried to stifle the gasp that escaped her. Of course, she had understood that her marriage to Lord Robert would not be in name only, but the sudden realization that they would indeed be intimate—possibly by this time tomorrow night—hit her with the power of a blow to her stomach. She blinked several times, hoping to force herself to expel the breath she held.

  “Elizabeth? Is something wrong?” Lord Robert ducked his head to peer into her face. He grasped her hand and chaffed it. “Are you quite all right?”

  Slowly, she drew breath in and nodded vigorously. “I am well, my lord. A sudden faintness that I’ve been plagued with of late.” And would be for some time to come. “I’m certain you understand a woman feels differently at times like these.”

  “Ah, well, yes.” Sounding like an exotic bird, Lord Robert cleared his throat. “I have heard such things from friends who have families. Nothing to worry about, though?”

  “No, I shall be fine.” She would too. As soon as she could accept the idea of intimacies with this stranger. Odd that she’d thought the same thing of Jemmy after they’d first shared a bed. Perhaps it was a normal reaction, though she strongly doubted she would ever feel for Lord Robert what she’d felt for either Jemmy or Dickon.

  “Once you are no longer unsettled by all this fuss, you will hopefully regain your full health. The house in Shropshire has quite the reputation for peace and quiet, which I’m certain you will enjoy and take full advantage of.” He rose and offered his hand. “Shall I see you to your chamber?”

  Elizabeth nodded, grateful to think of the solitude her room promised for the night, although it would likely be her last night alone. Still, Lord Robert seemed very willing to accommodate her. Perhaps she could put off their “wedding night” for a time. He had lived alone for years, so the deprivation would be slight. They could get
to know one another before taking that next, fateful step toward physical intimacy. “Thank you, Lord Robert. That would be very kind.”

  “Robert, my dear.” Quite suddenly, he drew her to him. “You must call me Robert when we are alone.” Without any further warning, he pulled her flat against him, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to his chest.

  Stunned, Elizabeth could scarcely catch her breath before he tipped her head back. A sense of dread at what must be coming enveloped her.

  His muscles were solid, hard as granite, in fact. Surprising, since she’d assumed his studies would have rendered him softer. Lord Robert obviously had kept his body as well occupied as his mind. Staring into her face with blue eyes almost black with desire, he whispered, “You are a very beautiful woman, Elizabeth. That was also a consideration when your father suggested we marry. I was a guest at your first wedding, though I doubt you remember me.” He ran his hand through her hair, gentle yet firm.

  Did she remember him? The shock of his close presence now had abated somewhat, but her mind refused to focus on anything other than the press of her breasts against his jacket and his obvious hardness rubbing along her thigh.

  “I hope our union will be long and prosperous.” His ragged breath brushed her face before his mouth descended onto her.

  Shocked at this complete reversal of his studious, almost absentminded nature, Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, and he thrust his tongue inside, then quickly withdrew and thrust again, like a woodpecker at a tree.

  Fortunately, disbelief had stopped her from making any loud protest. It wouldn’t do for the servants to rush in to find them grappling in the family room. Really, the man was too gauche. Conquering her revulsion, Elizabeth tried to back away and close her lips. After all, the man was a complete stranger to her.

  On the contrary, he now pressed his suit, grasping her head and keeping it still while he kissed her more thoroughly than she had ever wished to be kissed. Had she liked the man, it might have been quite enjoyable; however, Lord Robert needed time and a more willing partner to perfect his technique.

  She was barely willing, even if she had agreed to marry him.

  Still his tongue thrust in and out.

  Shifting her stance, forcing herself to calmly endure the kiss, she wished once more that this could be Jemmy. The thought conjured him up, his tousled blond curls riotous after she’d run her fingers through them. Slim, but muscular build and always impeccably dressed. Oh, but she longed to touch him, to plunge her tongue into his willing mouth and explore every inch of it at her leisure.

  The daydream ended when Lord Robert began to urge her toward the chaise again, his hips bumping hers, his member pushing as eagerly as his tongue.

  Bringing her hands to rest on his chest, Elizabeth gave a mighty shove.

  He staggered backward, confusion in his eyes. “But, Elizabeth, we will be married this time tomorrow night. I am sure no one would fault us for anticipating the wedding by a few hours.”

  She stared at his red face, her stomach churning. He thought her no better than she should be, and the circumstances from her past bore this out. Still, she couldn’t do it, especially not in the family room. “I am certain I would not feel comfortable, Lord Robert, doing so in my parents’ home without the benefit of marriage vows between us. Look what happened to me the last time I so let my guard down.”

  Breathing in short, ragged bursts, Lord Robert stared longingly at her. “But we will be married—”

  “That gentleman had every intention of marrying me until he was prevented.” She blinked back tears. What use was it to deny him? It would all come to the same pass tomorrow night. Still, a niggling voice in her head urged her to wait. Have one last night to herself before taking up her wifely duties with this man, in a marriage which she now understood would not be postponed. One short, final night of freedom. She backed toward the door. “I will say good night, my lord. We shall see each other in the morning at the church.”

  “At the church?” His eyes were large and round as an owl’s.

  “Yes, of course.” Elizabeth had gained the door frame. “It would be bad luck for you to see me before we are wed.”

  “You believe such pagan poppycock?” Lord Robert looked entirely offended and somewhat displeased with her.

  Elizabeth’s heart struck a wild beat, hoping that such an irrational belief might be too unorthodox for this scholarly man.

  Instead of an explosion of displeasure, however, her betrothed merely sighed deeply. “Very well. I will see you at the church. However, we will have a discussion about your reliance on such animalistic claptrap instead of good, sound logic. A discussion that will begin tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, my lord. Until tomorrow, then?” Not the usual wedding night conversation, but then this would not be a usual wedding nor marriage, she would wager. Elizabeth sped through the doorway, turned right down the corridor, and fled toward the staircase. Her first thought was to flee to the stable, order the carriage, and demand to be taken back to Lyttlefield Park. Her heart fluttered faster at the thought of such a sanctuary. However, it would do no good, save to embroil Charlotte in her troubles. Neither would marching into her father’s chamber and announcing she could not marry Lord Robert.

  Father could, perhaps, be persuaded, despite his fondness for Lord Robert. She had always been able to wheedle him down, given enough time. Mama, however, would hound her worse than a beagle after a fox, until she was assured the scandal was put to bed. Of course, she would disregard the fact that Elizabeth would be put to bed as well, and with a man not of her choosing.

  Fighting to compose herself, Elizabeth mounted the stairs, willing herself to calm. On the second floor, she still hurried down the silent hall. How had it become so late? No light shone underneath her sisters’ doors. They must have retired long ago. Time was flying past, racing toward her wedding day. She shuddered as she opened the door, a sudden chill skittering down her spine.

  The well-appointed room was warm and inviting. The fire had been made up, crackling and hissing in the grate. The bed had been turned down, and her night rail laid out for her. A pity she could not take the maid with her, but Weller must remain to attend her sisters. Would Lord Robert allow her a maid? So many things one wanted to know but did not think to ask. The biggest question still remained to be dealt with: How was she to actually force herself to marry Lord Robert tomorrow?

  Arms clutched across her chest, Elizabeth paced to the window, looking out into the inky blackness, every ounce of her being urging her to go, to try to get to Jemmy. The sheer impossibility of it weighted her down like a boulder, and an overwhelming grief poured through her. She stumbled back and sank into a chair before the fire, tears streaming down her face. How could she marry Lord Robert—or anyone, for that matter, other than Jemmy? She would be utterly miserable for the rest of her life, trapped with a man she did not love.

  Schemes bloomed like a summer garden. Could she run away somewhere to have the baby where no one would know? Had she unlimited funds, perhaps. She could go to the Continent. Was it too late to discuss this with her parents? Perhaps it would work if they gave out that her grief for Dickon had become so overwhelming she must leave England, and all its memories, for some undetermined time. The ton would believe that. Her devotion to Dickon had been unquestioned in society.

  But what of Colin and Kate? She slumped as another impediment to her scheme surfaced. Could she manage them by herself through the final stages of a pregnancy and the early days of her child’s infancy? It would be hard enough if she stayed here at home with the help of Mama and Papa. She couldn’t handle anything without the support of her family.

  Hopeless. It was utterly hopeless. Her sobs renewed, her chest hurting so badly she cried harder just to push the tears out and rid her of the pain. A wrenching pain she feared she would face for the rest of her life.

  Chapter 24

  Frantic knocking at the secret door brought Jemmy up off his bed, wh
ere he’d been lying, moping, for the better part of the day. Furious with himself for not being able to break out of his room, he’d finally paced himself into exhaustion and thrown himself onto the mattress.

  Hurrying to the panel, he cursed their father once more. If such things had real teeth, the man would have died a horrible death before now. Jemmy shoved the panel aside, and Georgie stumbled in, clutching a candlestick, a cobweb draped over one ear and plaster dust speckling her blue gown. One look at her face, eyes wide and frightened, and he gripped her arm. “What has happened?”

  “Jemmy, oh, I am so sorry.” Her face had blanched whiter than snow as she held out a folded piece of paper. “The afternoon post just arrived. Charlotte sent it in a letter to me.”

  He snatched it from her hand. “It’s not opened. How do you know—”

  “Charlotte’s letter.” Tears leaked from Georgie’s eyes. “Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth’s . . .”

  “What?” His heart turned to ice.

  “She’s marrying a friend of her father’s to give your child a name.”

  Like a physical blow, the words took the breath away from him, rendering him dumb. He stared at Georgie as she continued to talk but could hear nothing she said. Elizabeth to marry someone else? Why in God’s name would she do such a thing so quickly? They’d parted not quite a week ago, convinced they would find a way to wed. He caught his breath, and Georgie’s voice penetrated his shocked senses.

  “. . . only thing that could have happened. I never dreamed Charlotte would tell her that.”

  “Tell who what?” Staring at the folded square in his hand, dread filled him once more.

  “That you were locked up and Father wouldn’t let you go until you married Lady Maude.”

  Georgie wrung her hands and sniffed. “I was only trying to make sure, if someone opened my letter, that they’d be reassured we were cowed by Father’s order and not trying to escape. I never imagined Charlotte might tell Elizabeth that, but, of course, she would believe Elizabeth needed to know. I knew it was false, so I guess I thought she’d know it was false too, although I don’t know why she would think that.” Georgie stopped and looked at his letter. “Aren’t you going to read it?”