Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  Pharaoh cleared the door, and they were out in the cold night air, cantering down the driveway as if a pack of hell-hounds were nipping at their heels.

  Jemmy raised his face and shouted victoriously into the dark sky, peppered with stars and the half-moon, now hidden behind a cloud. He’d made his escape, though not as secretively as he’d hoped. That mattered much less now he was free. At the end of the driveway, he slowed the horse to a trot and turned him for the village. Once there, he’d pick up the post road, and if the clouds didn’t continue to hang over the moon, he’d have a clear path on ’til dawn.

  There would be pursuit, no doubt. Father would try his best to get him back, but he had a head start and a determination, borne of desperation, to evade his father’s men. Add a trick or two up his sleeve to throw them off the scent, and he just might win home to Elizabeth.

  Suddenly, the moon sailed from behind the veil of clouds, shining a dazzling light onto the shadowy road. Perhaps their fortunes had changed. He urged Pharaoh back into a ground-eating canter. So far, so good.

  “Hold on, Elizabeth,” he said grimly into the night. “I’m coming.”

  Chapter 26

  The vestibule of St. George’s Church, London, had absolutely no heat. Elizabeth stood shivering, white puffs of breath showing as she clutched her father’s arm, wishing herself anywhere but where she was. She peered through the tiny window of the vestibule door into the church proper, empty save for Mama and Lord Robert. The rector had gone to retrieve the registry and thaw the inkpot. “I still do not understand why this wedding had to be performed so quickly, Papa.”

  “It will be over in a few minutes, Elizabeth. Then you can get on with making a home with Robert. I daresay he’s not the most eligible man in your eyes, but he is a good man.” Papa looked down his long nose at her, as if she were impugning Lord Robert’s sterling reputation.

  “I understand that he’s a good man, Papa. I truly do. What I don’t understand is why we have to marry on only one day’s acquaintance. Why can’t we wait to have the banns read? That would take only two weeks. There would be no greater scandal than there will be now.” She needed time to make her peace with the fact that she would be marrying a man she didn’t love and that the man she did love, and who loved her, would be marrying someone else as well. Did no one else understand that her feelings mattered as much as the reputation of the family?

  “Do you believe a longer acquaintance will change your opinion of Robert?” Raised eyebrows said her father sensed this was not her true argument.

  “Perhaps.” If she went to hell for lying in church, then so be it.

  Papa sighed and stamped his feet. Hers had frozen long ago. She could no longer feel her toes in her blue slippers. If only her heart were so conveniently icy.

  “I know you do not feel for Robert what you felt for Easton or even what you may have imagined you felt for this Lord Brack.” His lips drew inward, displeasure in every line. “However, you are fooling yourself, Elizabeth, if you think by delaying a day, or two or three, you will be more accepting of this marriage. ’Tis best done quickly, as Shakespeare put it. Once it is done, you can begin to learn to get along together.”

  Her father, however, would not be the one to share his life, or his bed, with a complete stranger. With a man she feared she would respect but never come to esteem. Lord Robert had wonderful qualities, she was sure, but he wasn’t Jemmy. And that made all the difference.

  The mere thought of his name made her weak. How could she live if she could never see him again? Even if she couldn’t marry him, she would be free to continue to love him. She might break her vow to Lord Robert, to cleave only unto him, as soon as it was made, but she could not stop loving Jemmy.

  What if she rebelled? What could they actually do to her if she refused to marry Lord Robert? The rector would refuse to marry them if she did not willingly agree to the marriage. Did she have the courage, when the time came, to say “no”?

  “Ah, here is Reverend Newcastle now.” Papa tightened his grip on her arm. “It’ll be all over soon, now.”

  Mouth dry, Elizabeth swallowed convulsively, then opened her mouth to tell Papa she couldn’t do this, but he was already propelling her through the door and down the aisle.

  Lord Robert turned to look at her, and her feet became unruly. They seemed to stick to the floor rather than want to send her down the aisle toward what she suddenly understood was the worst mistake of her life. Her groom smiled as she approached, and her heart thudded faster.

  “Pick up your feet, Elizabeth,” Papa hissed, almost pulling her along. “I don’t want Lord Robert to think I’m dragging you to the altar.”

  Well, that was exactly what he was doing. Dutifully, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and quickened her pace. What she would do when she reached the smiling rector at the end of the aisle and the time came to take her vows she had no idea.

  On her father’s arm, she passed her mother sitting in the first row, her green spencer a splash of color against the severe, dark wood of the pew. Mama had bespoken a new hat for the occasion, cream-colored, with lace and tiny flowers scattered all over it. She peeped out from beneath the brim of this frothy confection, to pierce her with a steely eye. If Elizabeth jilted Lord Robert now, Mama would likely disown her. Biting her lips, Elizabeth walked on.

  At last, they stood before the rector and Papa handed her over to Lord Robert. She took his blue-clad arm gingerly, suddenly unwilling to touch him. This uncertainty would drive her mad. Best to get it over with and try to make a life somehow. She looked up into his face, and Jemmy’s mischievous grin smiled back at her.

  He was here! The unruly golden curls, the straight nose, merry blue eyes, broad comforting shoulders. They were to marry after all. Her heart sung with joy.

  Elizabeth blinked and the beloved features melted into the affable but older, less familiar face of Lord Robert. She bit her tongue to stifle a cry of disappointment. Batting her eyes rapidly several times to stem the tide of tears that threatened to cascade in a torrent down her cheeks, she swallowed the lump in her throat as the rector began the service.

  “Dearly beloved. We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”

  Time seemed to slow down. The rector’s voice droned on and on. Surely, he would soon get to the crucial point, yet she still didn’t know what to do when he did. Her stomach trembled, and she gripped Lord Robert’s arm tighter. What must she do?

  Loud banging in the vestibule snapped Elizabeth out of her lethargy. Who was making that frightful noise?

  Angry voices rose over Mr. Newcastle’s quivering, quiet tones. “Who gives this woman to be married?”

  “I do.” Papa kissed her forehead. “You’ll be fine, my dear,” he whispered, then frowned as he gazed toward the door at the back of the church.

  The disturbance had not abated.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Newcastle. I’ll just have a look. Please, continue.” Papa hurried toward the vestibule door. He’d not gotten halfway down the aisle when the door burst open, so forcefully it hit the wall behind it and bounced back.

  Hair gloriously disheveled, a fine blond stubble on his cheeks, eyes streaked with red, jacket and boots stained with mud, Jemmy strode through the doorway.

  “Jemmy.” Never had anything looked so wonderful. Elizabeth dropped Lord Robert’s arm.

  “I demand that you stop this wedding.” Jemmy strode down the aisle, brushing past Papa with a look that would have frozen a lesser man. He reached Elizabeth and grabbed her hand. “This woman is betrothed to me.”

  “That betrothal was broken when you contracted to marry another lady.” Papa waded into the thick of things.

  Lord Robert stood unmoving, his eyes wide, leaning backward as if he intended to flee.

  “I never contracted with her.” Jemmy drew himself up to his haughty best. “My father advanced the marriage, but I am long past the age when he coul
d command me. Neither can he compel me to marry anyone against my will. And I swear before God it would be against my will if my bride was anyone other than Elizabeth.”

  “See here, my lord—”

  “Mr. Newcastle, proceed with the wedding.” Mama’s commanding voice cut above the lower registers of the men. “Elizabeth will marry Lord Robert. She has agreed to it.”

  Mr. Newcastle eyed Jemmy dubiously but dutifully opened his mouth.

  “I, however, have the prior claim, my lady.” Jemmy glared at her mother, and his hand gripped Elizabeth’s arm tighter. “Mr. Newcastle, you would do well to desist, sir. I am the Earl of Brack and as such demand that you hear me out.” He glanced around at the little gathering, his bright blue eyes wild. “I’ll have you know that, since last night, I have crawled out of a window, shimmied down twenty feet of twisted sheets, stolen a horse, come close to being shot, ridden all night long—getting lost twice—and have finally arrived here to claim my bride.” Sliding his gaze directly to Mama, he fixed her with an unyielding gaze. “Or shall I give Mr. Newcastle another, more personal reason why Elizabeth should wed me instead of Lord Robert?”

  “How dare you threaten us with some made-up scandalous rumor about my daughter?” Papa stepped forward, standing in front of Jemmy, his chin thrust out and puffing out his chest.

  “Scandalous perhaps, but truth all the same.” Jemmy gave him a withering look, and Papa stepped back. “Shall I tell the truth and shame the devil?”

  Enough was enough. Elizabeth rolled her eyes back in her head, let her legs buckle, and hoped Jemmy would catch her.

  “Elizabeth!” Jemmy’s reflexes were excellent, thank goodness. He nimbly caught her against him and lowered her to the floor.

  “Elizabeth! Fetch some water.” Papa’s voice held an urgency she’d seldom heard.

  “Smelling salts.” Mama would, of course, be practical. “I have some in my reticule.” Lord, she hated that smell but steeled herself for it.

  “Elizabeth.” Jemmy patted her hands. “Can you hear me?”

  She continued silent, limp as wilted lettuce.

  “Stand back.” Suddenly, she was borne into the air in Jemmy’s strong arms. Through slitted eyelids, she could see the church pews speed by as he carried her back down the aisle, through the broken door to the vestibule, heading outside.

  As soon as the cold air hit her face, and she could assume they were away from her family, she fluttered her eyelids open.

  Jemmy stopped, concern etched on his brow. “Elizabeth? Are you all right?”

  Her smile spread so broad she feared her cheeks would crack. “Jemmy, oh, Jemmy!” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, never wanting to let him go.

  “Elizabeth. My God,” he said when he could speak again. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, disentangling them until she stood on her feet again. Passing his hand over his face, he sighed, looking like he wanted to drop down in the street. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly fine, now.” She pulled him into her arms, lacing her fingers together behind his back. Let someone try to take him from her. “I know how to stop a wedding, don’t I? The swoon was a false one this time, however.” She cupped his cheek, the prickles of a day’s growth of beard scratching against her fingers. “Oh, Jemmy, was all that true that you said in the church? Did you really climb down the castle wall at Blackham and ride through the night?”

  “I did indeed.” Leaning his head against her forehead, he stroked her arm tenderly. “And I’d do it again and much, much more if I was assured of such a wonderful outcome.” He straightened, and his face took on a hollow, haunted look. “Elizabeth, I was terrified I’d be too late. I pushed the poor horses until they were almost lame.” With a sheepish grin, he raised his right hand. “I swear I will go back along the way and pay for good feeding and care for every horse I rode between Red Hill and here.”

  “Bless every one of them.” She dove back at him, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tight. “I cannot believe you are real. I told myself you couldn’t come.” Tears of relief trickled down her cheeks. “I almost lost you.”

  “It was a near thing, I grant you. I did hit upon a piece of luck. Georgie had told me your father’s house was in St. James Square, but she didn’t know the number. When I rode into the square an hour ago, I was looking to and fro, fearing I’d never find the right house, when a maid out on some errand stopped and asked if I needed help. She pointed out the correct establishment.” He grinned and wiped her cheeks with his thumb, his touch like silk on her skin. “I knocked and, when it opened, hurriedly told the butler I was Lord Robert’s brother in search of the wedding, and he directed me here. If I’d had to knock on several doors . . .” He kissed her again. “I arrived not a moment too soon.”

  “No, you did not.” Relief finally began to spread through her. The nightmare was almost over. “So when can we be married, my love? I don’t want anyone or anything to ever come between us and our happiness again.” The mere idea of what could have happened had Jemmy been delayed at all made her truly faint.

  “We’ll discuss it with your parents.” He moved away from her as the door to St. George’s opened, spilling out Mama and Papa and poor Lord Robert, looking dazed.

  “I’ll write when I arrive in Shropshire, Wentworth. I wish you and your family a Merry Christmas.” Lord Robert bowed to them, then turned his steps toward her.

  A fluttering fear—born of guilt, she supposed—lodged itself in her breast. What would she say to the man?

  Jemmy fell back a pace but remained behind her, a staunch support.

  That she had acted badly had already occurred to her; that she could have acted in no different manner at all had also crossed her mind. Still, Lord Robert had been willing to come to her aid. She owed him her thanks, and an apology.

  “Lord Robert—”

  He held up a hand and shook his head. “You need say nothing, my dear.” He eyed Jemmy, then returned his gaze to her. “Our marriage was always a matter of convenience, and now I find it is for the best if our arrangement come to an end. Lord Brack seems perfectly willing and capable of taking care of you.” He shuddered. “More than capable, I would say. And if one’s heart lies elsewhere, then it is a disservice to all if that call is not answered.”

  “Lord Robert, you are a true gentleman. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your gallant offer of marriage, although I find it is not required after all.” She dragged Jemmy forward. “Lord Robert Naylor, may I present Lord Brack. Lord Robert was prepared to come to my rescue when we believed you unavoidably detained.”

  “My lord.” Lord Robert bowed slightly.

  “My lord.” Jemmy made a more formal bow. “I am in your debt for the care and assistance you have rendered to my betrothed.” There was an ever-so-slight emphasis on the word “my” that thrilled Elizabeth to no end.

  “Not a’tall, my lord.” Lord Robert nodded, a bit more cordially. “I am glad if I could render my services to Mrs. Easton. She is a lovely woman.” His blue eyes intensified as he gazed at her.

  Heat rose to Elizabeth’s face under such scrutiny.

  “You are a very fortunate man, Lord Brack.” Another piercing stare at her, and she lowered her gaze. “Very fortunate indeed. Should you ever require my assistance again, my dear, your father knows how to find me. Good day, Mrs. Easton, Lord Brack.”

  Sighing deeply, Elizabeth took Jemmy’s arm as Lord Robert’s tall, straight figure wound its way toward his carriage. “He is a very good man. I will pray each night that he finds the happiness he deserves, whether that is alone with his books and studies or with a good wife who will be fond of him and take care of him as he writes his manuscripts.”

  “Well, I give you leave to pray for Lord Robert, and even to be fond of him, as he did attempt a very chivalrous deed for you and your family. However”—Jemmy paused and trapped her hand in both of his—“a fondness is as far as it may go.”

  Elizabeth laug
hed, a great weight rolling off her shoulders. “I agree, my love. You shall hear no argument from me on that particular.”

  The approaching figures of Papa and Mama, faces sullen, said Elizabeth’s trials were far from over. She quickly dropped Jemmy’s hands but raised her chin and set her jaw. She’d not antagonize them, but neither would she allow them to sway her from her chosen path. “Mama. Papa, I would like to present—”

  “Come, Elizabeth.” Glancing first at her, then briefly at Jemmy, Mama took Papa’s arm and urged him toward the landau. “Please get into the carriage before we become even more of a public spectacle.”

  Lord, more battles to face. But with Jemmy here, they could face them together.

  “I would like to present—”

  “You heard your mother, Elizabeth.” Papa’s tone was as cold as the two stygian pools that were his eyes.

  Puffing out the frigid air, Elizabeth set her shoulders back. If her parents wanted this fight here and now, so be it. They would not give her beloved the cut direct, not after everything he had gone through to get here. She’d walk every step of the way home if she had to. “I’ll not enter that carriage until you agree to the introduction. I do not care that you disapprove of my choices, Mama. They are mine to make. And I will not allow you to slight the man I love, the man I am going to marry.”

  “Elizabeth,” Jemmy spoke quietly behind her. “Perhaps we should—”

  “No.” She raised a forbidding finger to him. “They will acknowledge you this instant, or I will walk every step of the way home. I am done being told what I shall and shall not do.” Swinging back around on her parents, she almost gasped to see their mouths hanging open. Good. At last, they were paying attention to her. “Who I shall and shall not marry.”

  Papa coughed, and Mama sent him a familiar sideways look, one of her standards that said, “I’ll take care of this,” when their eyes met.