by Jenna Jaxon
“Come, Mama.” Elizabeth slid her arm around her mother’s shoulders, trying to steer her away.
“She was sweet, and perhaps the best woman I have ever known.” Lord Blackham’s words fell like a stone into a well.
The plaintive tone, so foreign to the marquess’s normal voice, made Elizabeth jerk her head around. “And you did not marry again, did you my lord, after her death?”
“There was no need, Elizabeth. He’d gotten the two things he wanted most, children and to hurt me for my refusal.” Mama’s tears began in earnest. “He didn’t need another wife.”
“With five young children and a marquessate to manage, he needed all the help he could get, I imagine.” Something lurked in the back of Lord Blackham’s eyes, something she’d not seen before. “You didn’t want to replace her, did you my lord?” If she poked at him enough, perhaps they’d arrive at the truth. “You fell in love with her, didn’t you?”
Waving a hand, Lord Blackham suddenly turned away, hiding his face. “We had had sufficient children. I did not feel that I need marry again.” He turned back, his hand crashing down on the table. “Louisa and I had a perfectly fine marriage without all the trappings of love. Had you married me, Amelia, you would have understood how that could be an asset.”
“Because it would be inconvenient to grieve a wife that you loved, I suppose?” Men could be such cowards about love. Elizabeth shook her head. “So sad to deny your love for your wife because you might lose her. I suspect you and Mama would have had a much less successful marriage together.”
“Neither would Elizabeth nor your son be here today.” Papa strode into the office, followed closely by Jemmy, who rushed to her side.
“Wentworth, thank goodness.” Throwing herself into Papa’s arms, Mama burst into tears. He enfolded her in his arms and glared at Lord Blackham over her bonnet.
Elizabeth flung herself into Jemmy’s arms, praying the nightmare of the day would soon be over.
“Are you all right, my love?” He kissed her cheek and held her tightly against him. “What has he done to you?”
Lowering her voice, she whispered in his ear, “Only talked to Mama about her refusal of him long ago. This whole scheme seems to hinge on his revenge for a very trivial slight. Has he always been this vindictive?”
Jemmy chuckled, sotto voce. “You do not know the half of it, my dear.” He rubbed his face and glanced at his father; he and Papa were squaring off like two roosters in a hen coop. “I think we must tell him about the child. It may be the only thing that will change his mind.”
“Blackham, this is outrageous.” Papa had drawn himself up and puffed out his chest. “How dare you abduct my wife and daughter? How dare you interfere with the children’s plans to marry? If you won’t allow them to wed in London, then, by God, we’ll see them all the way to Gretna Green, if we have to fight off your men at every tollgate.”
“We have friends, Father. Perhaps not as influential as yours, but people who will stand beside us and help us do what is right.” Jemmy drew Elizabeth toward the dark desk. “No matter what you do, we will find a way to marry.”
“After a quarter of a century, can you not let this go?” Papa implored him.
Lord Blackham glared at all of them, face like a stone gargoyle.
“My lord,” Elizabeth spoke up quickly before the marquess could begin. “Your son and I will marry. Not only because we love each other, but because we must.” Squeezing Jemmy’s hand, she raised her chin and continued. “I am carrying his child. Perhaps his heir. Your heir. Is that precious commodity something you would destroy by preventing our marriage?”
Lord Blackham’s face twisted with the shock of disbelief, eyes opened wide, then instantly narrowed. “You lie.”
Jemmy surged toward his father, mayhem in his eyes.
Grabbing his arm, Elizabeth hauled him back. “Wait.” She turned to Blackham. “It could be a lie, though it is not.”
“You would have told me when you came to Blackham Castle.”
“Your son wanted to. I pressed for his silence so you could not use my condition against me,” she said carefully, staring full into his eyes. “As, I am told, you have in fact already done.”
“Lady Locke is from home this winter, Blackham.” Mama looked up long enough to throw the words at him. “This pair will be long wed before she reads your slanderous words.”
A glint in his eye, the marquess opened a drawer in the desk and fished around. “I withheld this after Brack escaped the castle.” He tossed a letter onto the desk, the direction clearly for Lady Locke’s home in London. “Once he left, the duke withdrew his daughter’s acceptance. If Brack felt so strongly about you, young woman, I’d likely get no cooperation from him, letter or no. And I wanted no stigma attached to an heir on the off chance there would be one sometime.” He stared at Elizabeth with the unblinking gaze of a snake ready to strike. “Do you vow that you are carrying Brack’s child? My grandchild.”
“I do, my lord. Almost three months now. He, or she, will be born sometime in July.” Elizabeth gave Jemmy’s hand a squeeze as her heart dared to hope for the first time that all would be right. “Are you willing to let the past go? If my mother wronged you in any way, let that old feud be laid to rest. Let this new life, a new generation, bring our families together. You and my mother will share grandchildren, just as you might have in other circumstances. Let that legacy of hate turn to one filled with love, for the child’s sake.”
“For all our sakes,” Jemmy added, then sucked in a breath. “May we have your blessing, Father?”
The marquess’s face had undergone a transformation as soon as Elizabeth spoke of the child to come. The brooding eyes, the lowered brows had relaxed into an almost pleasant countenance. “I will give my consent to the marriage on one condition,” he pronounced, sitting back in his chair.
“Name it,” she and Jemmy shouted together and laughed.
“The condition is that you will name this child after me if it is my heir. If it is not, then whenever the heir is produced, he will carry my name.”
“That’s all?” Incredulous at this simple request, Elizabeth looked from Jemmy to her parents, all of whom seemed equally stunned.
“Yes. Your mother would never let me name any of the children after me.” Lord Blackham’s mouth pursed as if peeved. “I always wanted my heir named after me, but that was the one thing she ever refused me.”
“But the heir will bear your title, my lord. Is that not enough?” Not that she was protesting; however, if the marquess’s wife had denied this to him, Elizabeth could only imagine what that name might be.
“No. His full name will be my name.” Blackham stared them down.
“Is it truly that dreadful?” What was the worst name she could think of? Marmaduke? That was rather hideous. Octavius? But he wasn’t an eighth son.
“It is distinguished, madam. I don’t know why the marchioness didn’t see it that way,” he snorted.
Giving up, Elizabeth shrugged and asked Jemmy, “So what is it?”
“Deuce if I know,” Jemmy returned her shrug. “I always thought I was named for Father. This is news to me.”
“Mama?” Her parents were fidgeting, not a good sign.
“Well, I believe his first name is Dionysus.” Mama wrung her hands. “I have heard that name accepted in ton circles. Once.”
“Hah.” Blackham scoffed, his eyes filled with glee. “I told you that, Amelia, but I wanted to surprise you at our wedding. I will assure you, Dionysus is not my first name. And you must agree to the name to get my blessing.” He looked expectantly at the pair of them.
“Oh, dear.” Dionysus. That was dreadful. And it wasn’t even the correct one. Elizabeth’s stomach began to roil. She would love the baby, no matter what they named it.
“Yes, Father.”
“Yes, my lord.” Elizabeth looked at Jemmy and sent a prayer heavenward that the name would not be too outrageous. “We will agree to name him whatever
you like as long as we can be married.”
“Very well, then you have my consent and blessing.” The older man cackled, and Elizabeth feared he would jump up and cut a caper on the carpet.
“Thank you, my lord.” Now for Worth House and some much-needed rest.
“Father,” Jemmy paused as he turned to go. “Why this whole abduction scheme if you knew there could be no marriage between me and the duke’s daughter? Why risk harming Elizabeth and her mother by bringing them here?”
His father shrugged, the ghost of his smile returning. “I had not done with my revenge yet. I had waited more than twenty years to make her feel guilty about what she had done to me. I wanted to see her, make her squirm for a change.” Lord Blackham chuckled, a dreadful sound. “Also, I had a few more tricks in my deck, inducements that might have worked, had Mrs. Easton not already been breeding. I told you widows with children had an advantage, didn’t I, Brack?”
Anger in his eye, Jemmy started to turn back to his father.
Elizabeth took his arm firmly and compelled him out the door.
“Good day, Blackham.” Papa whisked Mama after them. They followed Elizabeth and Jemmy to the front of the house, until Mama halted in the foyer, and whirled to stare straight at Papa. “Wentworth! Do you know what this means?”
Dazed, Papa shook his head.
“I shall have to organize two weddings at the same time!”
Epilogue
Elizabeth stretched and settled down with a sigh next to Jemmy in her bed at Worth House. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, quite a contrast to their turbulent betrothal. Even the weather had cooperated, and the sun had shone brightly as they had left St. George’s, laughing in relief that they were finally, truly man and wife.
The wedding breakfast had lasted forever, it seemed, with both sides of the family wishing them happy. Charlotte and her other widow friends had attended, including Georgie, under dispensation from the marquess. Elizabeth hoped once she and Jemmy settled on a residence, they’d be able to convince his father to let her come to them, at least until her marriage was finalized or they could persuade him to break the betrothal with Travers. One hurdle at a time.
Basking in the afterglow of their first intimacy as a legally wedded couple, Elizabeth sighed in contentment. Truly, she could wish for nothing more save . . .
“When do you think we shall find out what we are to name this child?” She slipped her hand over her belly, reveling in the tiny flutterings she had just begun to feel yesterday.
“Hmmm?” Jemmy sleepily tuned over toward her, running a finger down the curve of her breast, bringing her nipple to quick attention again.
“I still don’t know what we must name our child, Jemmy. I can’t help but dread it. And knowing your father, he’s liable not to tell us until we are standing with the godparents at the christening font.”
Jemmy chuckled and slid close enough to grab her nipple in his lips, his tongue flicking the tip.
“And I thought you were asleep,” she purred and pressed him closer, waves of desire beginning to rise once more down below. Her second marriage would apparently be as lively as her first.
“On our wedding night? Perish the thought.” He kissed her breasts, and his shaft bumped against the seam of her legs.
“You will have to keep me completely occupied for the next six months so I will not think about what your father might be named. Do you think it very bad?” She had to have asked him that a thousand times in the past three weeks.
“Well, it is not what you would call a common name, no.” He rolled them so he lay atop her. As his prodding member made its demands known, she opened for him, eager as he to join together again.
“What do you mean ‘not common’? Of course, we know it’s not common. Your mother wouldn’t name you this dreaded name.”
“It’s truly not that bad, Elizabeth.” He groaned as he seated himself deep within her. “Oh, love, you are glorious.”
Heat kindled at her core as he began the long, slow strokes that drove her wild. “Hmmm. That feels so nice, Jemmy.” But he was distracting her. What had he just said? “What do you mean it’s ‘not that bad’?” What’s not that bad? His name? Do you know what it is?” She jolted up in bed, flinging Jemmy off her in her excitement.
“Good Lord, Elizabeth. You can’t just do that to a man mid-ride.” He threw himself on his back on the mattress beside her.
“I’m sorry, my love, but you found out your father’s name? How?” Elizabeth sat up in the bed, the disheveled sheets pooling around her hips.
“When Aunt Augusta wished me happy at the wedding breakfast, I took the opportunity to ask her if she knew Father’s Christian name. And she did.” He grinned up at her, wickedness in his eyes.
“Oh, my goodness. What is it? Is it truly awful?” Elizabeth held her breath.
“Well, it is certainly a Christian name.” Jemmy reached out and cupped her breasts.
“Ahhh.” His touch always drove her wild. She wanted him to sink himself into her again, but she was even more determined to know that name. “What is it?”
His laugh echoed in the chamber as he slowly rose up and pushed her back onto the mattress. “Now, where were we?”
Groaning with too many kinds of frustration, Elizabeth threw her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. “Here.”
He slid home once again and, with several quick thrusts, brought her to perfect completion again.
She shuddered around him and sank into the mattress, completely sated this time. She might not wake up until evening tomorrow.
Jemmy lay panting and smiling beside her. “Onesiphorus.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Onesiphorus. That is Father’s first name. An early Christian elder, at least that’s what Aunt Augusta told me. She always considered herself lucky to merely be named after her father’s mother.” Jemmy raised up on his elbow. “So now we know, are we going to renege on the promise? We’re married, there’s nothing Father can do to us if we name him something else.”
Stunned, but recovering, Elizabeth slowly shook her head. “He seems so set and proud on having this child bear his name. I somehow can’t quite take that away from him.” She took Jemmy’s face in her hands. “As long as we are together, I won’t mind a jot if we name our son Marmaduke, or Jehoshaphat, or Onesiphorus.” She snuggled into her husband’s arms. After all, what was in a name?
Their future finally looked bright as a shooting star. Pray God it continued so.
