Much Ado about a Widow (The Widows' Club Book 4)

by Jenna Jaxon

  “I appreciate that, Lady Georgina. Far be it from me to suggest you are not a lady.” His eyes twinkled. He was enjoying her discomfort far too much for a gentleman. “However, the Justine has an alternate plan for boarding you, never fear. Cartwright,” he called loudly, bringing forth a sudden thumping of feet on the planks of the ship.

  Georgie gazed up, and the pale blond head of a sailor appeared over the railing.

  “Aye, Captain. You ready to—” Cartwright’s words stopped as though cut off with a pair of sharp scissors. His deep blue eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Beggin’ your pardon, milord, but what is happening?”

  “Stand easy, Cartwright. We have new guests who require both our assistance and our discretion. Please lower the rope sling for the ladies.”

  “Aye, Captain.” The lad disappeared as quickly as he had come.

  Georgie looked back to shore. No sign of Odd Fellow. However, that did not mean he might not have followed her. As little as she wished to admit it, she would be extremely safe moored out here in the harbor. A glance at Clara found her maid looking expectantly at her, eager to get on board. They were all tired, even Lulu. Georgie closed her eyes, summoning strength. “Very well. What do we do?”

  “Once Cartwright lowers the sling, may I suggest you allow your maid to ascend first? That way you can hand Miss Lulu up to her. Then you will ascend, and I will follow up the ladder.”

  “Here she comes, Captain.”

  A bundle of ropes dropped into the boat, attached to a thick, single one that led up to one of the ship’s masts.

  The marquess tugged at the tangled mass, revealing a sling of sorts, and gestured to Clara. “Stand here. Now grasp these ropes here and here and simply sit down.”

  “Yes, my lord.” One terrified glance at Georgie, and Clara deliberately shut her eyes. She grasped the ropes as she had been told and sat. The device swung slightly.

  “Ohhh, I don’t like this, my lady.”

  “You are doing fine.” Lord St. Just steadied the device. “Don’t look down. Keep your eyes closed if that makes you more comfortable, but keep your hands firmly anchored on the ropes, and try to relax.”

  The maid grimaced, and clung to the ropes.

  “Excellent, Clara. Lady Georgina would do well to mark what you are doing. Here we go. Hoist away, Cartwright.” St. Just continued a running commentary, offering advice on everything from the best footwear to use onboard to the ratio of flour to mix into biscuit dough. The man seemed to know something about everything, whether or not it applied to the ship. But before she knew it, Clara had reached the deck and was leaning over the rail to take the barking Lulu from Georgie.

  Cartwright lowered the sling again, and St. Just turned to Georgie. “Now up you go, my lady. You need to get on board to restrain your wild animal.” He held the ropes out to her.

  “I will have you know that Lulu is a perfectly behaved King Charles spaniel. She becomes disturbed when in the company of unsavory . . . characters.” Georgie fixed him with a bold stare, then grasped the ropes and sat down. “You had better be careful, my lord. She has been known to bite.”

  “An excellent guard dog, then. Cave canem, as the Romans would have said.” He laughed, and Georgie gritted her teeth to keep in a retort. Lord St. Just was helping them, she had to remind herself. She could restrain her animosity toward him for the few hours it might take to arrange for lodgings for them for the night and send a letter to her father.

  Despite her misgivings, Georgie had reluctantly admitted to the necessity of informing her father of her situation so he could either send more men to rescue the carriage, or send another carriage for her, her maid, and the dog. The Justine was the perfect place for them to hide until all the arrangements could be made. Then she could thank Lord St. Just for his assistance, and they could be on their way before the sun set.

  Before she quite knew she had begun, Georgie found herself swinging over the side of the railing, her feet on firm ground again. The clever gentleman had distracted her just enough to keep her mind occupied while she was lifted onboard. She pursed her lips. His cleverness irked her.

  “I’ll show you to the main cabin, ladies.” St. Just leaped nimbly over the railing. “Then we can speak in comfort and privacy. Cartwright, you’ll need to go ashore and collect the others. I couldn’t wait for them, obviously. And . . .” He paused in the act of showing them to a corridor and turned back to the sailor. “Bring tea please, before you go. I am certain the ladies could use a cup after their ordeal.”

  “Very good, Captain.” The sailor bobbed his head and scurried off.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Clara gave a curtsy. “I could indeed do with a cup. I’ve never been so frightened in my life as I was today.”

  “Tea will set you to rights quicker than anything else, Clara. This way, if you please.” He led them toward a dim corridor.

  As they walked, Georgie took in the ship, her curiosity sharp. The deck planking was spotlessly clean and oddly empty of any goods. The ship was also eerily silent. “If I hadn’t seen Mr. Cartwright, I would wonder if this was your ship at all, my lord. Where is the rest of your crew?”

  “They have gone ashore to fetch the cargo I came for, my lady. Cartwright was left aboard to man the ship. This way, please. You should be out of the cold as soon as may be.” St. Just led them down a flight of steps to a sizeable cabin, paneled in teak and mahogany woods and furnished as a sitting room, with an iron stove that threw off blessed heat.

  Like a magnet seeking its mate, Georgie made a beeline for it, holding out her hands to the lovely streams of warmth. Clara followed right behind her, and Lulu sat at her feet, yawning. Georgie stifled one of her own. After so much cold, the heat was making her sleepy. She struggled to keep her eyes open.

  “When you’re sufficiently thawed, please have a seat over here.” St. Just indicated a comfortable-looking wing-backed chair next to him and a smaller chair beside it. “I am most eager to hear of your adventures, Lady Georgina.”

  Something in his voice, perhaps a touch of sarcasm, irritated Georgie to no end. Apparently, his lordship still didn’t believe her story, and that irritated her even more. Straightening her shoulders, she strode to the chair he had indicated and sat primly on the edge, Lulu at her feet. After another moment at the stove to soak up more heat, Clara joined them.

  “Now, my lady, tell me how you came to be kidnapped.”

  There it was again, that supercilious smugness in St. Just’s voice that set her teeth on edge and drove her to distraction. She’d banish that tone from his voice forever before she was finished here. He might be Jemmy’s good friend, but that didn’t mean St. Just could doubt her word—no matter how outlandish those words might be. Even as she itched to ring a peal over his head, an inner voice urged caution. His lordship had helped them evade the kidnappers; however, they still needed his assistance if they were to truly escape. She must let her rancor go, at least for the moment, so she could convince him to help them contact her father. Breathing deeply, she smiled. “Well, my lord, I was returning home from Fanny and Lord Lathbury’s wedding in Buckinghamshire, at Hunter’s Cross. Jemmy and Elizabeth and I had the most wonderful time. My brother and his wife are there yet.”

  “Your brother mentioned Lord Lathbury’s impending nuptials to me in his latest letter.” St. Just peered at her as if to say, “Go on already.”

  “It was quite a lovely wedding, by the way.” Georgie smiled at the memory of Fanny standing at the altar of the All Saints Church, near the estate. “I believe she and Lord Lathbury will be supremely happy.”

  “I do hope so. They didn’t seem particularly blissful when last I saw them.” St. Just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

  “When was that?”

  “At that very exciting house party in Kent, last October.”

  “Oh.” Georgie waved his concerns away. “Heaps of things have happened since then. Fanny was kidnapped and almost murdered. But Lord Lathbury sa
ved her, and now they are very much in love.”

  “So Lady Lathbury was kidnapped also?” His brows rose to an impossible height.

  As did Georgie’s hackles. “Her kidnaping had nothing whatsoever to do with mine. That was all Lord Theale.”

  “So who kidnapped you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A look of pained patience, such as one would have if talking to a small child or a lunatic came over St. Just’s face. “Then how do you know—”

  “I have begun badly, my lord. Please forgive me and let me start again.”

  The door opened, bringing in Cartwright with the tea tray. Once he deposited it and left, St. Just poured cups for them all and passed them around the little circle as deftly as any London hostess. “You were going to begin again, Lady Georgina.”

  “I will, my lord, although it would help us both if you would listen to me as if you intend to believe what I’m saying rather than presupposing that I’m making all of this up. On my oath, I am not.”

  The gentleman opposite her sighed, then nodded. “I beg your pardon. I promise you I will listen with a completely open mind to your tale.” He smiled, making his handsome features—his firm jaw, his high cheekbones, and his devastatingly different gray eyes—even more irresistible.

  Her stomach fluttered, as if butterflies fought to get out.

  “Please begin again. You have my complete attention.”

  Flustered, but determined to continue, Georgie proceeded to tell the marquess, with absolutely as little embellishment as possible, what had occurred earlier today, up until the point they met. Settling back in the seat, sipping the almost cold tea, Georgie congratulated herself on delivering a coherent and rather moving rendition of the tale. “So there you have it, my lord.” Surely he must believe her now. If he did not, she, Clara, and Lulu would be in a fix.

  Lord St. Just sat still, his fingers from both hands lightly touching one another at the tips, his face a study.

  “If you could loan us your carriage, we will be on our way to Blackham Castle before the sun has traveled another hour. Once we are out of Portsmouth, we can stop at an inn for tonight and complete our journey tomorrow. My father will, of course, arrange to have your carriage returned.”

  “I am sorry to put a damper on your plans, but I am afraid I have no vehicle to loan you.” His grave countenance affirmed that he spoke the truth.

  “Whyever not?” The words made no sense. Why would a gentleman of means not keep some sort of vehicle? Oh. “I see. You mean you do not have a carriage. Allow me to assure you, a curricle, while not as comfortable for a long drive, will certainly do under the circumstances.”

  A gentle smile spread over his face. “I fear I must truly disappoint you, Lady Georgina, but I have no means of transportation of any kind here in Portsmouth, save the Justine.”

  “You don’t?” How singular of him. “Do you prefer to walk everywhere?”

  A deep chuckle erupted as his chest shook with laughter. “Not at all. I simply don’t keep a carriage in a small port town, such as Portsmouth. I arrived here this morning to procure equipment for our mining operation in Cornwall. My carriage is there, in St. Just.”

  “Oh.” The unsettling feeling of falling but with no ground to land upon swept through her. “I beg your pardon.” Heat to rival the stove rose in her cheeks. “I did not know this was not your home, although I should have realized it because you had told me at Charlotte’s party that you were intimate with a smugglers’ gang.” In fact, she’d remarked to Jemmy at the time that Lord St. Just was a wild young gentleman who seemed to fancy himself a pirate. “I suppose smugglers wouldn’t choose such a civilized place as Portsmouth for their lair.”

  “And Cornwall is less civilized, and therefore a much more perfect place for all sorts of nefarious characters.” The twinkle in St. Just’s eyes belied his arch tone, but Georgie had had enough.

  “Perhaps it is, my lord. I would not know, because I have never journeyed there. However, if I were to judge by what I know about it from you, I might have to agree.” Why did the man annoy her so much? She always got along famously with the gentlemen of her and her brother’s acquaintance. This one, however, always seemed to cut up her peace.

  Surprisingly, the gentleman did not take offense. “I hope to change your opinion of Cornwall someday, my lady, if not your opinion of me.” He sobered. “As I have no carriage to offer you, we must produce an alternate plan, post haste.”

  Georgie was getting tired of all the subterfuge. “Can you not simply hire a carriage in the town to take us to Blackham?” The easiest solution seemed obvious even to Georgie.

  “I could, my lady,” he said slowly, pouring another cup for himself. “The question is, should I? This late in the day I do not think it wise.” St. Just sipped his tea and shook his head, his curly dark hair catching rays of the afternoon sun as if to point out the lateness of the hour. “You would not be able to travel very far. And where, pray tell, would you spend the night? Who would accompany you? Previously you had the protection of your father’s servants. Now you would be traveling only with your maid. Far too dangerous by half, especially with kidnappers after you.”

  Georgie pursed her lips, itching to decry his estimation of the scheme, but drat it, she could not. He was probably right about Odd Fellow and the other kidnappers. They would be searching for her in every nook and cranny in the area. And checking every carriage that left the city heading east toward Sussex. It would be more prudent to stop here, retire to an inn, and send to her father. “As you say.” She rose and pulled on her gloves. “Then Clara and Lulu and I will retire to an inn and await the morning. If you will be so kind as to escort us to a decent inn—you do know of a well-run inn hereabouts, I hope?” The question was only half in jest. St. Just might know very little about the city, even though he visited it frequently.

  “I do know of such, however, I do not think it wise for you to go there either.”

  Georgie’s mouth dropped open. “Why not? Why should we all not go to an inn?”

  “Because—again—your kidnappers will be looking for you in all the inns. There are not many a lady would go to by herself with her maid. And even a small number of men could search thoroughly throughout the night and find you.” He glanced at Lulu, who had nestled at Georgie’s feet. The dog raised her head, bared her teeth at him, then settled back down. “It would be more than easy to ask for a woman, her maid, and such a distinguishable dog.”

  Again, Georgie wanted to argue, but St. Just’s logic simply got the better of her. If the kidnappers were still looking for her, they likely would find her. And take her to their “Master.”

  “I must say, Lady Georgina, even if it seemed safe to send you back to Blackham Castle, I am not convinced such a journey would be in your best interests.”

  That took her aback. She cocked her head. “Why?”

  “The kidnappers must guess that is where you will try to go when you leave Portsmouth. It will be child’s play for them to lie in wait along the post road for you and simply capture you again.”

  Drat! She might not like the man, but she had to admit he had some wits about him. Odd Fellow would take her easily if she headed for home. But where else could she go to put them off the scent? She could go to Jemmy and Elizabeth in London, except that they would not be there for likely another week. She had no other friends or relatives in Town this time of year. They were all on their estates, waiting for the beginning of Parliament and the Season. All of her Widows’ Club friends were still at Hunter’s Cross. There was no one she could turn to. She raised her head. “Do you have another suggestion, my lord? I seem to have no safe harbor to turn to at the moment.”

  An eager light gleamed in his eyes. “I believe I do, Lady Georgina. An idea that will confound the kidnappers and take care of your other problem as well.”

  “My other problem?” She had no other problem, save to avoid capture again by the plaguey kidnappers.

  “
I am referring to your unwanted marriage to Lord Travers.”

  Stunned, Georgie stared at him until her vision almost went dark. Finally, she took a breath. “You know about that?”

  “Yes.” He grinned like an idiot. “Your brother wrote me about the situation, asking if I could come up with a plan to save you from it. And I believe I have done. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  The last thing Georgie wanted was for this wild young buck to be meddling in her personal affairs. She should plant Jemmy a facer for involving him at all. “What plan is that, my lord?”

  “Sail to Cornwall with me.”

  Chapter Five

  A fierce excitement coursed through Rob’s veins as he made that pronouncement. Ever since Brack had written him about his sister’s predicament, Rob had wracked his brain for some way to help prevent the marriage of Lady Georgina to the odious Travers. With this God-given opportunity before him, how could he resist? “Will you come with me?”

  Aghast, Lady Georgina stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “I most certainly will not go with you.” She darted her wide-eyed gaze toward her maid, as if to ask if he’d run mad. “As I have already informed you, Lord St. Just, I must go to my father’s estate at Blackham Castle in East Sussex. One does not make that journey by way of Cornwall unless someone has a very odd sense of direction indeed.” The lady puckered her brows. “Well, I suppose it could be done, but it would take a frightfully long time. Weeks and weeks in a carriage. And I am to be married within the month, so you see that suggestion will simply not do.”

  “Do you truly wish to marry Lord Travers then?” Perhaps Brack had been mistaken about his sister’s affection for the man. The fire in the lady’s eyes when she spoke of her wedding had been truly fierce. Although hard to imagine, considering Travers’s reputation, he supposed Lady Georgina could hold some regard for the fellow. Or wished to make an advantageous match. Travers was rumored to be fairly flush in the pockets, although Rob’s own wealth was as substantial, certainly. As was that of dozens of other more reputable gentlemen of the ton.