Page 20 of Wedding the Widow

“The devil you say, Brack.” Wrotham sat up so quickly his tea slopped out of the cup, missed the saucer completely, and landed on his trousers. “I’d planned for us to do some shooting while the ladies were away.” He frowned as he wiped at the mess with his napkin.

“They’ll need escorts while they are there.” Jemmy paused, thinking furiously. “And the clubs in London will provide entertainment for us to rival any shooting expedition.”

“Yes, do, Nash.” Charlotte clapped her hands and beamed at him.

The man’s firm will melted like one of Gunter’s ices left in the sun. “Well . . .”

“It would be lovely if you would come with us. We can see some of London’s sights. And the Little Season continues, so we will have entertainments to attend in the evenings. That is when we will need our escorts.” Lady Cavendish took the cloth from him and continued to scrub the wet spot on his breeches. “Please, Nash?”

Wrotham swallowed hard and grasped her hand. “I think I am sufficiently tidied for the moment, my dear.” His eyes burned into hers, and she blushed. “I blame you for this, Brack. As your penance, you must attend every ball and party with us. No shirking. I refuse to be left alone with all those women. There are never enough men, and I refuse to be danced to death by myself.”

“Please do, Jemmy,” Georgie squealed. “It will be so much fun to have you attend with us. Both you and Nash.”

“Thank you, Georgie.” Wrotham grinned at her and rose. “It is settled then, Brack?”

“Yes, of course.” Jemmy nodded absently. Elizabeth would likely be attending at least some of the parties. It was the Little Season, after all, and she had one sister still out. Surely, she’d be accompanying her to some entertainments. Perhaps this time he could meet her at a ball, quite naturally, and then beg a dance of her and thus renew her acquaintance.

He’d written to her almost every day since he’d returned—and torn up every letter before he could post it, afraid it would be returned unopened. Her actions had made it pointedly clear that she did not want to see him, but if he could just meet her, face-to-face, perhaps they could get past the embarrassment she obviously still felt about their intimate encounter. Would she spurn his company again? Had she allowed another man to court her? He could find these things out if he went to London.

“If that is completely settled, I believe I will say good night, Charlotte.” Wrotham slid his arm around Lady Cavendish’s waist. “Good evening, Georgina, Brack.” With a nod and a smile for Georgie, Wrotham ushered his betrothed from the chamber.

“Thank you, Jemmy.” Georgie slid over the long sofa to sit beside him. “London will be much more fun with you there.”

“I suppose, as your brother and escort, I shall have to look sternly down my nose at all the young bloods who will want to dance with you.” Actually, he was rather looking forward to being her protector. He’d not been able to do so at her come-out for he’d been out of the country until just before she married. “I trust you’ll want to attend several parties while we’re in Town.”

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled, though her expression quickly drooped. “I haven’t wanted to put myself forward in society, because of Isaac’s memory. It seemed wrong of me to make merry when he was . . .” Her lips firmed, and her jaw set. “However, Charlotte’s utter happiness with Nash has given me the will to continue on with my life, given me hope of finding another gentleman with whom I shall not mind sharing my life.” Her smile returned, her eyes teasing. “You must promise me not to frighten away the good gentlemen.”

“Am I to be the judge of who is good and who is not, or are you?”

Giggling, she patted his arm. “We must concur on that, dear brother, although I suspect there will be some differences of opinion there.”

“Better me to concur with than Father.” Jemmy stopped, the specter of their father glimmering in the light of the dying fire.

“Goodness, Jemmy. You can’t be seen with me in London.” Stricken, Georgie clutched his arm. “Father would cut off your funds and inflict who knows what other punishments on you for consorting with me.” Fighting back tears, Georgie slumped back against the sofa cushion, all happiness fled.

Damn, he hadn’t thought about their father when he’d proposed that trip to London. The Marquess of Blackham had decreed that no one in the family was to have any contact with Georgina after he disowned her. And with all the gossips in London, such as the notorious Lady Locke and Mrs. Stapleton-Worthy, his father would find out by the next post. He grasped the arm of the sofa, squeezing it as he fought to bring his anger under control. It just wasn’t fair. He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her bright head onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Georgie.”

“It’s all right. I know you cannot afford to anger him.” Hot tears streaked down her face, dropping onto his bare hand.

“I wish we could find some way to get you back into Father’s good graces.” Jemmy bit his lip. The older man had a steely will. Once he turned against someone, he seldom recanted.

Father’s youngest brother had gambled away a family estate, long before Jemmy had been born. His father had broken with Uncle Roland to such an extent that Jemmy had discovered the man’s existence only last year when he read a death notice in the Morning Chronicle.

“I wouldn’t know how to even begin going about it, Jemmy. He hated my marriage to Isaac, although I’m not certain if it was Isaac himself or my defiance of Father’s orders that caused it.” Georgie dashed the tears away. “I’m still not sorry I did it.”

Lord, but she was a fighter. He patted her arm. “I’m not either. I know how happy he made you.” Still, his sister’s life had been hellish, to say the least, since her husband’s death. If only they could entreat the marquess to forgive Georgina, her life would be a deal easier. “But you have the future to think of. And Father had no quarrel with you until you married against his wishes. If you could make a brilliant match, someone Father couldn’t help but approve of, I suspect he’d welcome you back. Pity you turned down Wrotham. He’d likely approve of him.”

“I told you I could never have married Nash.” Georgie sat up, searching for a handkerchief in her pocket. She pulled out a button and a recipe for brandied peaches before she secured the scrap of white linen, edged in delicate pink lace, and dabbed at her nose. “As soon as I spoke with him, I knew he was in love with Charlotte. I could no more have married him than I could have shot him.”

“Well, thank goodness you didn’t do that.” Jemmy chuckled. Georgie had a flair for the dramatic. Her acting skills had always impressed him. She’d regularly been able to fool their old governess with much more success than he ever had. “You need to give it some thought, Georgie.”

“There is one vital flaw in your scheme, though.” She tugged at the fabric of the handkerchief, tearing it a little. “If I made this brilliant match to please Father, to enable me to return to the family, I wouldn’t need to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’d be married and under my husband’s protection. I’d have no real need for Father’s blessing.” Georgie smiled, smoothing the handkerchief flat on her lap.

A good point. Still, until she found someone to marry, she needed her place at home. “Think about it, Georgie. I will write to Father and tell him I will be watching out for you in London.”