Page 22 of Wedding the Widow

“Well?” Georgie stared at him, toe tapping on the wet carpet, awaiting an answer.

“Yes, yes, I do love her. And I may have lost her.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “What a fool I’ve been.”

“I suppose you are not the first man to come to that conclusion. However, you had best let that realization send you to London first thing in the morning.” Georgie grasped his arm and propelled him toward the door. “Charlotte, Nash, and I will proceed as planned next week. You may tell them you’ve gone ahead for whatever reason you can produce, but you must go immediately.”

They sped out into the shadowy corridor, and she paused to look into his face. “I only hope you have not left it too late.”

He hugged her close, thanking heaven for his sister and sending up another prayer. “I hope not too.”

Chapter 9

“This just came for you, Mrs. Easton. There’s a gentleman downstairs says he’ll wait for an answer.” Weller handed Elizabeth a cream-colored sheet of folded stationery, inscribed with her name in a strange hand that sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.

“A footman, don’t you mean?” She took the note from her maid gingerly, as if it might shock her.

“No, ma’am. A gentleman, Mr. Tawes said.”

Trying to stem her trembling, Elizabeth ran her fingers over the thick, expensive paper. A gentleman of quality certainly. “He gave no name?” She cut her eyes at the maid, not sure what she hoped to hear.

“No, ma’am. Mr. Tawes just gave it to me and said to bring it straight to you.” Weller’s long-suffering face made the prickles on the back of her neck rise.

“You didn’t see him?”

“No, Mrs. Easton. I just brought the note.” Weller gazed intently at her, tapping an impatient foot, eager to get back to her duties.

“I just wish I had some idea of who it is from.” Elizabeth turned the small square over, staring at the unfamiliar crest in the blood-red wax.

“I daresay you’ll know as soon as you open it, ma’am.”

Elizabeth jerked her head up to meet the maid’s eyes, but the woman’s face carried no tinge of impertinence. It had ever been so with Weller. She spoke her mind with no thought of how it would sound to anyone else, including her mistress. Unfortunately, she suited Mama’s tastes, and so Elizabeth had no hope of hiring a more biddable maid anytime soon.

“I expect you are right in that, Weller.” Elizabeth slid a finger underneath the seal of wax and popped it off. She traced the crest, then laid it on her writing desk. Gently, she unfolded the creamy note paper.

My Dear Elizabeth

Dear God, was it—Her gaze flew down the page to the signature, written with a brave flourish. Her whole body flushed, heat sweeping from her face down to the tips of her toes, as though she stood on a pyre set alight. She spun away so Weller wouldn’t see her red face. Ignoring her racing heart, she scanned the few lines, drinking in every one he had written at last.

Despite her refusal to see him or speak with him last month, she had to grudgingly admit she had expected to hear from him before now. She’d learned of his removal from London, so she’d expected a letter or a note to arrive from him. He had seemed so passionate, so taken with her, and so persistent those few days he’d pursued her. Why would she not have expected him to continue to attempt to see her? Or to send a note to apologize for his conduct. Or to beg her to reconsider her determination not to see him again.

As the tally of weeks had mounted with no further word from him, she had grown used to the empty post, accepted that he had acted the rake, and begun to regret their téte-à-téte in earnest. Apparently, he had indeed seized the opportunity, brought on by that indecent pagan festival, to push his way into her bed for a momentary triumph that meant nothing to him at all, save a passing gratification of his lust.

Perhaps she had been wrong to snub his advances, but she’d been terribly ashamed of her behavior and frightened of how mortified she would feel if she had to speak to him again. Once he’d gone, however, she’d missed his attentions. So she’d resumed attending ton entertainments in hopes she’d find another kind gentleman to catch her eye. It infuriated her that none had done so.

Now, Lord Brack had finally written and apparently waited downstairs, demanding an answer. Without reading the note further, she crumpled it, her nails digging into her palms with a vengeance. “Weller, tell his lordship he can go—”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Breath heaving, Elizabeth paused. No, she should read it, then send him away with a very large flea in his ear. She carefully unclenched her fingers and smoothed the crumpled paper out as best she could. The ink had blurred a bit, but it was still readable. More light would help. With a sharp glance at Weller, Elizabeth turned the lamp on the table toward her and held the paper closer to the yellow circle of light.

My Dear Elizabeth

How forward of him to call her by her given name when she’d not given him leave. After so much time had passed since they’d seen one another, it didn’t matter a jot that their last true encounter had been exceedingly intimate.

I pray this finds you well. Georgie has not spoken of any illness, so I have hope that you and your family are enjoying excellent health.

The very least the wretch could have done was send word by his sister, supposing he was still at Lyttlefield Park.

I have returned to London at last. Your friend Lady Cavendish, Lord Wrotham, and my sister will be arriving in a few days’time, and I had hoped to renew our acquaintance before their arrival.