Page 42 of Wedding the Widow

The floor melted beneath Jemmy’s feet. The odd sensation he sometimes had in dreams—of tumbling over and over down a long, dark hole—overwhelmed him now in broad daylight. He shifted his weight, and the firm gray stone floor arrested his headlong fall into madness. He hadn’t heard his father aright. “Father, did you actually just forbid us to wed?”

“You’re a quick one, Brack. Always knew you’d live up to my expectations of you.” His father glanced at him, a mirthless smile on his lips.

“I don’t understand, Lord Blackham.” Elizabeth stared straight ahead, eyes seemingly focused on the shiny mahogany desk. A pirate’s desk. “You say we cannot marry?”

“Well, you’ve certainly picked a good one, Brack. Next time, make sure she understands the King’s English. Of course, the next one will be a duke’s daughter and of my choosing.” His father sat and took up his pen, drew out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped the pen in the inkpot.

“The hell it will.” Jemmy clenched his hands into fists so tightly they ached. “How dare you dismiss Elizabeth out of hand? She’s done nothing to you.” Jemmy shoved his hands behind him to keep himself from throttling the old man. “Why would you do this?”

“I have forbidden this marriage, and you will obey me, Brack. You will cease connection with this young woman and marry Lady Maude Aston without further discussion.” Father started the pen skittering across the expanse of snowy white paper.

“I will do no such thing.” Straightening his shoulders, Jemmy threw back his head. Stubbornness ran in the family, straight from their sire. “What possible reason could you have to refuse to allow this marriage?”

“I will tell you nothing I don’t want you to know, boy. My reasons are none of your business.” His father finished writing his sentence in a hand so shaky it looked like a spider had crawled across the sheet on spindly legs.

“It is my business, Lord Blackham.” Elizabeth had managed to break the spell and now stared at his father with cold contempt. “If you are impugning my name or my family’s, my lord, I assure you, you will answer for it. I do not care what your age may be or whether this accusation comes from some illness or madness. If you will not tell me why you refuse to allow me to wed your son, I will inform my father. He or my brother will demand satisfaction of you.”

“Elizabeth.” Jemmy slipped his arm around her shoulders. She was trembling so hard he had to grip her tightly. “No one wants a duel,” he whispered. “I would likely end up having to meet your brother, and we don’t want that, do we?”

She shook her head. A tear dripped off her cheek, falling onto his hand as he clasped her closer.

He met his father’s eyes, and a wall of ice descended on him. “I do not care what you say or what slight you perceive Elizabeth or her family has made against you. I reached my majority years ago. Elizabeth is of age and a widow. You cannot force me to marry someone against my will, and I tell you now, this instant, I will never marry Lady Maude. I will marry Elizabeth, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

Father laid his pen down beside the paper, a dangerous smile on his lips. “Oh, but there is, Brack. There is indeed something that I can do to stop you from making this foolhardy decision.” He steepled the tips of his fingers.

“Don’t listen to him, Elizabeth.” Sending his father a defiant glare, Jemmy drew her tight against him. “I will marry you no matter what he says.” They turned for the door.

“If you do, I shall cut you off without a farthing.”

The sharp words arrested them as Jemmy grasped the latch. He whirled around to face his father.

“Every cent. You will not have a penny to light your way across the road.”

“I have Mother’s inheritance—”

“That is in a trust until you are thirty. And I am the guardian of that trust until that time. Had you forgotten that?”

The light in the study seemed to dim around the edges until all Jemmy could see was his father’s triumphant smile. Father would hold the purse strings of that account until August of next year. His mother’s settlement had come to him more than three years ago, to provide for him until his father died and he assumed the marquessate. But according to the terms, his father administered the funds as he saw fit. The very reason he had not been able to help Georgie.

Glee shone in his father’s face. “I see you had. The terms are quite plain, you know. Those funds become available to you at your discretion only when you attain the age of thirty. Not a day before. Until then, I disburse them as I see fit. If you have cause to doubt me, you can ask your uncle, Lord Richard Makepeace. He was there when the settlements were drawn up.”

A giant hand seemed to squeeze the air from Jemmy’s lungs, not allowing him to breathe.

“So you see, Brack, you will dance to my tune or you won’t have a penny to pay the piper.”

“Does Georgie have funds from your mother as well?” Elizabeth whispered her question in his ear. “Money from any settlement would have been transferred to her husband upon her marriage.”

“I’m afraid not.” Jemmy clenched and unclenched his hands, itching to plant his father a facer or two. “Her money would have gone to her when she married, except for the provision that Father must approve of the marriage. Ergo, Georgie’s continued plight.”

Elizabeth’s face drew in upon itself, her eyes haunted. “When will you turn thirty?”

“Not until August.” A lifetime in their circumstances.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Then you must not disobey him. If he cuts off your funds, how will you live?” She bit her lip, but otherwise her face was deathly calm. “We must return to Lyttlefield Park immediately. There is much preparation I must make before leaving for London.”

“No, my love, we will not give in.” Jemmy grabbed her hand, needing her touch desperately. “We must tell him about the—”

“No.” Elizabeth peered over at his father, waiting patiently behind his table. He’d finished the first page of his latest missive and had started on the second page. “Swear to me you will tell your father nothing. If he were to tell anyone about my condition, I will never be received in polite society again.”