Page 51 of Wedding the Widow

Georgie turned deathly white and staggered backward.

Jemmy leaped forward to steady her. “You could have told me, Father. I would have broken the news to her better than this.”

His father shrugged. “The news should be a pleasing prospect to Georgina. Not only will she be received by the family once more, but she will finally be aiding the family’s future. I was fortunate that Lord Travers was still in need of a wife and heir. It has been over three years since I had to break off negotiations with him because Georgina ran off and contracted that mésalliance with Kirkpatrick.”

“Lord Travers?” Two spots of color rose in Georgina’s cheeks. “That pompous, overbearing, popinjay with the nasty smile?” She shuddered and clutched Jemmy.

“I would not cast such aspersions on my betrothed were I you, Georgina. The man is respectable and, for some reason, still retains a fondness for you. He was quite eager to discuss settlements when I contacted him last week.”

“He used to leer at me when I first came out,” she whispered to Jemmy. “I hated attending parties and balls because Lord Travers was always first in line to ask for a dance. His hands were so moist I could feel it through my gloves.”

“Is there no one else you could marry her off to?” Jemmy glared at his father as he helped Georgie to a seat on the leather settle, then stood behind her, trying to lend her as much strength as possible.

“Why need I look further?” His father sounded genuinely surprised at the question. “The man’s an earl, has more than sufficient property and income, and a great desire for the match. Your sister should be grateful that I offer this as an olive branch. If she does not care to avail herself of it, I will wash my hands of her for good, and she can find a husband on her own. One who will take her with no dowry or connections.” His smile had an evil glint. “Not an easy task for a widow with not a penny to her name.”

“I will have Mother’s inheritance.” Georgie spoke up, though she didn’t look at her father. “A man might take that into consideration.”

“Perhaps. Although so much might happen in the six years before you come into that money. Some men may not desire to gamble on such a thing.” Father’s tone suggested he certainly would not.

Jemmy dug into Georgie’s shoulders with a convulsive grip. “Do you care nothing for your children, Father, other than to use us as pawns to further the family’s wealth and connections?”

“What other reason should there be other than to serve the family?” His father watched him with cold eyes. “You forget yourself, Brack.” He drew another letter from a pile of correspondence and waved them away. “I will see you in the morning.”

Narrowly holding his anger in check, Jemmy helped Georgina to stand, then escorted her from the room. How could Father do this to Georgie? He should have expected the man to continue to exact revenge for his sister’s disobedience, but marrying her to a man she actively disliked was carrying it too far. Perhaps he should remain at Blackham for a few days to support his sister. If he could come up with an alternate plan for her, she wouldn’t need to make this odious marriage to Travers, a profligate rake with a scandalous reputation no amount of money could make acceptable for a sensitive woman like Georgina.

He’d write to Elizabeth and explain the circumstances. A second letter, to his friend Robin, Marquess of St. Just, might be in order as well. Two heads were better than one, they said, and Rob always had an outrageous plan of action to offer. Right now, the outrageous might be his best hope.

Chapter 19

This time, the half day’s journey to London felt like a week. Alone in the carriage again, with a fresh set of worries and only her own thoughts for company, Elizabeth could have sworn time stood still.

Her last look at Jemmy, waving cheerfully as the carriage pulled away, would remain seared into her memory. Even now she longed to see him again. A hollow space in her heart ached to have him hold her once more. She would not have thought it possible, even two months ago, but Jemmy had captured her heart, and Elizabeth had been powerless to stop it.

Didn’t want to stop it. Perhaps she had unconsciously wanted a man in her life again, not because she no longer loved Dickon, but because she herself needed to be loved. Now the sobering reality that she and Jemmy would have to fight to marry had made her wary and put her on edge. The baby could be kept a secret for another few months, until she began to show. By then her options would be few indeed, so she didn’t want to think of that at the moment.

Unfortunately, her mind was being as stubborn as the marquess himself, shifting back to Jemmy and the plight of their marriage rather than ordinary subjects, like her children or the coming Christmas holidays. By the time she reached her parents’ town house in St. James Square, she had worried her handkerchief so it lay in tatters on her lap. Clutching it to her, she descended the carriage, straightened her shoulders, and marched up the steps.

“Good to have you back, Mrs. Easton.” Tawes took her wrap, a hint of a smile on his lips.

She’d always gotten on well with their butler. “Thank you, Tawes. Where are Mama and Papa?” she asked, stripping off her gloves and flexing her chilly fingers.

“Her ladyship is in the upstairs parlor. Lord Wentworth is in his study.”

“How much time before dinner, Tawes?” She needed to speak to her parents together. Lord knows she didn’t want to have to repeat Lord Blackham’s hateful words more than once.

“A little more than an hour, madam.”

“Good. Would you ask his lordship to attend us in the parlor?”

“Very good, ma’am.” Tawes accepted her gloves, and she headed up the stairs.

The cozy green and gold parlor, with its dainty furniture, gilt and white picture frames, and generous fireplace was usually her favorite room in the house. Today, however, it seemed colder, less welcoming somehow, as she approached her mother, who sat at one end of the green and gold striped sofa, a well-filled tea tray next to her.

“Elizabeth. Goodness, we didn’t expect you home until at least tomorrow. Come kiss me, my dear.” Her mother set her teacup into its saucer and presented her right cheek.

“Hello, Mama.” Elizabeth dutifully bussed the proffered cheek but cast a curious gaze around the room. “Where are the girls? Surely they are dining in tonight?”

“Sadly no, my dear.” Patting the cushion beside her, her mother smiled invitingly then picked up her cup once more. “Since I didn’t expect you to return so soon, I gave permission for them to dine with Lady Mary Callon-Gorge.” Mama kept chattering while she rang the bell and ordered more tea. “Why have you returned so early? How was Lady Cavendish—I mean, Lady Wrotham’s wedding? Did you bring a piece of the wedding cake home for Dotty?”