Page 69 of Wedding the Widow

“I know you do not feel for Robert what you felt for Easton or even what you may have imagined you felt for this Lord Brack.” His lips drew inward, displeasure in every line. “However, you are fooling yourself, Elizabeth, if you think by delaying a day, or two or three, you will be more accepting of this marriage. ’Tis best done quickly, as Shakespeare put it. Once it is done, you can begin to learn to get along together.”

Her father, however, would not be the one to share his life, or his bed, with a complete stranger. With a man she feared she would respect but never come to esteem. Lord Robert had wonderful qualities, she was sure, but he wasn’t Jemmy. And that made all the difference.

The mere thought of his name made her weak. How could she live if she could never see him again? Even if she couldn’t marry him, she would be free to continue to love him. She might break her vow to Lord Robert, to cleave only unto him, as soon as it was made, but she could not stop loving Jemmy.

What if she rebelled? What could they actually do to her if she refused to marry Lord Robert? The rector would refuse to marry them if she did not willingly agree to the marriage. Did she have the courage, when the time came, to say “no”?

“Ah, here is Reverend Newcastle now.” Papa tightened his grip on her arm. “It’ll be all over soon, now.”

Mouth dry, Elizabeth swallowed convulsively, then opened her mouth to tell Papa she couldn’t do this, but he was already propelling her through the door and down the aisle.

Lord Robert turned to look at her, and her feet became unruly. They seemed to stick to the floor rather than want to send her down the aisle toward what she suddenly understood was the worst mistake of her life. Her groom smiled as she approached, and her heart thudded faster.

“Pick up your feet, Elizabeth,” Papa hissed, almost pulling her along. “I don’t want Lord Robert to think I’m dragging you to the altar.”

Well, that was exactly what he was doing. Dutifully, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and quickened her pace. What she would do when she reached the smiling rector at the end of the aisle and the time came to take her vows she had no idea.

On her father’s arm, she passed her mother sitting in the first row, her green spencer a splash of color against the severe, dark wood of the pew. Mama had bespoken a new hat for the occasion, cream-colored, with lace and tiny flowers scattered all over it. She peeped out from beneath the brim of this frothy confection, to pierce her with a steely eye. If Elizabeth jilted Lord Robert now, Mama would likely disown her. Biting her lips, Elizabeth walked on.

At last, they stood before the rector and Papa handed her over to Lord Robert. She took his blue-clad arm gingerly, suddenly unwilling to touch him. This uncertainty would drive her mad. Best to get it over with and try to make a life somehow. She looked up into his face, and Jemmy’s mischievous grin smiled back at her.

He was here! The unruly golden curls, the straight nose, merry blue eyes, broad comforting shoulders. They were to marry after all. Her heart sung with joy.

Elizabeth blinked and the beloved features melted into the affable but older, less familiar face of Lord Robert. She bit her tongue to stifle a cry of disappointment. Batting her eyes rapidly several times to stem the tide of tears that threatened to cascade in a torrent down her cheeks, she swallowed the lump in her throat as the rector began the service.

“Dearly beloved. We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”

Time seemed to slow down. The rector’s voice droned on and on. Surely, he would soon get to the crucial point, yet she still didn’t know what to do when he did. Her stomach trembled, and she gripped Lord Robert’s arm tighter. What must she do?

Loud banging in the vestibule snapped Elizabeth out of her lethargy. Who was making that frightful noise?

Angry voices rose over Mr. Newcastle’s quivering, quiet tones. “Who gives this woman to be married?”

“I do.” Papa kissed her forehead. “You’ll be fine, my dear,” he whispered, then frowned as he gazed toward the door at the back of the church.

The disturbance had not abated.

“Excuse me, Mr. Newcastle. I’ll just have a look. Please, continue.” Papa hurried toward the vestibule door. He’d not gotten halfway down the aisle when the door burst open, so forcefully it hit the wall behind it and bounced back.

Hair gloriously disheveled, a fine blond stubble on his cheeks, eyes streaked with red, jacket and boots stained with mud, Jemmy strode through the doorway.

“Jemmy.” Never had anything looked so wonderful. Elizabeth dropped Lord Robert’s arm.

“I demand that you stop this wedding.” Jemmy strode down the aisle, brushing past Papa with a look that would have frozen a lesser man. He reached Elizabeth and grabbed her hand. “This woman is betrothed to me.”

“That betrothal was broken when you contracted to marry another lady.” Papa waded into the thick of things.

Lord Robert stood unmoving, his eyes wide, leaning backward as if he intended to flee.

“I never contracted with her.” Jemmy drew himself up to his haughty best. “My father advanced the marriage, but I am long past the age when he could command me. Neither can he compel me to marry anyone against my will. And I swear before God it would be against my will if my bride was anyone other than Elizabeth.”

“See here, my lord—”

“Mr. Newcastle, proceed with the wedding.” Mama’s commanding voice cut above the lower registers of the men. “Elizabeth will marry Lord Robert. She has agreed to it.”

Mr. Newcastle eyed Jemmy dubiously but dutifully opened his mouth.

“I, however, have the prior claim, my lady.” Jemmy glared at her mother, and his hand gripped Elizabeth’s arm tighter. “Mr. Newcastle, you would do well to desist, sir. I am the Earl of Brack and as such demand that you hear me out.” He glanced around at the little gathering, his bright blue eyes wild. “I’ll have you know that, since last night, I have crawled out of a window, shimmied down twenty feet of twisted sheets, stolen a horse, come close to being shot, ridden all night long—getting lost twice—and have finally arrived here to claim my bride.” Sliding his gaze directly to Mama, he fixed her with an unyielding gaze. “Or shall I give Mr. Newcastle another, more personal reason why Elizabeth should wed me instead of Lord Robert?”