Page 70 of Wedding the Widow

“How dare you threaten us with some made-up scandalous rumor about my daughter?” Papa stepped forward, standing in front of Jemmy, his chin thrust out and puffing out his chest.

“Scandalous perhaps, but truth all the same.” Jemmy gave him a withering look, and Papa stepped back. “Shall I tell the truth and shame the devil?”

Enough was enough. Elizabeth rolled her eyes back in her head, let her legs buckle, and hoped Jemmy would catch her.

“Elizabeth!” Jemmy’s reflexes were excellent, thank goodness. He nimbly caught her against him and lowered her to the floor.

“Elizabeth! Fetch some water.” Papa’s voice held an urgency she’d seldom heard.

“Smelling salts.” Mama would, of course, be practical. “I have some in my reticule.” Lord, she hated that smell but steeled herself for it.

“Elizabeth.” Jemmy patted her hands. “Can you hear me?”

She continued silent, limp as wilted lettuce.

“Stand back.” Suddenly, she was borne into the air in Jemmy’s strong arms. Through slitted eyelids, she could see the church pews speed by as he carried her back down the aisle, through the broken door to the vestibule, heading outside.

As soon as the cold air hit her face, and she could assume they were away from her family, she fluttered her eyelids open.

Jemmy stopped, concern etched on his brow. “Elizabeth? Are you all right?”

Her smile spread so broad she feared her cheeks would crack. “Jemmy, oh, Jemmy!” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, never wanting to let him go.

“Elizabeth. My God,” he said when he could speak again. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, disentangling them until she stood on her feet again. Passing his hand over his face, he sighed, looking like he wanted to drop down in the street. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine, now.” She pulled him into her arms, lacing her fingers together behind his back. Let someone try to take him from her. “I know how to stop a wedding, don’t I? The swoon was a false one this time, however.” She cupped his cheek, the prickles of a day’s growth of beard scratching against her fingers. “Oh, Jemmy, was all that true that you said in the church? Did you really climb down the castle wall at Blackham and ride through the night?”

“I did indeed.” Leaning his head against her forehead, he stroked her arm tenderly. “And I’d do it again and much, much more if I was assured of such a wonderful outcome.” He straightened, and his face took on a hollow, haunted look. “Elizabeth, I was terrified I’d be too late. I pushed the poor horses until they were almost lame.” With a sheepish grin, he raised his right hand. “I swear I will go back along the way and pay for good feeding and care for every horse I rode between Red Hill and here.”

“Bless every one of them.” She dove back at him, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tight. “I cannot believe you are real. I told myself you couldn’t come.” Tears of relief trickled down her cheeks. “I almost lost you.”

“It was a near thing, I grant you. I did hit upon a piece of luck. Georgie had told me your father’s house was in St. James Square, but she didn’t know the number. When I rode into the square an hour ago, I was looking to and fro, fearing I’d never find the right house, when a maid out on some errand stopped and asked if I needed help. She pointed out the correct establishment.” He grinned and wiped her cheeks with his thumb, his touch like silk on her skin. “I knocked and, when it opened, hurriedly told the butler I was Lord Robert’s brother in search of the wedding, and he directed me here. If I’d had to knock on several doors . . .” He kissed her again. “I arrived not a moment too soon.”

“No, you did not.” Relief finally began to spread through her. The nightmare was almost over. “So when can we be married, my love? I don’t want anyone or anything to ever come between us and our happiness again.” The mere idea of what could have happened had Jemmy been delayed at all made her truly faint.

“We’ll discuss it with your parents.” He moved away from her as the door to St. George’s opened, spilling out Mama and Papa and poor Lord Robert, looking dazed.

“I’ll write when I arrive in Shropshire, Wentworth. I wish you and your family a Merry Christmas.” Lord Robert bowed to them, then turned his steps toward her.

A fluttering fear—born of guilt, she supposed—lodged itself in her breast. What would she say to the man?

Jemmy fell back a pace but remained behind her, a staunch support.

That she had acted badly had already occurred to her; that she could have acted in no different manner at all had also crossed her mind. Still, Lord Robert had been willing to come to her aid. She owed him her thanks, and an apology.

“Lord Robert—”

He held up a hand and shook his head. “You need say nothing, my dear.” He eyed Jemmy, then returned his gaze to her. “Our marriage was always a matter of convenience, and now I find it is for the best if our arrangement come to an end. Lord Brack seems perfectly willing and capable of taking care of you.” He shuddered. “More than capable, I would say. And if one’s heart lies elsewhere, then it is a disservice to all if that call is not answered.”

“Lord Robert, you are a true gentleman. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your gallant offer of marriage, although I find it is not required after all.” She dragged Jemmy forward. “Lord Robert Naylor, may I present Lord Brack. Lord Robert was prepared to come to my rescue when we believed you unavoidably detained.”

“My lord.” Lord Robert bowed slightly.

“My lord.” Jemmy made a more formal bow. “I am in your debt for the care and assistance you have rendered to my betrothed.” There was an ever-so-slight emphasis on the word “my” that thrilled Elizabeth to no end.

“Not a’tall, my lord.” Lord Robert nodded, a bit more cordially. “I am glad if I could render my services to Mrs. Easton. She is a lovely woman.” His blue eyes intensified as he gazed at her.

Heat rose to Elizabeth’s face under such scrutiny.