Page 24 of Wedding the Widow

He strode into the foyer, where the butler had put in an appearance and already had his coat and hat to hand.

“My lord,” the elderly man held his greatcoat up, and Jemmy slipped his arms through.

The maid’s actions continued to perplex him. She’d seemed well-satisfied that Elizabeth had refused to see him. Likely enjoyed the look of dismay on his face when she pronounced the words. So why would she then assist his suit by disclosing the entertainment Elizabeth planned to attend?

The butler settled the coat over his shoulders and held out his hat and gloves, the servant’s lined countenance firm, but neutral. Could he elicit some sort of help from this man? Information about Miss Weller would not come amiss.

“I gather Miss Weller has been with Mrs. Easton for some time.” Which might be true, even though she had not accompanied Elizabeth to Lyttlefield Park for either house party.

“Yes, my lord. She been the lady’s maid to the Misses Worth for ten years now. And five years as Lady Wentworth’s lady’s maid before that. You’ll not find another one so loyal to a family.” The man’s jowly cheeks rippled as he spoke, his chin raised.

“I could see her devotion to her mistress when I spoke with her.” Devoted enough to lie for Elizabeth? He set his hat on his head, a nagging voice in the very back of his head urging him not to let it go.

The butler opened the door.

Damn, but he needed to be sure.

“A moment, Tawes?” Jemmy nodded and backed up into the foyer. He thrust his hat back at a footman and dug into his breast pocket for his card case. “Might I have a pen, Tawes?”

“Of course, my lord. Robert.” He hailed the footman who held Jemmy’s hat.

“Yes, Mr. Tawes?” The man stepped forward once more, back ramrod-straight.

“Fetch Lord Brack a pen, please. Do you require paper, my lord?”

“No, thank you. I believe my card will suffice.” Jemmy drew the small white card from his case, engraved with a large, bold B.

The footman hurried into the receiving room Jemmy had just quit and returned swiftly with a pen and inkpot.

“Thank you. If you’d set them right there on the table.” He indicated a long, polished high table that contained a vase of yellow roses.

“I think I will send up one more little note to Mrs. Easton, after all.” Jemmy grabbed the pen and scratched two lines on the back of his card. Hope to join you at Mrs. Shoreham’s this evening. Looking forward to the first dance. He laid the pen down and blew on the card for several seconds, holding it so the butler could plainly see the message. “You will see that gets to Mrs. Easton, won’t you, Tawes?” Jemmy cut his plaintive gaze to the butler’s face.

“Very good, my lord.” Tawes turned the card over and bowed.

Jemmy cursed under his breath as the butler turned from him. He’d been so certain—

“My lord?”

A wave of relief surged through him. “Yes?”

“I thought I should mention that Mrs. Easton will not be attending Mrs. Shoreham’s this evening.”

“Ah, I did not know that.” Jemmy clenched his fist. Miss Weller was a slyboots, after all. “I thought her plans had been fixed on the masquerade.” He tried to look glum, all the while repressing the glee that made him want to kick up his heels and laugh. Miss Weller might serve her mistress well, but he would do his best to circumvent those efforts.

“No, my lord.”

“She’s decided on Lady Braeton’s instead, has she?” Jemmy shook his head and pulled his best Friday face. “A real pity, for I am quite promised to Mrs. Shoreham. Old friend of the family, you understand.” Why was he standing here prattling on to a servant?

“I do indeed, my lord. Shall I inform Mrs. Easton—”

“No, no. We shall have to meet another time.” He held out his hand, and Tawes dropped the card into it. “Please do tell Mrs. Easton that I shall call upon her in a few days.” Retrieving his hat and fixing it to his head, Jemmy strode out into St. James Square and breathed deeply. A narrow escape of a wasted evening, but he’d managed to finally get the truth.

If Elizabeth thought she could avoid him while they were in the same city, she would find him a persistent suitor. He’d been wrong to discontinue his courting of her but would beg her pardon with deep sincerity while they danced the first dance together tonight.

Chapter 10

“Good evening, Lord Brack.” Lady Braeton all but cooed his name, her eyes a vivid blue that matched her gown.