Page 30 of Wedding the Widow

“Yes, Georgie told me. But you will outshine the bride, my dear.” He squeezed her fingers, sending tingles up her arm.

“You mustn’t say such things.” Danger lurked in his eyes. She untangled her fingers and stepped away.

“What if it were true?”

“What?”

“What if you were a bride as well?” He grasped her hands and drew her back behind the plant. “If you married me, we could share Charlotte’s and Nash’s happiness, or be happy on our own day.”

Elizabeth blinked, her voice caught in her throat. The room spun a little, and she clutched at him with numb fingers. “Jemmy, you can’t mean it,” she said, when she could finally draw breath.

“But I do, my love.”

“What about . . .” She clutched the fan so tightly the quills cracked. “What about Dickon?” It came out so low he had to lean forward to catch the word.

“Your late husband?”

She hung her head, blushing furiously. He had to know of what she spoke.

“I believe I told you at the time I understood these things. You loved your husband.” He grasped her chin and raised her face to him. “I suppose that sort of thing must be expected sometimes when one marries a widow.” He chuckled softly. “A hazard of the widow’s bed, so to speak, but one I’m willing to risk if it means I can love you and be with you for the rest of my life.”

“Jemmy.” The sweetness of his voice, the warmth of his hands, the pleading in his eyes overwhelmed her until she feared she might swoon.

“Will you not even consider my proposal?”

“I would.” Suddenly, she wanted to consider it with all her heart. But the niggling fear still rode her. “I would consider your suit if I didn’t believe that my . . . lapse”—an-other furious blush set her cheeks on fire—“means I am not done with grieving for my late husband yet.”

What she actually feared most was not that she still grieved, but that she was ready to let go of that grief. She didn’t want to move on from Dickon, so kind, so loving, so familiar. Was she ready to leave him behind and step out into vast, uncharted territory of another man?

He sighed, as though the weight of the world had descended on his shoulders, but looked her clearly in the eyes. “Then I pray you, do not give me an answer yet. Think about me, think about us, think that I only wish to make you happy, and give me your answer when we meet again for Charlotte’s wedding. Do you think you may be ready to give it by then?”

Elizabeth ducked her head and nodded. In the four weeks between now and then, she would search her soul and give him an answer. “Do you remain in London? Might we see you at tea tomorrow?”

Grinning, he wound her arm in his. “I was to return to Kent to shepherd Georgie here with Charlotte and Nash next week for a short shopping excursion. But I will arrange to meet them here instead, in order to avail myself of your excellent company at tea and perhaps another entertainment, before they arrive?” His countenance grew sober. “After the wedding, I hope to persuade my father to allow Georgie to return to Blackham. We’ve quite run out of options for her.”

“I do wish my circumstances were different.” A wish she’d made time and again. “I would love to have Georgie come to me.”

“Perhaps one day it will be possible to have her in our home.”

Always kicking up a lark, this one. She flashed him a rueful smile. “Perhaps one day.”

They had reached the entrance to the ballroom. His gaze lingered on her face, as if memorizing every feature. “I shall hope and pray for your answer. Remember our night together, but also the other times as well. Our dinner conversations, our dances, our trip into the village, and the Wrotham ale.”

She laughed, almost tasting that nutty brew.

“Remember all the times we have laughed together, and decide to live your life with me.” With a kiss on her hand, he bowed and strode quickly away, leaving Elizabeth to look after his retreating figure, speechless and as uncertain of her answer as ever before.

Chapter 12

St. George’s Church in Wrotham appeared vastly different to Elizabeth than it had that seemingly long-ago afternoon in August when she had first seen it. Then it had been a quaint empty stone building with lovely stained-glass windows and polished pews. Now it teemed with people from Wrotham village and the tenant farms, those pews tightly packed with faces eager to share in the joining of their beloved master and mistress as Charlotte and Nash wed.

Masses of hothouse flowers from Wrotham adorned the altar in a colorful display of bright reds, deep golds, and purest white. Candles in every window sent a glow throughout the sanctuary. Elizabeth took her seat next to Fanny at the end of the front pew, spots reserved especially for them. Both of them, as well as Georgina and Jane, who stood at the altar as bridesmaids, would be right there to support Charlotte as she took her first steps into her new life with Nash as the Countess of Wrotham.

It truly took a lot of courage to start life again, although Charlotte’s life as a widow had been much better than as the wife of Sir Archibald Cavendish. To give up her newfound independence—after years of being under the thumb of first her tyrannical father, then an odious husband—had been her friend’s hardest struggle. Her deep love for Nash, however, had finally won the day.

Everyone stood as Charlotte entered the church on the arm of her father. No small miracle that. The two had been at odds for years. This concession, to make him a part of her wedding, had been another struggle for Charlotte. Having decided that she owed him some little credit for making her match with Nash, she had finally acquiesced and invited him to the ceremony. As she neared Elizabeth, she smiled brilliantly at her friend, then snapped her attention back to the man who stood beside the vicar, waiting to make her happy at last.

Elizabeth feared her own problem would be the opposite of Charlotte’s. Supposing Lord Brack could convince her that he had forgiven her disgraceful utterance and did indeed want to marry her, she worried that they could never achieve the stunning happiness she had known with Dickon. The radiant joy on Charlotte’s face as she approached her soon-to-be husband spoke of the strong bond that already existed between them.