Page 43 of Wedding the Widow

“But if he knew this child very well might be my heir, he might see sense. He wants the line to be secured.”

Tears starting from her eyes, Elizabeth shook her head. “No, not even for that will he allow us to wed. He has concocted some slight against me or my family. Remember, he became unreasonable when he found out who my father is.” She bit her lip. “I will go directly to London and confront my father. Perhaps it is something from long ago, and the two men can settle it now so we can wed.”

Such calm courage. She was the most magnificent woman he had ever met. Raising her hand for a kiss, he grazed her soft skin with his lips. “I pray it is so with all my heart, my love.” Turning to his father, he rose and bowed stiffly. “The time is late. We will stay the night and leave early tomorrow morning.” He glared at his father, daring him to object.

The man merely waved a hand at him and continued his spidery writing.

He had opened the door and handed Elizabeth through when the thin, reedy voice stopped them once more. “Once you return Mrs. Easton to wherever she currently lodges, you will immediately return here. I expect word from the duke any day now, and with this letter”—he slowly waved the pages he’d just finished before his face, drying them—“I believe the offer will be too sweet for His Grace to pass up. Lady Maude is not in her first bloom of youth, but she will make you an admirable marchioness and the duke a strong ally for us.”

Rage descended over Jemmy until the edges of his sight darkened once more. He started toward the man, his only thought to put an end to the hideous imp of hell.

Elizabeth’s firm hand on his shoulder stayed him, but it was a near thing. Swinging for his father’s murder, justified though it might be, would not help him or Elizabeth’s plight. She tugged at his arm.

With a parting glance of abhorrence at his father, Jemmy headed toward the door.

“When you return”—the hateful voice filled the room once more—“bring Georgina with you. The chit can stay here until I can arrange matters for her satisfactorily.”

Resisting the urge to retort back, which would serve no purpose save his own gratification, Jemmy jerked his shoulders back and grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “I will tell her, Father,” he said as he escorted Elizabeth away from the vile man. Under his breath he added, “May God have mercy on her soul.”

* * *

Automatically putting one foot before the next, Elizabeth clung to Jemmy’s arm as they snaked their way through the narrow corridors of Blackham Castle. She neither saw nor heard anything for the spinning in her head that threatened to make her swoon.

Jemmy could not marry her.

The devastation had scarcely begun to sink in. Her whole body was numb as from a blow. She managed to steal a glance at him—jaw tightened, lips in a grim line, teeth clenched—as he escorted her deeper into the bowels of the castle. Gone was the carefree, boyish man she had come to love and admire. Also gone were her dreams of a new, happy life once more. Blasted asunder by the cursed words of a bitter old man. She stifled a sob.

“Here is your chamber,” he said at last, stopping before a solid walnut door. “This was Georgie’s old room.” His words broke the silence, though not the awkward constraint that lay between them. “I will be just around the corner in the next corridor.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“I love you, Elizabeth.” He grazed her hand with his lips. “Believe in me, my love; this is not the end of it. I swear I will marry you, no matter what he plots and plans.”

Noble words and spoken with sufficient passion that they brought a measure of balm to her heart. However, the truth lay elsewhere, and she knew it. If Jemmy’s father controlled his money, they could defy him at their peril. Without funds for simple necessities, such as food and lodging, they would be little better than destitute. She tried to smile, but the effort hurt her heart. She must begin to withdraw her newfound affection for Jemmy and find a way to assuage the hurt that cut deeply, even though she saw its necessity. “I love you, too. However, I fear we must face the harsh reality of the situation.”

“Then we shall face it together.” Squeezing her hands a bit harder than necessary, he gave them a little shake. “Do not despair, my love. We will find our way through this. At dinner tonight, we will examine our options and talk strategy. Elizabeth,” he cupped her face and tears slipped from her eyes.

He was so kind, and loving, and she couldn’t have him. She buried her face in his shoulder.

“My love, my love.” He cradled her, rocking her gently. “Shhh. Do not cry. We will be together as man and wife, if I have to move heaven and earth to do it.” He kissed her, lightly, sweetly, devastatingly. “Dinner is at six in the winter months.” He rubbed her back, and she nestled closer to him. “I will have Quick send one of the maids to help you dress.” He pulled away from her and peered sharply into her face. “Trust me?”

“Yes, my love, I do.” Sniffing, she tried to pull herself together. He sounded more sure and confident than she had ever heard him before. Pray God, he had a plan to defeat his father’s wishes.

With a final brush of his lips across hers that melted her heart all over again, he pushed the door open, sent her his best boyish grin, and bounded off down the hall. She gazed after him until he turned the corner and was lost to her sight.

The chill of the hallway caused her to hurry inside, where her battered soul could perhaps renew itself in the warmth of the fire. Gazing about Georgina’s room, she smiled despite her shocked and reeling senses. Whimsical pictures of gardens with riotous blooms dotted the walls, a bouquet of silk violets perched on the writing desk, and a collection of embroidered pillows—the embroidery done by a not-so-skilled hand—made the room speak in Georgie’s enthusiastic voice. A friendly, comforting voice that would help get her through the worst hours, in which she would have to come to terms with the fact that she was now with child, but without the prospect of a husband.

* * *

Sarah, the young maid sent to help her dress, had just clasped a locket encrusted with amethyst around her neck when a knock at the door made Elizabeth jump.

“It’s all right, mum. You look a treat now.” Sarah smiled at her in the vanity’s mirror and hurried to the door.

Elizabeth rose, brushing at her skirts, touching her locket to make sure she was presentable.

Grinning broadly, Jemmy stepped into the room and offered his arm. “May I escort the fairest in the land to dinner?” His gaze took her in, his eyes lighting with approval.

“Indeed, you may, my lord.” In spite of her heavy heart, she smiled back. That grin was too infectious to fight against. And if Jemmy seemed determined to fight his father’s plans to marry him to Lady Maude, and optimistic that they would succeed in thwarting the marquess, then she should allow herself to hope a little while longer.