Page 59 of Wedding the Widow

Jemmy chuckled and returned to the fire. “You are one of the most unexpected philosophers I know, bran face. I have no answer for you, other than to assure you I will write to St. Just as soon as I reach London. He’ll have some idea of how to keep you out of Travers’s hands.”

“You must also write and tell me all about your wedding, Jemmy. I am terribly sorry I won’t be there. I should have loved to see you marry your own true love.” She sighed, drawing her shawl more securely about her shoulders. “But I think you must marry her as soon as possible. Take no chances. Father cannot do anything once you are wed, save take away your funds.”

“That is enough,” Jemmy said, despair stealing over him. “Although if I have Elizabeth as my wife, I could manage any number of privations.” It was killing him to simply wait and do nothing. Never had he experienced so great a sense of urgency to take action, yet he must stand idly by, talking calmly with his sister before the cheerful fire. As soon as Lady Wrotham’s letter arrived, the sheets would be off the bed and down the wall. He’d get to London the day after tomorrow, the good Lord willing, and put this nagging sense of foreboding to rest as he lay once again in Elizabeth’s arms.

* * *

Lord Robert Naylor turned out to be surprisingly cordial, if somewhat aloof. Elizabeth supposed that was to be expected when meeting for the first time the woman one had agreed to marry who was carrying another man’s child. A tall man, with a pleasant, though narrow face and a patrician nose like the bust of Caesar that stood on a pedestal in their library. His brown eyes seemed kind, though fine lines crisscrossed his skin all around them.

“Lord Robert was top of the form in classics, Elizabeth,” her father said, handing his friend a glass of Madeira as they sat companionably in the family parlor before dinner. “He reads Latin, Greek, and some form of ancient Sanskrit, isn’t it, Robert?”

“Yes, the daksini dialect. I have always had a fondness for languages.” Lord Robert smiled bashfully and sipped his sherry. “Your father was a fair hand with Latin.”

“But not with Greek, by God,” Papa laughed. He seemed to be quite enjoying the company of his friend. Perhaps he arranged this marriage to assure himself of more frequent visits from his old school companion. “You saved my bacon there many’s the time. Never would have gotten through my examination in Greek if not for your excellent tutelage.”

“Always glad to help you out, Wentworth. Any time.” His gaze fell on Elizabeth, and spots of pink appeared in his cheeks. He tossed back the remaining sherry too quickly and began to cough. The rest of his face slowly turned red, until Papa pounded him on the back.

Lord, don’t let the man expire right in front of her. Elizabeth sat beside her mother, despair over the whole affair suddenly assaulting her. Lord Robert might be a good man and a rather pleasant companion, but he wasn’t Jemmy. He would never be Jemmy. They’d had little time together, and it should have made this decision easier, but that was patently untrue. Her heart knew whom she loved, and she wanted him with an intensity that threatened to make her ill. It simply wasn’t fair. To lose first Dickon, and now Jemmy, was grossly unjust. Didn’t she deserve happiness for more than a little while?

Lord Robert had ceased choking and had drawn her father into a far corner, talking earnestly, to judge by the sober aspect of his face.

“You seem to be getting along well with Lord Robert,” her mother leaned over to whisper.

“I have no choice, do I, Mama? And I have scarcely spoken two words to him.” Hoping to convince herself of the possibility of some affection between the two of them, Elizabeth eyed the man she would soon call husband. Life would be completely intolerable with a man of whom she was not even fond.

“Before dinner, you should introduce Lord Robert to the children. They have not yet retired, and they need to meet their new papa before he becomes part of the family.” Mama smiled and gave a little wave to the gentlemen.

The suggestion made Elizabeth cringe, but it was practical, as her mother’s advice often was. The children must know, and she could then gauge better how Lord Robert felt about Colin and Kate as well. “I believe you are right, Mama.”

Beaming, her mother sipped her sherry, her self-satisfaction glowing all around her.

With a sigh, Elizabeth set her glass on the table and rose, steeling herself and forcing a smile to her lips. “Lord Robert, I thought it might be good to introduce you to the children. We have time before dinner, and I believe they should meet you and know our plans.”

Her betrothed paled a trifle but nodded. “As you wish, Mrs. Easton. I think it best as well.” He offered his arm solicitously.

“We will return directly, Mama, Papa.” Elizabeth took Lord Robert’s arm and led him to the staircase to the third-floor nursery. Touching his arm set off no alarms. She didn’t revile him, thank goodness. Neither did his touch fill her with dread; she felt merely sadness at what was not to be. Resolutely, she continued up the stairs.

As they approached the nursery, all seemed quiet, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of thanksgiving that her children would make a good impression on Lord Robert. This was such a huge undertaking for a bachelor who had never been around young children. She pushed the door open and met with the angelic sight of Kate rocking her doll to sleep, and Colin holding a colorful book of maps, absorbed in the world of Cornwall.

“Children.” Elizabeth slipped her arm out of Lord Robert’s.

“Mama, Mama.” They raced toward her, throwing their arms around her and burrowing into her.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” Kate hid her face in her mother’s skirts. “I missed you.”

“I missed you as well, my love. Let me look at you.”

The petite form stood straight, blue eyes front, arms at sides, her white nightgown making her face look pink and rosy.

“Me too, Mama.” Colin stood beside his sister, pulling himself up to be taller than Kate.

“I see you too, Colin. You are growing taller every day.” Where had his babyhood gone so quickly? She swallowed hard. “Children, I would like you to meet someone.”

A wary look crossed Colin’s face as he stared up at Lord Robert. Kate’s brows furrowed immediately.

“Lord Robert Naylor, these are my children. Katherine and Colin Easton. Children, this is Lord Robert. He is a friend of your Grandpapa’s and”—Elizabeth bit her lip—“and a friend of mine as well.” No harm to do this gradually. “Will you say good evening to him?”

“Good evening, Lord Robert.” Kate bobbed a quick curtsy, then rushed into her mother’s arms.