Page 72 of Wedding the Widow

They entered the family drawing room, the sideboard laid with savories and a cake, decorated with pink and white icing.

Bella and Dotty, sipping tea with their heads together, looked up at their entrance.

“Elizabeth! How was—” Bella stopped, her cup midway to its saucer.

“Who is that?” Dotty whispered loudly to her sister, her own cup also suspended in the air.

“I don’t know.” Bella set her teacup down carefully and rose. “Elizabeth, what’s going on?”

Dotty’s cup rattled into its saucer as she followed Bella toward them.

“Isabella, Dorothea, may I make known to you Lord Brack? These are my sisters, my lord. Miss Worth and Miss Dorothea Worth.” Elizabeth’s heart beat strangely. She did so hope some of her family approved of Jemmy.

“This is Lord Brack?” Bella’s eyes lit up. “How do you do, my lord? Elizabeth has spoken of you to us quite often this past fall.” Her pleased smile faltered. “But, Elizabeth, I do not understand.” She peered behind Jemmy at the door. “You left this morning to marry . . .” Blushing, Bella clutched her throat and looked away.

“Weren’t you supposed to marry Lord Robert?” Dotty’s shrill voice broke in. “Whatever has happened, Elizabeth?”

“She’s taken leave of her senses, girls.” Mama strode into the room, imperious as always. “Bella, ring for more tea. I am in dire need of something hot. Dotty, fetch me two of the lobster patties.”

“Aren’t they for the wedding breakfast, Mama?” Confusion mounting, Dotty looked from her mother, to Elizabeth, to Jemmy. “Was there no wedding?”

“There was not.” Mama glared at Elizabeth before settling into her accustomed gold jacquard wing-backed chair. “This is now a festive luncheon, although I see no cause to celebrate.”

Shooting her sister a look of utter bewilderment, Dotty threw up her hands and headed to the loaded sideboard.

“Circumstances may not be as dire as you fear, my dear.” Her father entered the room and made straight for the decanter on the desk. “At least Lord Brack has put in an appearance, eleventh hour though it was. I suggest we reserve our judgment until we hear the whole story.”

“But, dear Lord Robert—” Producing a lace handkerchief that matched her blue sprigged gown, Mama dabbed her eyes, even though no tears seemed evident.

“Do not distress yourself over Robert.” Pouring until his tumbler was half full of his favorite cognac, Papa paused to sip his drink. “He is quite content to return to Shropshire unencumbered by a wife and two children.” Her father shook his head, looking sheepish. “I should never have brought him into this affair in the first place. But I wanted Elizabeth settled quickly, and when he suddenly appeared at the club, I took the chance.”

“Still, he seemed so much more suitable than . . .” Mama shot an unrepentant glance of dismay at Jemmy.

“My dear, let us meet the gentleman before you disparage him. Elizabeth,” Papa ambled over to stand beside Mama’s chair. “Won’t you introduce us to your friend?”

Gratitude toward her father flooded Elizabeth’s heart as she brought Jemmy forward to stand before Mama’s chair. Introducing him to the queen would be easier. “Mama, Papa, may I present Lord Brack? Lord Brack, my parents, Lord and Lady Wentworth.”

“My lord, my lady.” Making a crisp bow, Jemmy smiled broadly, bringing out a dimple in his left cheek Elizabeth somehow hadn’t noticed before. “I am so pleased to meet you at last.”

Mama had the grace to blush at that.

“Get you a drink, Brack?” Papa raised his glass.

“I’d be obliged, my lord. It’s been a long night.” Jemmy followed her father over to the sideboard.

“So, Mama.” Elizabeth sat on the sofa beside Mama’s chair, eager for this conversation. “What do you say now?”

Pursed lips wavered as her mother struggled with some strong emotion. At last, a tear rolled down her cheek, and she dashed it away. “He is very, very like Louisa,” she whispered. “Not at all like Blackham.”

Sighing in relief, Elizabeth took her mother’s hand. “He is a wonderful man, Mama. I love him. I am certain you will come to like him as well if you can just give him a chance.”

Her mother nodded and squeezed her hand, her lips still trembling. She sent another glance at Jemmy, then wiped her eyes once more.

The girls slid next to Elizabeth, all atwitter.

“He’s very handsome, Elizabeth.” Dotty cast a glance over her shoulder at Papa and Jemmy. “Such nice curly hair. Just like Lord Byron’s. I must marry a man with curly hair. I adore it so.” She clasped her hands together over her bosom, her eyes bright.

“We will see about that this spring, young lady.” Mama’s no-nonsense persona had apparently resurfaced. “You will do as you are told, and perhaps you will find a gentleman willing to marry you, curly hair or not.”