Page 73 of Wedding the Widow

“Don’t be a goose, Dotty. A man’s hair doesn’t matter a fig.” Bella lifted her chin, nose quite in the air. “I’m sure I don’t care at all that Haxton’s hair is straight and black.”

“What you do care about is that you are to be Countess of Haxton.” Dotty stuck her tongue out at her sister.

“Girls, please.” Massaging her temple, Mama groaned softly. “My poor head. Bella, did you ring for tea? This day has been trying enough as it is without you and your sister fussing over nothing.”

“And will likely become more trying, my dear.” Papa and Jemmy reappeared from their conversation by the decanter.

“What on earth do you mean, Wentworth? Oh, thank goodness.” Mama relaxed back in her chair as the footman entered with a fresh pot of tea and cups. “Do pour for me, Elizabeth. And don’t stint on the sugar. I fear I will need fortification for your father’s next revelation.”

“Not mine, my dear.” Grim lines etching his face, Papa sipped his drink. “I’ll let Brack tell you, as it is his tale.”

“What is it, my lord?” Elizabeth dropped four lumps into her mother’s cup, contemplating dumping the whole lot in. Best not. She might find herself needing something to strengthen her as well by the time Jemmy had finished.

“Before my father locked me in my room at the castle—”

“He locked you in, my lord?” Dotty bounced up on the sofa, her eyes shining with excitement. “Do you mean like Emily St. Aubert in The Mysteries of Udolpho?

“Dorothea, calm yourself.” Mama fixed her youngest child with a stern eye. “If you cannot learn to comport yourself in a more unexceptional manner, you may find your Season postponed for a year or more.”

Lips poked out in a pout, Dotty sank back onto the sofa. “But he said he was locked in a castle, Mama. I should think that called for an exceptional manner. It sounds terribly thrilling.”

“It may sound thrilling to you, Dorothea. And it may have been thrilling for Lord Brack, but you simply cannot shout about it as if you were still ten years old. Now, my lord”—Mama turned her attention back to Jemmy—“pray continue.”

He smiled at Dotty and winked conspiratorially. “Well, escaping was rather thrilling, I must admit, but the confinement was most inconvenient. I had no means to tell your sister I was coming for her. But by the grace of God, my sister, and Lady Wrotham, I managed to arrive here in time. Thank goodness, you hit upon that clever method of sending your letters through Lady Wrotham, my dear. It quite saved the day, I tell you.”

“It was my mother’s idea, my lord.” Elizabeth turned from her beloved to beam at Mama.

Jemmy’s jovial face softened. “Then I am truly forever in your debt, my lady. I would never have known of Elizabeth’s plans were it not for her letters.”

Pulling a Friday face, Mama grasped her tea but gave a nod of thanks before sipping it and sighing.

“Now, Miss Dorothea,” Jemmy returned smoothly to Dotty, who sat across from Elizabeth, staring at him, quivering like a coiled spring, “I will tell you all about the daring escape; however, I must relay my unfortunate news first.” His smile fled as he seated himself next to Elizabeth.

She grasped his hand, steadying herself with his touch. “Go on, my lord.”

“Father has written a letter to Lady Locke, denouncing you as a scheming minx trying to foist a child off on me that is not mine.”

“Dear Lord.” Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. This could ruin not only her, but her entire family. Lady Locke would relish such a tale, no doubt. Truth rarely mattered in her pursuit of the latest scandal. And to be the first to know such information would certainly be a feather in her cap.

“This is outrageous, even for Blackham.” Mama had gone as white as the teacup clutched in her hand.

“He said he’d waited a long time for his vengeance.” Jemmy turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “I assume you know to what he was referring.”

“I do.” Mama’s lips pressed together, a red slash across her pale face. She rubbed her temple with short, rounded strokes, a sure sign of one of her headaches. It had been a day of stresses, to be sure.

“I will elaborate on that situation later in private, Lord Brack.” Elizabeth wanted to spare Mama from reliving that painful experience yet again, especially in front of her younger daughters.

Jemmy nodded, but his attention remained on her parents. “As soon as my escape was reported to him, we must assume he sent the letter to Lady Locke. The post had already come by that time yesterday, so either he put it in today’s post or he sent it by one of his footmen, with directions to put it directly into the lady’s hand. In any case, she will likely receive it today or tomorrow at the latest.”

“How could he say something so . . . so horrible about you, Elizabeth?” Bella’s pinched face had paled as well. Her betrothal might well be thrown into jeopardy should this tale be spread about. “It is wicked, wicked to tell such lies. Does he not know you would never do something so shameful?”

“Can’t you simply inform Lady Locke that Lord Blackham is lying, Elizabeth?” Dotty turned a trusting face from her sister to her mother. “Won’t people believe your word over that of Lord Blackham?”

Shifting uneasily, Jemmy ran a hand through his already unruly hair.

Elizabeth’s face heated until she had to fan herself with her hand. Oh, what a thing to have to admit to her innocent sister. “They might believe for a while, my dear.” She cleared her throat and forced herself to continue. “However, when our child is born two months early, the ton will think back, and wonder, and whisper.”

“How do you know your first child will be born early?” Dotty’s pink face was screwed into a frown.