Page 80 of Wedding the Widow

“I hope you will excuse Mama today, Jemmy. She is always totally incapacitated by Boxing Day.” Eyes twinkling with amusement, she sipped her tea. “Actually, having to wait upon Tawes each year brings on an attack of the vapors the magnitude of which you simply would not believe. Although I suspect the strain is equally great on Tawes, who has always been most proper.”

Jemmy chuckled at that. Fellowes had seemed unusually overwrought after his dance with Elizabeth last night. “Do not fret yourself, my dear. I do quite understand. And if you will give me leave, I will head to the offices of the Archbishop of Canterbury for the special license that proclaims we can be man and wife without further delay.”

“I think that is terribly forward-thinking of you, Lord Brack.” Bella spread marmalade on her toast, then crunched into it with gusto. “So long and drawn out to have the banns read.” She wrinkled her nose. “I do wish I could convince dear Haxton to get a special license so we could marry immediately. Mama wants us to wait until the new year.” With a huff that sent her wisps of hair flying, Bella pulled a Friday face. “Or we could run away to Gretna Green.”

“Bella.” Elizabeth shot her sister a stern look and shook her head, her eyes flashing a warning. “Dotty, be a dear and run fetch my reticule. I have a letter to post.”

Unconcerned, her sister nodded and left the breakfast room.

“Isabella,” Elizabeth hissed as soon as Dotty swished through the door, “I very much doubt you would ever run off to Scotland to be married. Lord Haxton would not hear of it, I am sure. But to put such ideas within the hearing of Dotty, a flibbertigibbet if ever there was one, is dangerous, to say the least. Given half the chance, I’m sure she’d be across the border at the first opportunity and think it a grand lark.”

Even with the little acquaintance he’d had with Elizabeth’s youngest sister, he feared her words were nothing but the truth. The family must keep a close check on Miss Dorothea Worth during her coming Season, lest they have another problem on their hands the like of his and Elizabeth’s.

“Your sister is correct, Bella.” Lord Wentworth entered with the Times tucked under his arm, his brows lowered to a severe level over his eyes. “We must keep Dotty’s mind focused on a respectable marriage this coming year, else I will never hear the end of it from your mother.”

“Then I will hasten on my way and return with as little fuss as possible.” Jemmy swallowed an extraordinarily large mouthful of coffee, so large it hurt his throat.

“Would you like some company, Brack?” Wentworth folded the paper and laid it on the sideboard. “I believe I could do with some fresh air before sitting to my breakfast.”

“I’d planned to ride, my lord.”

“Splendid. Just the thing, bracing air.” Lord Wentworth headed for the door. “Let me change, and I’ll be right back.”

Jemmy clasped Elizabeth’s hand. “I will not be more than an hour, my love. Once I return, we may be married at any time, any place.”

“Here and now would suit me fine.” She squeezed his hands, though it might as well have been his nether regions, the desire for her burned so bright.

“Your wish, my dear, as well as mine.” He’d have to bring a clergyman back with him so they wouldn’t waste a single minute before they could wed. He kissed her hand, wanting to draw her closer, yet daring not with Isabella in the room. He shot a glance at his soon-to-be sister-in-law, who had the good grace to smile.

“I should go see what is keeping Dotty with your reticule, Elizabeth. You don’t want to miss the morning post.” She rose, bringing Jemmy to his feet. “Excuse me, my lord,” she said, gaily tripping out of the breakfast room and pulling the door almost all the way shut.

“Courtship is often made or sabotaged by one’s well-meaning relations.” He drew her up to him, slipping his arms around her waist, and nuzzling her neck in the tenderest spot.

“I am very glad to have the former type of relation.” Elizabeth settled against him, and sighed. “Very glad indeed.”

* * *

Frantic knocking at the door woke Elizabeth from a much-needed nap. After two hours of waiting, she’d given up on Jemmy and Papa and retired to her chamber. She must not be such a lie-abed, even if she was carrying a child.

“Come in.”

“Oh, ma’am. Miss Elizabeth.” Clearly disturbed, as indicated by the unconscious slip with Elizabeth’s name, Weller wrung her hands. “You must come quick. His lordship is asking for you.”

“Papa? Where is Lord Brack?” A trickle of icy fear slid down her back.

“He is there as well, ma’am. They are in the family parlor.” Weller bobbed her way out, obviously sent somewhere else as well.

What had happened? She slid out of bed and reached for the yellow sprigged gown, one of the simple ones that she could don herself. Quickly, she pulled it on, collecting herself so she could face whatever crisis awaited, and made her way to the family’s favorite room. No matter whether joy or sorry, the Worths faced it there.

Chaos had erupted when she entered.

Shouting and waving a fist at no one in particular, Papa was terribly red in the face. Bella and Dotty, wide-eyed, cowered on the gold sofa, Dotty also clutching a cup of tea and her sister. Jemmy stood at the sideboard, a tumbler brimful of brandy in his hand.

“What is going on, Papa?” Elizabeth darted toward her father. “Why are you railing at no one?”

“I will not brook this insult, Elizabeth.” He banged his fist on a table, toppling a china figurine onto the floor with a crash.

“Oooh,” Dotty jumped and screamed, tea flying in an arch through the air, landing on her sister.