Page 83 of Wedding the Widow

“Bricks, Wentworth. We must have hot bricks at our feet, else we will freeze, just as Lot’s wife did.” Mama cast a baleful glance at George, the footman. “Hot bricks, George. At once. I’m sure I don’t know why they are not already here.”

Elizabeth shuddered at that particular tone of voice, always reserved for their journeys: to visit relatives, to Papa’s northern estates, to his seat in Gloucester. Anywhere they had ever gone, the journeys began in the exact same way, no matter if they traveled in summer, winter, or fall: a call for hot bricks, followed by a virtual sermon upon the ministry of keeping your feet warm.

“As you have been told for years, Mama, the bricks are kept heating until the last possible minute. That assures that they are comfortable for the duration of the journey or until they can be replaced at the first change of horses.”

“Well,” Mama humphed as she sat heavily beside Elizabeth, “as we are now in the carriage, they had best send them out immediately if we are to be off in good time.” She patted Elizabeth’s hands. “We will not stop until we are quite outside of London, your father tells me. So the sooner we begin, the sooner we will end.”

As she could scarcely argue with that statement, Elizabeth merely nodded and sent up a prayer of thanks as the bricks, wrapped in flannel, were tucked in at her feet, the heat drifting pleasantly up under her skirts to linger around her knees.

“Place your feet on either side of mine, Jemmy. Then you will have some warmth as well.” She eagerly shifted her legs to give him room.

“No touching of the limbs, Elizabeth.” Her mother’s voice cracked in the small enclosure.

“Mama.” Elizabeth gave her parent what she hoped was a withering look. “I am on my way to my wedding. My second wedding, mind you. And I am already carrying his child. I do not think his touching my limbs will make the slightest bit of difference at this point. I would rather he not catch an ague.”

“That’s as may be, my girl. You have not married him yet, however, so no inappropriate behavior, if you please.” A wag of Mama’s finger, a gesture of admonishment Elizabeth remembered well from her childhood, was interrupted as the carriage hit a rut that set Mama’s crimson bonnet to bouncing. She shrieked and clutched the brim.

Elizabeth risked a glance at Jemmy, whose mouth twitched suspiciously. “You have nothing to say, my lord?”

With a sideways glance at her mother, he leaned forward to whisper, “I was calculating if my remaining funds would extend to hiring a separate carriage for the return journey to London. Then we could linger as we liked as we retraced our steps. There would be no hurry then, and a carriage to ourselves would be much more enjoyable, don’t you think?”

“I believe you are correct,” she whispered back, sighing at the thought of having Jemmy all to herself for the five or more days’ journey.

The dawn light had become brighter, bathing the carriage with a pearly glow. Her gaze fell on her mother’s skirts, covering her heated bricks. A slow realization that her father’s feet had entirely disappeared underneath those skirts as well sent somewhat of a shock through her.

Jemmy let out a snort as he quickly shifted his gaze out the window.

Elizabeth followed suit, biting her tongue to keep from commenting to her mother about “sauce for the goose.”

The carriage slowly wound its way throughout the early-morning bustle of London. Hackney cabs lined the streets, their horses snorting out great plumes of white steam. Shops were beginning to open, ready for the day’s custom. They passed a baker’s shop just as an early customer entered and the delicious aroma of yeasty bread, fresh baked, wafted into the carriage.

A loud growl rumbled from Elizabeth’s stomach. She clamped both hands over the offending organ and met Jemmy’s laughing gaze.

“Did you eat nothing before we left, my love?” His lips twitched in suppressed mirth.

“You know we had no time for breakfast.” She lay her heated cheek against the cold windowpane, gazing longingly at the baker’s shop. “I do hope we can stop and remedy that once we are out of the press of the London traffic.”

“I shall insist upon it, my dear.” Jemmy squeezed her hand and turned toward her father. “Will that be acceptable, Lord Wentworth? Elizabeth did not break her fast this morning, which cannot be good for either her or the child. Can we stop as soon as we pass through Islington?”

“Better to wait until we’ve reached the Great North Road and left London completely.” Papa’s gaze rested on her thoughtfully. “I’d say about another hour unless the traffic gets worse.”

Not at all what she’d wanted to hear, but Elizabeth nodded, hoping her stomach would stay quiet until then. She’d not felt hungry until that wonderful bakery smell had assaulted them. Catching Jemmy’s eye, she smiled at him, trying to reassure him. His face, however, now wore that determined look she was coming to know well—brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, lips a thin straight slash across his face.

He glanced out the window again, then pounded frantically on the trap. “Stop the carriage!”

“What the devil?” Papa grabbed the strap beside the door as the carriage lurched to a stop.

Elizabeth and her mother clutched each other to keep from sliding off the seat.

Jemmy threw the door open and bounded out into the street.

“Jemmy!” Elizabeth called as he dodged through the thickening traffic until he was lost to her sight.

“You are marrying a lunatic, Elizabeth. I hope you are satisfied.” Mama straightened her bonnet again and glared meaningfully in the direction Jemmy had disappeared.

“I am sure he has a good reason for this behavior, Mama. He is hardly a lunatic, as well you know.” Although she spoke with conviction, privately Elizabeth entertained the possibility that Mama’s pronouncement might have a grain of truth. Without a doubt, Jemmy was impetuous. Was that a virtue or a failing in a man?

Markson had moved the carriage to the side of the street, where they sat for some minutes, Mama tapping her hand rhythmically on her knee. “I will certainly speak to Lord Brack about this behavior as soon as—”