Much Ado about a Widow (The Widows' Club Book 4) Read online

Post Scriptum

  You might consider hiring a ship from Portsmouth to bring you to Cornwall. The sea journey is much shorter, if somewhat more treacherous this time of year. The overland trip is safer but cannot be accomplished in comfort in under eight days.

  The astonishing words left Jemmy bereft of speech. The whole situation was fantastical to the point that he wondered if he’d seen something similar in a Drury Lane drama.

  The door to the breakfast room opened, and Matthew and Fanny, now Lord and Lady Lathbury, sauntered in, their arms around each other’s waists, their gazes locked on each other’s.

  “Oh, Jemmy, Elizabeth.” Fanny had to drag herself away from her new husband’s regard. “We didn’t think anyone else would still be breakfasting.” She glanced from one to the other. “Is there something the matter?”

  “That’s an understatement,” Jemmy grumbled.

  Fanny sat in the chair next to her friend. “My dear, what is it?”

  Elizabeth looked inquiringly at her husband, and he shrugged.

  “You must tell them. I fear I need to concentrate on controlling my temper, lest I kill the man when next we meet.”

  His wife’s eyebrows shot into a high arch. “Jemmy! You can’t mean that. Why would you kill your best friend? He’s an honorable man, isn’t he?”

  “He may be an honorable man, but if word of this scrape gets out in the ton, Georgie’s reputation will be dashed. She’ll be given the cut direct, pure and simple. Do you not recall what happened to Lady Sarah Leacock?”

  Lady Sarah had fallen from her horse while out riding in the country with her cousin when a thunderstorm had blown up unexpectedly. The two had taken shelter and spent the night together in an abandoned barn. When they were discovered the next day, despite Sarah’s tearful explanations, the ton’s tongues had wagged until Sarah’s reputation lay in tatters. The puns on her name alone had been enough to send the rest of the family into seclusion. The cousin had not wanted to marry her, which had made it even worse, although he’d eventually been coerced into the marriage for the sake of Sarah’s younger sisters.

  The deep red that arose in Elizabeth’s cheeks said she remembered. “Oh, well, yes. I suppose I see what you mean.”

  “I remember Lady Sarah’s scandal, but pray do tell me about Georgie.” Fanny took Elizabeth’s hand in hers. “You cannot leave us in such suspense.”

  “It is all too strange for me to tell it right.” She nodded toward the crumpled letter on the table. “Jemmy just received this letter from Lord St. Just . . .” Elizabeth managed to relate the contents of the letter with her usual calm efficiency, although Jemmy became more and more incensed with every word she uttered. When she finally finished the tale, he jumped up, running his hand around the back of his neck where the muscles had tightened abominably during the retelling. Damn it, he must do something and now.

  “Do you think Georgie has simply eloped again? With St. Just this time?” Fanny looked hopefully from Elizabeth to Jemmy.

  “My father suggested that very thing.” Unable to remain still, Jemmy paced around the long, polished mahogany table. “He didn’t name St. Just, of course, but his first thought was that she had disobeyed him once again.”

  “Well, then.” Fanny leaned back in the chair, a gloating smile on her face. “I know it is rather out of hand, however, St. Just is quite the eligible parti. And a much better choice for Georgie than the one your father picked.” She turned a warm gaze on her husband. “Mistakes should be rectified.”

  “Fanny is correct, my love.” Elizabeth rose and came toward Jemmy, staying his frantic pacing. “Georgie may simply have chosen her own husband in her own . . . eccentric way.”

  Jemmy grasped her hands as though they were a lifeline. “I grant you the episode is not unlike others my sister has arranged in the past. Still, something does not seem quite right.”

  “Might she have confided it to Charlotte?” Fanny glanced about the room. “Haven’t she and Nash come down yet?”

  “Not since we’ve been here.” Elizabeth smiled. “I believe they may be ‘resting.’”

  Jemmy raised an eyebrow, and Matthew laughed. “Married men take their ‘rest’ when they can.” His gaze darted to his wife, and his eyes darkened. “As often as they can.”

  A blush darkened the pink in Fanny’s cheeks, and Jemmy chuckled. He and Elizabeth had certainly seen very little of their host and hostess during the day since the wedding two weeks before.

  “I will talk to Charlotte. However, I do not think Georgie was planning any such thing. In fact, St. Just’s letter doesn’t mention an elopement.” Elizabeth leaned against Jemmy, setting his pulse to racing, despite his concern for Georgie. “Instead, it says he expects Jemmy to retrieve his sister from Cornwall.”

  “Definitely not the response one would expect from a prospective husband.” Lathbury frowned. Apparently at least one other person thought the contents of the letter did not involve an elopement.

  “Besides, if Georgie did intend to run off with anyone, it wouldn’t be St. Just.” The more Jemmy thought about it, the less likely that solution seemed.

  “Why do you say that, Brack?” Lathbury headed to the warming pans on the sideboard and began to fill a plate. He glanced at his guests and shrugged. “One must keep up one’s strength if one is to pursue a woman across half the country.”

  “My reason to doubt she is with St. Just voluntarily is her dislike of the gentleman.” Jemmy followed Lathbury to the sideboard and picked up a plate.

  “Jemmy! You’ve had your breakfast already.” This reproof likely had more to do with the fact that Elizabeth could eat but little in the mornings than with an actual concern that he indulged too much at table.

  “Lathbury is correct, my dear,” he said, heaping piles of ham and roast beef on his plate. “We gentlemen must keep up our strength if we are to follow the troublemakers and discover why Rob has kidnapped Georgie.”

  “More tea, please, Thomas.” Elizabeth nodded to the footman, who set off immediately. “So, if Georgie hasn’t eloped with Lord St. Just, why was she in Portsmouth? In his letter he states she was kidnapped on the way to Blackham and diverted to the south. If that is true, then St. Just is actually saving her from the clutches of . . .” Elizabeth threw up her hands. “Who would want to kidnap Georgie?”

  “That is quite the question, my dear. And one I will be asking myself all along the road to Portsmouth.” Jemmy sat down to his heaping plate, his appetite restored now that he once again had a plan to follow. He’d pursue Georgie and Rob, catch up to them in Cornwall, and then set about thrashing the man who had compromised his sister. “Care to join me, Lathbury? I could use some company on the journey, and perhaps a second when I encounter St. Just.”

  With a sidewise glance at his wife, Lathbury shook his head, regret written on his features. “Afraid I can’t oblige you, Brack. I am newly married, if you remember. And if you don’t, my wife will remind you.”

  Jemmy chuckled. “Of course. Your duties lie elsewhere at present.” His own duty to Elizabeth would be sorely tried by the coming absence of at least some weeks. He considered himself still on his bridal tour—and likely would until their child appeared. “I will make do alone.”

  “I will accompany you, my dear.” Pouring milk into her tea, Elizabeth spoke up.

  “You will do nothing of the kind.” Jemmy attempted to glare at his wife, only to find her lovely blue eyes trained on him like a hunter’s on its prey. “Your interesting condition, my dear.”

  “My interesting condition does not preclude my riding in a carriage. If it did, we would be imposing on Fanny and Matthew until the end of July.”

  Jemmy trod on the thinnest ice imaginable. “Still, you should only ride as far as London, my love. You do not want to overtax the child.”

  “This early in the process there should be no ‘taxing’ of the child. In fact, St. Just suggests we make most of the journey by sea, as it is a faster route than overland. And I am an ex
cellent sailor.” Elizabeth set her jaw. “It is settled. I shall accompany you to find Georgie. I am certain she will need another woman’s comfort when we do find her.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Jemmy nodded. He hadn’t known his wife for very long; however, when she set her jaw about something, he might as well keep his breath to cool his porridge. “As you will, my dear.” He turned to Lathbury. “When can our carriage be readied? Apparently we are for Portsmouth.” He smiled at his wife, all along wondering, when they found Georgie and St. Just, which one he would strangle first?

  * * *

  Ensconced behind his massive, captain’s table, the Marquess of Blackham picked up the next letter from a tall stack of morning correspondence and paused. Brack had written back much more quickly than usual. That could bode interesting news. If anyone knew the whereabouts of his youngest daughter, it was his eldest son.

  Thick as thieves they were, ever since Georgina’s birth, no matter how hard he’d tried to break their affection. Allegiance to one particular brother or sister was not to be encouraged in his household. Only allegiance to the family as a single entity was acceptable. If they favored one another too much, they would eventually put the welfare of one above that of the Cross family. That would not do at all.

  Using his penknife with skill born of long practice, he carefully lifted the red wax seal and unfolded the letter.

  Father,

  I received your letter regarding Georgina and wish to assure you that she has come to no harm.

  See. He could depend upon it. Brack would know what the chit was up to. The marquess scowled as he continued reading.

  I have learned from my friend, Lord St. Just, that my sister was kidnapped on her way to Blackham Castle and taken to Portsmouth.

  The marquess’s eyebrows shot up. Kidnapped? What a bag of moonshine. Brack was as noddy-headed as they came if he thought his sister had been kidnapped. Oh, no. She’d gone and run off with a man other than the one she was supposed to wed, just like before. Well, she’d better hope her nest was better feathered this time than last, because he would wash his hands of her completely. He glanced back at the letter, disgust pulling his mouth askew.

  She managed, by great good luck, to escape her captors and ran into Lord St. Just. In order to keep her safe from her abductors, he is taking her to Cornwall, to his primary estate where she will be under his protection and the chaperonage of his mother, Lady St. Just.

  “Cornwall!” Lord Blackham tossed the letter onto the table and leaned back in his chair. Of all the idiotic things to have happen. How did Georgina manage to get herself constantly embroiled in such bizarre doings? Of course, she could simply be eloping with St. Just, but why go all the way to Cornwall? The girl was of age and a widow to boot. Any clergyman could have performed the nuptials in Portsmouth, although her contract to wed Travers might have been deemed an impediment. Still, could there be some truth in Brack’s statement?

  But then who would want to kidnap his daughter? Did they believe he would pay to ransom her? Hah. More fools they. Travers might be so foolish, or Brack, but not him. He grabbed the letter up again.

  I will leave this instant, with Elizabeth, for Portsmouth. St. Just suggests a sea voyage will be more expeditious than an overland journey, so we will secure passage as quickly as may be and follow them to Cornwall. Once there I shall take charge of Georgie, procure a conveyance, and bring her swiftly back to Blackham.

  Inform Lord Travers of this matter at your discretion. However, I fear when he learns of this turn of events he may wish to withdraw from his suit—which may in the end be a blessing.

  I will write you as soon as my sister is secure.

  Yr ob’t son,

  Brack

  Lord Blackham tossed the letter down again, scowling. Brack didn’t deceive him for a moment. Having gained some favor with him, his heir had tried to persuade him to call off the arrangement with Lord Travers for Georgina, citing her dislike of the gentleman and her desire to marry for love. Pah. Blackham narrowed his eyes to mere slits. Love matches were the absolute bane of Polite Society these days.

  Marriages in the upper classes had always been, heretofore, affairs of business contracted by the sensible parents of the couple to best benefit the families involved. A business transaction, no more, no less. If affection ensued—as with his second marriage—then that could be considered a boon. He stared at the small polished quartz statue of an owl that always sat on his desk and sighed. His late wife, Louisa, had given it to him during their first year of marriage. Athena’s owl she called it, to remind him of the value of wisdom. Quite a remarkable woman.

  Shaking off the chill that had unaccountably settled on him like a cloak, Blackham pulled a sheet of stationery toward him. With short, precise strokes he mended the pen, then dipped it in the silver standish. Brack was a simpleton if he thought his father didn’t see what had actually happened. Georgina had taken Travers in dislike and had persuaded her gullible brother to aid her in her scheme to be rid of her betrothed. They had concocted this ploy with Brack’s friend in order to take the girl out of her father’s reach and hopefully thwart the marriage.

  If true, then they had seriously misplayed their hand. Once the deal with the duke’s son had fallen through, Travers had held claim to Georgie, before her marriage to that thieving Kirkpatrick. As a man of his word, Blackham would see to it that justice was served, with a vengeance. He had promised Georgina to Lord Travers, by God, and he would deliver her to him.

  Putting his pen to the paper, he swiftly but exactly framed a letter to the steward at his estate in Somerset.

  Buckley,

  Events have transpired to thwart me in my purpose. To which I instruct you to raise a group of men—tenants, footmen, grooms, day laborers—to ride to Cornwall, to the estate of the Marquess of St. Just with the express purpose of securing my daughter, Lady Georgina, who was taken there against her will, and my wishes, by ruffians. Any men who agree to assist me will be handsomely compensated. This is a grave and secret matter that I trust to your discretion. Furthermore, no one is to know about this journey, including my son, Lord Brack.

  Blackham signed the letter, sanded it, and sent for a running footman. When the man arrived, he stood before Blackham, eyes trained straight ahead. A good man to have on your side. Well-trained. Blackham insisted on that in his servants. “George, you will take the fastest horse in my stable, Dobson will tell you which one, and you will ride as swiftly as the animal will take you. You are going all the way to Somerset to deliver this letter directly into the hands of my steward, Mr. Buckley. When you are sufficiently recovered, return home.” He stared hard into George’s eyes, while the footman still stared straight ahead, until at last the man blinked. “Do not fail me, George.” He held out the letter until the servant took it. “Do not fail!”

  George’s eyes widened, but he straightened his shoulders and grasped the missive. “I will not, milord.”

  Blackham waved him away and pulled out the next letter from his pile. If Georgina was a willing participant in this debacle, he would drag her from Cornwall to Blackham Castle where he would lock her in her room and literally throw the key away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The sun shone brilliantly on the craggy coast of St. Just as the Justine sailed into a small inlet early on the morning of their fourth day at sea. Georgie stood on deck, Lulu clasped securely under one arm, dazzled by the bright light shimmering off the waves of the blue water. After the extremely rocky start to the voyage, yesterday had been calm sailing indeed. She and the marquess had enjoyed each other’s company on deck and again at dinner, making Georgie almost wish the journey would never end. That, sadly, was not to be.

  They seemed to be making for a sheltered part of the cove where she could just make out a landing at the foot of towering rock cliffs. At the top of the cliff to her left, massive rock structures jutted out of the ground, soaring straight into the sky. On the other side sat a massive, gray stone ca
stle that looked to be carved out of the cliff itself.

  “Castle St. Just, my lady.”

  Rob’s voice in her ear made her jump and Lulu bark.

  “Do not tell me you brought me all this way just to frighten me to death before I can see it properly, my lord.” She cut her eyes toward him, trying to look severe, but laughing instead. She’d laughed quite a lot with Rob in the past couple of days.

  “Never.” He stared up at his home. “It is rather impressive, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Are you trying to impress me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The deep timbre of his voice sent a pleasant thrill down her spine. In their few short days together, Rob had become a true friend whose company she enjoyed immensely. They teased each other constantly, very much like she and her brother did, although the thoughts she increasingly had about Rob were anything but sisterly. She must make the most of her remaining time with him, before Jemmy arrived to take her back to Blackham. To Lord Travers.

  “We’re coming about to drop anchor, Captain,” Ayers called out from the ship’s wheel.

  “Excuse me, my dear.” Rob ran to help Cartwright pull in the sails.

  As the breeze dropped, cut off by the high crags, the vessel slowed, rocking gently from side to side, until it settled to a halt several hundred feet from the shore. A small boat started toward them, the men in it rowing enthusiastically.

  All about her, sailors bustled to and fro, securing lines, furling the sails, clearing the deck in anticipation of going ashore. Chapman appeared from belowdecks carrying her trunks.

  “Ready to go ashore, my lady?” Rob had returned to her side.

  “Yes, please.” She had become used to the shifting deck under her feet, but she’d be truly grateful for a floor that didn’t move.