Wedding the Widow Read online

  Her tinkly little laugh filled the breakfast room. “Nash did not want to marry me. He was only being gallant, and I knew that. He would never have been happy with anyone other than Charlotte, so that’s as it should be.”

  “Your life would have been much easier, Georgie.”

  “My life is as I have made it, Jemmy.” She folded her napkin with trembling fingers and laid it on her plate. “I would not change it one jot. Well, I would have Mrs. Reynolds not be so nasty toward me, but other than that . . .” She smiled, and her green eyes twinkled. “I think you should write to Elizabeth and let her know when you will next be in London.”

  “And why should I do that, Mrs. Meddler?” She knew how to change a subject, by God.

  “If you have any affection for Elizabeth—and I’d wager any amount of money, if I had it, that you do—then you must pursue her. Don’t allow her to get wrapped up in the children and forget you. Strike while the iron is hot, as Aunt Fern says.” Georgie bounced up and kissed his forehead. “If you don’t, I will guarantee you will regret it.”

  “Regret what?” Lord St. Just had entered the breakfast room on the tail end of Georgie’s declaration.

  “Good morning, my lord.” Georgie bowed and threw a gay look at Jemmy. “My brother will regret his inactivity today if he does not mark my words.” With an irrepressible giggle, Georgie sped from the room.

  “Does your sister always speak in riddles, Brack? She’s quite adorable, but a veritable Cassandra for making heads or tails of.” St. Just grabbed a plate and began to load it down with an enthusiasm that made Jemmy rather ill. “What do you say to a ride this morning?” he asked, piling sausages on top of a mound of potatoes. “Fresh air always does one good. And Lady Georgina seemed to think activity was what you wanted today.”

  Sighing deeply, Jemmy nodded. “I believe you are right, Rob.” He eyed his friend’s heaping plate, now festooned with a ring of scones around the edge. “Good God, you’re not going to eat that whole lot?”

  A grin split St. Just’s face. “A growing boy needs his strength.”

  “You’re eight and twenty, Rob. Any growing you do will be outward.” He eyed his friend’s whipcord-thin frame. “Well, perhaps you could stand a bit of that.”

  With a snort, St. Just slid into a chair across from him. “I’m in better shape than you, old chap. This,” he waved his hand over the huge mound of food, “will scarcely last me until luncheon.” He speared a sausage and deftly cut it into thirds, the final third disappearing into his mouth.

  As his friend chewed with gusto, Jemmy rose.

  “Thought we were riding, old chap.” St. Just cut into a slice of roast beef. The man’s appetite had been legendary at school.

  “Not this morning, I’m afraid,” Jemmy said, eyeing the massive plate with distaste. “While you’re occupied with devouring enough food to feed Bristol, I’m going to change and have Fellowes pack a bag.” Georgie’s words still echoed in his head, and his heart was inclined to listen. He’d even do her one better. “I’m for London as fast as the carriage can take me.”

  Chapter 5

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath and mounted the steps to Worth House, her parents’ town house in fashionable St. James Square. She’d had a long day of relentless soul-searching as she traveled through the countryside from Kent to London and could have used a distraction from her thoughts. Even her maid, Weller, never a chatty person, would have been better company than not, but Elizabeth had been obliged to leave her at home to see to her sisters. Oh, well, now she had arrived, she’d have more than her share of conversation. Bella and Dotty would likely provide that in the three minutes it would take her to enter the house and find them.

  “Madam.” Tawes opened the door as though he’d been expecting her today and not two days from now. “We are glad to have you home again.” He took her spencer, hat, and gloves.

  She sighed in relief to be home at last, with all its familiar sights and sounds. The pendulum clock in the foyer chimed the hour—five o’clock, enough time to change for dinner and perhaps have a quick visit with the children. Hothouse roses in a huge porcelain vase, edged in gold, scented the air. The red blooms were always there, their particular sweet scent a welcoming fragrance of home. A much longed-for peace descended on her.

  As she started up the staircase, doors above banged shut, and shrill female voices drifted down from the landing that housed her sisters’ chambers and their private sitting room, shattering the peace.

  Still, it was good to be home. She continued up the stairs.

  “Elizabeth, you are returned so soon?” Isabella called to her as she passed the second-floor parlor on her way to her own chamber. The dark-blond girl put down her book and rushed to the doorway. “How was the house party?” Then with an arch smile, “Was Lord Brack in attendance?”

  Drat. Why had she made mention of his lordship to her sisters after the last house party at Lyttlefield Park in August? Nothing could remain a secret in the Worth household.

  “Hello, Isabella. You are looking quite well this evening.” Her sister was very much in looks indeed. Her cheeks pink, her lips shiny, her skin—prized for its creamy hue—fairly glowed in the lamplight. A sparkle of life in her big brown eyes told Elizabeth something had changed. Isabella had been in the doldrums ever since the end of the Season. What had occurred in the few days since her departure to cause this change?

  “Thank you.” Isabella preened, swishing her pale, pink-sprigged gown. “You look fagged to death.”

  “I’ve been rattling around in a carriage since before breakfast. You’d hardly look like you stepped out of a bandbox either.” Elizabeth peered at her sister, giving her a more thorough scrutiny. The new pink gown, embellished with small tucks and pearls around the bottom, became her sister’s coloring excellently. The delicate lace at the sleeves and neck was demure—and costly, to judge by the tiny, intricate pattern. Isabella’s luxurious hair had been swept up into a stylish coiffure, quite like it had looked at assemblies during the Season. Elizabeth waved her hand, taking the girl in from top to toe. “Are you expecting someone to call this late?”

  The girl smiled knowingly, then beckoned Elizabeth into the room before shutting the door. “No one knows but Papa, Mama, and Dotty.” She drew Elizabeth down onto the chaise before the fire, hands fluttering, smiling like a china doll, as she bubbled with excitement. “Last evening, quite out of the blue, Lord Haxton proposed to me!”

  “Goodness, Bella.” Elizabeth blinked in astonishment. “Has he courted you since the end of the Season?” Mama had not said a word about such a thing; at least Elizabeth didn’t think so. She’d been so distraught over Dickon’s death and Charlotte trying to bring her out of mourning, she might have missed something.

  “Not since the Season, no, but we did see one another during the Season’s activities, and we went to Vauxhall twice with a large party.” Bella’s cheeks had turned quite as red as the room’s Turkey carpet. “But nothing was ever spoken between us, although I did think him quite handsome and dashing.”

  Yes, Lord Haxton was both of those things; so Elizabeth had heard. She’d also heard from Jane and Fanny of his interest this past summer in the Marquess of Theale’s daughter, Lady Anne Tarkington, while at the summer house party. Lady Anne, they’d told her, had led Haxton a merry chase the whole Season long, then accepted the heir to the Duke of Armondy, with her proud papa’s full blessing. So if the Earl of Haxton could find solace with the daughter of a viscount instead, perhaps there was something to be said for him.

  “Well done, my dear.” She hugged her sister, praying for her happiness. “I wish for you all the happiness I had with Dickon.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m sure we shall be very contented together.” Bella beamed at her. “He’s coming to dinner tonight.” She fussed with her dress, smoothing its sleek lines. “I couldn’t wait to dress for dinner, so I made Weller dress me ahead of time.”

  “Very ahead.” Elizabeth rose, h
er weariness suddenly pressing upon her. “I must go see the children, then rest at least a little before dinner. Especially now that I am to meet your betrothed.”

  Grinning, Bella rose with her. “I do hope you approve of him.”

  “I am sure I shall, my dear,” she said, taking her sister’s hands and giving them a squeeze. “At least I will try very, very hard to do so.” She laughed and hugged Bella. Only one more sister to wed now. The thought that both her younger sisters would soon have husbands and she none made her suddenly sober.

  “You never said if Lord Brack was at Charlotte’s party.”

  Her sister’s words brought her up with a jolt. “Did I not? I am sorry. Yes, Lord Brack was in attendance this weekend.” Heat rushed to her face as a vision of the two of them locked in a passionate embrace in her bed sprang up before her eyes.

  “And . . . ?” Bella cocked her head, inquisitive as a sparrow. “Did he make his intentions apparent to you?”

  Her head spinning, Elizabeth clutched the doorway, concentrating on remaining standing. “We . . . we spent quite a lot of time together.” Dear Lord, what could she say? “But he made no formal declaration.” That much was true at least.

  “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I thought you said you liked him after your meeting in August.” Bella’s eyes held a touch of sadness. Was she sorry for her? “So why did you return early from this party? We certainly did not expect you home until Tuesday at the earliest.” The girl sniffed. “I should have stayed and tried to bring him up to snuff.”

  So might she have done, and with very little insistence been successful, had she not fled like a thief in the night—or morning, as it turned out. She could not think of that. Would not think of Lord Brack in her bed. Nor of the horrible indiscretion she had committed.

  “I fear I found myself poor company for anyone. I missed Colin and Kate so dreadfully, I simply had to come home. I really must go see them before they go to bed.” Three steps down the corridor, and she had almost escaped. “I’ll see you at dinner, and you can introduce me to your Lord Haxton,” she called over her shoulder. Waving her hand, she fled down the corridor, only to realize she’d turned the wrong way. Well, she wasn’t going back to be pulled into conversation again with Isabella. She took the servants’ narrow staircase at the back of the house and climbed the steep stairs to the third floor. Drawing in deep breaths, she continued upward, panting as though she’d been running a race. Running away from memories she couldn’t face. Not yet. Perhaps never.

  As she neared the third-floor landing, she could hear squealing laughter from the nursery. Good, they’d not gone to bed yet.

  “Good evening, my darlings.” She swept into the nursery, catching the twins chasing one another around the nursery table.

  “Mama, Mama!”

  “Mama! You’re home, you’re home.” Kate crashed into her left leg, just as Colin swarmed onto her right.

  “Goodness! I left my two good children here and return to a brace of wild savages.” Elizabeth knelt down and gathered them into her arms.

  “We’re not wild savages, Mama.” Kate snuggled against her neck. “We were playing a game.”

  “A game? What game? And where is Nurse?” She looked about, but the new nurse her mother had engaged was nowhere to be found. Such a pity her own nurse had retired before the twins had been born.

  “She tucked us into our beds, Mama,” Colin spoke up. “But then she was called away. One of the maids came and fetched her.”

  “So you took the opportunity to pop out of your beds like two jack-in-the-boxes?” Elizabeth gave her dark-haired son her sternest look.

  “We’ve done it before, Mama.” Without a hint of remorse, Colin looked her squarely in the face. “It does no harm, and Grandmama said exercise is good for us, didn’t she, Kate?” He poked his sister in the arm.

  “Oh, yes, Mama. She said we should run about, so now Colin chases me all the time.” Kate’s bottom lip stuck out.

  “Do not poke your sister, Colin, and while exercise might be a good thing, running about just before bed is not part of any healthy program I’ve heard of.”

  “But, Mama . . .” Colin frowned, his small brows brooding, drooping over his eyes, darkening his face into an unbecoming countenance. She must nip this right in the bud.

  “No, Colin, I am the one who says what you may and may not do, not Grandmama.” Elizabeth took them by the hands, steering them back toward their beds. “Up you go, darlings.”

  Without too much reluctance, and no real grumbling, they settled down beneath the yellow and green covers, and Elizabeth bent to tuck them in. She had missed this routine, in truth.

  “Did you have fun at the party, Mama?” Kate managed to speak despite the huge yawn that split her mouth.

  “I did indeed, lovey.” Elizabeth settled her daughter’s cap more firmly on the pale blond curls. “We played cards and had dancing and a great festival called the Harvest Festival.”

  “What’s a Harvest Festival?” Colin wormed his way into an almost sitting position. “Is it like the fair you and Papa took us to a long time ago?”

  “Yes, my dear, very like that one. You were so small I didn’t think you would remember it.” Elizabeth busied herself smoothing his covers. She and Dickon had taken the children to a local fair the year before he’d been sent to Belgium. Suddenly, her whole body ached with wanting him again.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?” Both children were sitting up now, looking quizzically at her. Kate threw her arms around her mother.

  “Nothing, my loves. I was remembering the fair with your Papa, is all. I still miss him very much.” She tried to brush at her eyes to stem the flood of tears that threatened.

  “Then who took you to the festival, Mama? You didn’t go by yourself, did you?” Colin wagged his head at her, a perfect imitation of his grandfather that pulled her back from the brink and made her want to laugh. “That is not at all proper.”

  “You are correct, Colin. That would not be proper at all.” She straightened her skirts to give her time to get her thoughts together. “An acquaintance escorted me, a gentleman I met at Lady Cavendish’s party this summer past.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “His name is Lord Brack, a very nice, jovial gentleman, to be sure.” Admitting even that much seemed to open a floodgate within her. “One day another man may wish to marry me and become your new Papa. Someone like Lord Brack.” She held her breath and waited.

  “No.” Colin sat straight up and crossed his arms. “I don’t need another Papa. I have Grandpapa. And I will escort you to fairs and festivals whenever you wish, Mama. So you see, you don’t need anyone else at all.”

  “But, Colin—”

  “No, Mama, Colin is right.” Kate climbed from under the covers and into her lap. “I don’t want a stranger here with us, Mama. We just want you.”

  Elizabeth sighed and rubbed Kate’s small back until she managed to coax her back beneath the coverlet. “It won’t happen anytime soon, loveys, I promise you that.”

  “Good.” Colin punched his pillow and settled down without further fuss.

  Tucking the covers under Kate’s chin once more, Elizabeth leaned down to brush a kiss on her sweet forehead. Once their regular breathing told her both children were asleep, she kissed Colin as well. He’d gotten to the “don’t touch me” stage earlier this year. She whispered, “Good night, my love” in each one’s ear, and rose.

  At least, she knew now the children were not inclined to favor a new husband in her life, a new papa in theirs. She hadn’t been unduly surprised at Colin’s very vocal denunciation. Perhaps it was best to put all thoughts of Lord Brack out of her mind for the time being. The children shouldn’t be upset so soon after their father’s death.

  She crept out of the nursery in search of Nurse.

  It might be well and good to make such grand pronouncements, but unless she kept her thoughts from last night and Lord Brack’s sleek, strong arms and supple, powerful body, all the good intentions in
the world would be for nothing. Whether it upset the children or not.

  * * *

  Sipping her wine at dinner, Elizabeth wished with all her heart for the evening to be at an end. She’d hardly had time to change before dinner and now longed to crawl between her crisp sheets and close her eyes. Unfortunately, every time she thought of this, she also immediately remembered the tryst with Lord Brack and the gross impropriety of her reaction to him. Heat lit up her cheeks each time, causing her mother to ask her earlier if she had a fever. She’d shaken her head no and vowed to put that encounter behind her. It was done, and she would simply never see the man again. Of course, she’d likely have to eschew her friendship with Georgie and make an excuse not to come to Charlotte’s wedding, although that idea pained her deeply. But she could not face Lord Brack, and that was all there was to it.

  Dinner wound on, and she managed to keep her mind mostly on Lord Haxton’s comments about his racing stable. As her dinner partner on the left, she’d gotten to take his measure somewhat. A pleasant gentleman, to be sure, and when he glanced at Bella—which happened frequently during the meal—his brown eyes took on a decided gleam. Perhaps her sister’s betrothed had been smitten with her despite his obvious attachment elsewhere this summer. For Bella’s sake, she prayed it was so.

  When her mother rose to leave the table, Elizabeth sighed with relief. Her father, brother, and Lord Haxton would likely remain for some time enjoying their brandy or port and talking about the settlements—the family property that formed a good portion of Bella’s dowry in particular. Dickon had told her he’d been regaled with facts, figures, and a history of her dower estate for so long he’d prayed for a summons from the War Office to interrupt them. Papa could drone on and on about his various properties. She might be able to make the excuse of fatigue from her journey or headache to retire early before the men rejoined them.

  Not for the first time, she longed for her quiet evenings alone with Dickon in their house in Russell Square. She’d had to give it up when he’d been killed, but the memory of their brief but happy time there was always warm and near to her heart.