by Jenna Jaxon
“Thank you, Fellowes.” Jemmy’s fingers flew as he retied the snowy white cravat more loosely until he could swallow with relative freedom. “What would I ever do without you?”
“I am pleased to ever be at your lordship’s service.”
Jemmy gazed at his reflection, taking in point after point of his dress, remembering how he’d looked before he’d escorted Elizabeth to the festival. Before the madness had descended upon him.
Fellowes had worked another miracle. His suit approached the crisp look of earlier, only slightly relaxed. The cravat, however, was the masterpiece. Draped with exactly the correct degree of looseness, it suggested several hours of wear, not the frantic untying that had occurred in Elizabeth’s bedchamber. He must remember to raise Fellowes’s wages ten shillings in the next quarter. This was not the first time the valet had saved him, and it likely would not be the last.
“This will do nicely.” Jemmy turned this way and that, judging the exact dishevelment of his appearance and finding it most satisfactory. “You are to be commended, Fellowes.”
“Thank you, my lord.” The man bowed, took the soiled shirt, and disappeared into the dressing room once more.
Now for the hardest part of the evening—acting unconcerned about Elizabeth’s disappearance without seeming too incurious or too interested. Perhaps he could help by volunteering the information that she’d retired with a headache. No one could fault her for that after the strenuous nature of the day they had all had.
He took one last look in the mirror and headed downstairs, determined to shield Elizabeth, in her absence, from the prying questions of the other guests. Tomorrow he would find a way to speak with her alone and query her about their future. As a gentleman, he would help hide her from everyone but himself.
Chapter 4
Next morning, dressed as though he expected to meet Beau Brummel himself, Jemmy straightened his shoulders and fixed a pleasant smile on his face before entering the breakfast room. From experience, he knew Elizabeth came down early, and he hoped to begin his campaign to woo her afresh over tea and toast. Disappointment wiped the smile from his face when he found the bright yellow room inhabited only by his sister, Georgina, seated at the table, peeling an orange.
“Jemmy.” Georgie’s eyes lit up, and her cheeks flushed. She patted the seat beside her. “Come sit by me. I must get my fill of you while I can. There’s no telling when we shall be able to meet again.” She frowned, her nose wrinkling comically as she turned the orange in her hands.
He made his way around the table, glancing about for any sign that Elizabeth had already come down. The tablecloth lay smooth, pristinely fresh, everywhere save the place occupied by his sister. Good. Elizabeth had not yet appeared. After nonchalantly brushing a kiss on Georgie’s brow, he rounded the table and headed for the sideboard, loaded with gleaming silver warming pans.
Last evening’s mix of wild passions, the stresses of mingling sociably with the house party company afterward, and tossing and turning in his suddenly empty-seeming bed had resulted in a voracious appetite this morning. Before he realized it, he’d heaped his plate high with smoked herring, cold veal pie, sausages with mashed potatoes, rolls, and marmalade.
“Are you expecting a famine, Jemmy?”
He turned to find Georgie eyeing his plate before returning her attention to her orange.
“Can a man not be hungry in the morning without family censure falling on his head?” Jemmy shot back, a little more crisply than usual. He loved the banter he and his sister often shared, but found himself too distracted this morning to continue it. “Have you had the table to yourself this whole while?” He grabbed an orange for himself from the bowl at the end of the sideboard.
“Yes, alas. No one has seen fit to come down and eat this morning.” Georgie dropped the orange peel, which she’d managed to remove in one long piece, onto her plate. “I suppose all the excitement of the festival, with the drama that unfolded with poor Sir Edgar, and Charlotte and Nash’s announcement of their engagement last night has worn everyone completely out.” Carefully, she dissected the orange segments onto her plate, ringing the rim in bright color.
“It was quite an eventful night, I’ll grant you.” Jemmy chuckled as he pulled out the high-backed chair beside her. “I’ll be surprised if the any of the company rises before noon.” He eased into his chair, the overly full plate balanced neatly on one hand.
“Except for us and Elizabeth.”
Jemmy froze, the plate now wobbling precariously. “You said she hadn’t been down.”
Georgie shook her head. “I said she hadn’t breakfasted. She bid me farewell as I came down the stairs.”
“Farewell?” The plate slipped from his hand and rattled onto the table, spilling a little of the potatoes onto the clean white tablecloth. “She’s left Lyttlefield Park?”
Staring at him warily, Georgie nodded. “At least half an hour ago. She said she needed to go home. Oh.” She reached underneath her plate and produced a letter. “She left this for you.”
Stomach twisting, Jemmy plucked it from her fingers. Feigning an air of indifference, he calmly broke the seal and slowly unfolded the sheet of cream notepaper. “Did she say why she needed to go home so suddenly?” She could have received a message from home in the middle of the night or early this morning, but a sinking suspicion told him his actions—or hers—had precipitated her flight.
“No, which is odd.” Georgie frowned. “I asked if something had happened, and she said ‘yes,’ then paled and said ‘no.’ I couldn’t get out another question before she thrust that into my hands and said to give it to you.” His sister narrowed her eyes. “Did you quarrel with her last night, Jemmy? Don’t tell me you have done something stupid.”
“I . . . no, nothing I can think of.” He hated lying through his teeth, especially to Georgie, for whom he’d always felt a special fondness. “She said she had a headache when I left her last night. That’s all.” Fearing the worst, he unfolded the piece of stationery.
“So you told us.” Georgie picked up an orange section and bit it in half. “However, I did mark that the tips of your ears turned bright pink at the time.”
“What?” He’d been staring at the letter, admiring the elegant swirls of Elizabeth’s handwriting. His sister’s words brought him back to the present with a jolt. “What does the color of my ears have to do with anything?”
“Oh, come now, Jemmy.” Georgie gave him a withering look. “As if you didn’t know that your ears turn the exact shade of the Rose de Meux in the gardens at Blackham Castle every time you lie about something.”
“Leave my ears out of this, bran face. I was likely too close to the fireplace.” He busied himself with the letter, refusing to meet Georgie’s eyes for fear his ears would betray him yet again. Drawing in a sobering breath, he forced his attention to the looping letters that sprawled thickly across the page.
Dear Lord Brack,
Christ. If she referred to him as Lord Brack after that wildly passionate interlude in her chamber last night, he was lost for sure.
By the time you receive this letter I shall be on my way back to my parents’ home in London. I beg of you, do not follow me there.
Hell and damnation.
As I warned you last evening, I am not yet done with grieving my late husband. He is almost constantly in my thoughts, as you have become well aware.
A large blob of ink had pooled on the period of that sentence. Perhaps Elizabeth’s pen had rested there over long as she reflected on the moment of which she wrote. He could certainly recall that scene vividly—her face pale, save for her cheeks flushed rosy in passion’s grip as he gloriously spilled himself inside her, her one word marring the moment.
I find I am unwilling to consider such intimacies with another man while I am still constrained by my dear husband’s memory. I am therefore removing myself from you, the company, and from society in general for an undetermined length of time, until my deep feelings for my
late husband can be laid to rest. I feel it would be unfair to you to give you hope that I will change my mind soon. You should consider yourself free of any obligation to me that you might construe from our encounter last evening.
An icy hand gripped his heart. She meant to end their connection once and for all, without even giving him a chance to declare himself. He clutched the paper so tightly it tore. Had that impassioned interlude meant nothing to her, save the betrayal of a dead man? She had been embarrassed, true, but surely she knew he would never reproach her for that cry? He’d told her as much then and there. Perhaps she hadn’t believed him. Should he have tried harder to allay her fears on that point?
Forcing himself to relax, he shot a glance at Georgie, who sat calmly eating another section of orange. Her gaze fixed firmly on the fruit, she nevertheless radiated a tension that would soon explode in a bevy of questions. If he knew Georgie, she’d demand to hear the contents of this letter, so he had better create a respectable version of it post haste. There remained but two lines left to read.
I truly wish you well, my lord, and hope for you nothing but the happiness which you so richly deserve. Thank you for all your many kindnesses to me during our brief acquaintance.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Elizabeth Easton
Wanting nothing more than to crumple the letter into a ball and pitch it into the fireplace with an oath that would singe his sister’s ears, Jemmy instead breathed slowly through his nose and eased his death grip on the letter. His gaze fell again on her final sentence.
Thank you for all your many kindnesses to me . . .
Could he do her one more kindness and let her go?
If he chose, he could easily call attention to their tryst here. Everyone loved gossip, and Elizabeth’s hasty departure would raise eyebrows if he were to drop a judicious hint or two to Lathbury down here, or even better to Lady Locke, the ton’s biggest scandalmonger in London. Widows could be compromised and forced to marry if their behavior became blatant, and she’d be expected to marry him, whether she wished to or not. The thought tantalized him, but he could not pursue it. He’d not force a woman to marry him, not even one he desperately wanted. No, he must do her that last kindness and create a reason for her precipitous flight.
He raised his gaze from the letter to the sharp green eyes of his sister, who had apparently eaten the entire orange and now turned her full attention on him, blast his luck.
“Well?” Georgie’s eyebrows swooped upward.
“Well, what?” He must stall for enough time to come up with a plausible reason for Elizabeth to return to London so swiftly, before the party had officially broken up. Anything would do, except the truth.
“Well, did she say why she left so suddenly? Really, Jemmy, you can be such a chucklehead.” Her green-eyed gaze had gone icy cold.
He longed to tell her the truth, to ask her advice on how to win Elizabeth, but that would certainly never do. Even though Georgie had been married, she was still his youngest sister, and he wasn’t about to discuss such things with her. “She says only that she wished to go home to see the children.” Such a sentiment seemed the most plausible excuse for Elizabeth. He breathed a sigh of relief, congratulating himself for devising the perfect explanation.
“There’s nothing wrong with the children, is there?” Georgie grabbed his arm hard enough to make him wince. “She didn’t receive a message in the night telling her to go home?” His sister fastened her gaze on the letter, and her hands shook.
He folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket before she could snatch it out of his hands. “No, nothing is wrong . . .” He cast his mind about, thinking swiftly. “Last night she told me she’d been missing them dreadfully.” She’d been missing her husband dreadfully at least. “I suppose she decided in the night that she simply must see them.” He stared at the plate of food, which had grown cold, and pushed it aside. No matter. A bite of anything would choke him.
Georgie sat back in her chair and released his arm with a little shake. “I suppose I can understand that.” She slumped in her chair. “But I will miss her terribly. She is such a good friend to me, Jemmy. You have no idea.”
He patted her hand. “I believe I do, my dear. She is a lovely woman, and I shall miss her company as well.”
A footman in blue and gold livery had been hovering by the door for some minutes.
“Coffee, please, Robert.” That he would welcome. He pushed his plate farther away and grimaced.
“Aren’t you going to eat, Jemmy?” Georgie narrowed her eyes, her lips pursed in displeasure. “Don’t let Elizabeth’s departure spoil the rest of your visit.” She tried to smile, but her mouth drooped. “We must make the most of our last few days together and be merry while we may.”
“You are right, my dear.” Chastened, Jemmy pulled his spirits out of the slough of despond into which they had been sliding ever since he had opened the letter. Georgie was right. He might not see her for some time to come after the house party broke up. He patted her hand, determined to be cheerful for her sake. “We shall continue to enjoy our visit, no matter what else has happened. Although I daresay Lady Cavendish would not be averse to having me down for the Christmas season, if you asked her.” He usually spent the holiday in London but could manage several days here to be with Georgie. “I’m sure we could arrange for a lark or two then as well.” As long as Father didn’t catch on to why he kept going into Kent.
“But I won’t be here, Jemmy, that’s the thing.” Georgie fiddled with her teacup, running her finger around the rim, producing a faint ringing sound. “After Charlotte and Nash wed, she will, of course, remove to Wrotham Park.” Her eyes closed, and she bit her lip. “I cannot stay here.”
“I’m sorry, Georgie, I hadn’t realized.” Her words startled him badly. Georgie had been so happy here. For her to have to return to her sister-in-law’s house, where she was grudgingly welcomed and badly treated, would be intolerable for his sensitive sister. “Do you think Lady Cavendish would allow you to stay on for a while?”
He’d barely gotten the sentence out before Georgie started shaking her head, wisps of curls bobbing alongside her face. “I could not impose myself so, Jemmy. Charlotte has been too kind to me these many months. I would not ask such a thing of her, even if it were possible. I could not stay here without a companion, and I know of no one I could ask.”
“I could hire a companion for you.” That would work if only Father didn’t find out. He currently lived off his inheritance from his mother, but Father would likely make life unpleasant for him if he found out he was helping Georgina after she’d been disowned for marrying against Father’s wishes.
“Charlotte means to close the house and combine the households. I couldn’t ask her to keep it running just for me.” Head bowed to avoid his eyes, she continued to fidget with the cup in front of her.
Robert entered and poured his coffee, giving Jemmy time to think in silence until the footman left.
“It’s a pity Aunt Fern is abroad in India. You could easily have stayed with her. What about the other ladies of your circle? Might you visit one of them for a time?” Not a very likely prospect; her friends were all widows, most with very limited circumstances.
“They are in situations perhaps not quite as dire as mine, but nearly so,” Georgie confirmed his fears. “Elizabeth has the children and lives with her parents. Fanny lives with her brother-in-law, the Marquess of Theale. Jane has been a companion to Charlotte this past year, but she’ll likely return to Theale’s as well when Charlotte marries. Her late husband was the marquess’s brother.” She sighed, twitched her shoulders, and tried to smile at him. “I shall simply have to return to Mrs. Reynolds and the Kirkpatricks.” She tugged on her bottom lip once more. “As long as I can make myself useful, she won’t mind much.”
The misery on his sister’s face smote Jemmy’s heart. Damn, but Father’s decree had hurt her much more than the deed warranted. “You know I’d provide a plac
e for you if Father allowed it, don’t you, Georgie?”
“It’s not your fault.” She patted his elbow. “I disobeyed him by marrying Isaac. I knew the consequences, but I didn’t care,” she said, gazing at him fiercely. “I would do it again without a moment’s thought to be with the man I loved.”
She would, too. Jemmy absolutely had no doubt of that. He’d sneaked off to the parsonage to see Georgie married to the vicar’s son, a regular chap who anyone could have seen adored Georgie. The glowing happiness on his sister’s face as she spoke her vows in the crowded little room would remain with him forever. It hadn’t been the brilliant match his father had wanted for his youngest daughter, but it had been a love match so obvious anyone could see it. Now, with Kirkpatrick dead at Waterloo, Jemmy wondered if Georgie would ever agree to marry again.
“Let me speak to Father, Georgie. Perhaps enough time has passed that he will allow you to return home.” Unfortunately, such a reversal would likely come with a price—a marriage of Father’s choosing—but it was the best offer he could make her. If he tried to set her up on an estate or in a modest house in London, Father had threatened to revoke all his funds. Although he lived off his inheritance, his father would be administrator of the trust until Jemmy reached the age of thirty. It was now less than a year until he would be free of the restraint, but they’d both be homeless if he displeased his father before that time.
“Well, you are welcome to try.” Georgie leaned her cheek on her hand, as though too weary to care. “I cannot think that living with Father would be any worse than with Mrs. Reynolds. I’m amazed the woman considers herself a Christian after the things she’s said to me. Always out of the hearing of the Kirkpatricks, of course. So by all means, ask him. He may say no.”
“But he might just as likely say yes.” Jemmy embraced her affectionately. “Although his terms might well make you think twice.”
“Why?”
“He will likely take you back only so he can marry you off to a man of his choosing.” Jemmy hesitated, then barreled ahead. “Perhaps you should have accepted Wrotham when you had the chance.”