by Jenna Jaxon
Glee shone in his father’s face. “I see you had. The terms are quite plain, you know. Those funds become available to you at your discretion only when you attain the age of thirty. Not a day before. Until then, I disburse them as I see fit. If you have cause to doubt me, you can ask your uncle, Lord Richard Makepeace. He was there when the settlements were drawn up.”
A giant hand seemed to squeeze the air from Jemmy’s lungs, not allowing him to breathe.
“So you see, Brack, you will dance to my tune or you won’t have a penny to pay the piper.”
“Does Georgie have funds from your mother as well?” Elizabeth whispered her question in his ear. “Money from any settlement would have been transferred to her husband upon her marriage.”
“I’m afraid not.” Jemmy clenched and unclenched his hands, itching to plant his father a facer or two. “Her money would have gone to her when she married, except for the provision that Father must approve of the marriage. Ergo, Georgie’s continued plight.”
Elizabeth’s face drew in upon itself, her eyes haunted. “When will you turn thirty?”
“Not until August.” A lifetime in their circumstances.
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Then you must not disobey him. If he cuts off your funds, how will you live?” She bit her lip, but otherwise her face was deathly calm. “We must return to Lyttlefield Park immediately. There is much preparation I must make before leaving for London.”
“No, my love, we will not give in.” Jemmy grabbed her hand, needing her touch desperately. “We must tell him about the—”
“No.” Elizabeth peered over at his father, waiting patiently behind his table. He’d finished the first page of his latest missive and had started on the second page. “Swear to me you will tell your father nothing. If he were to tell anyone about my condition, I will never be received in polite society again.”
“But if he knew this child very well might be my heir, he might see sense. He wants the line to be secured.”
Tears starting from her eyes, Elizabeth shook her head. “No, not even for that will he allow us to wed. He has concocted some slight against me or my family. Remember, he became unreasonable when he found out who my father is.” She bit her lip. “I will go directly to London and confront my father. Perhaps it is something from long ago, and the two men can settle it now so we can wed.”
Such calm courage. She was the most magnificent woman he had ever met. Raising her hand for a kiss, he grazed her soft skin with his lips. “I pray it is so with all my heart, my love.” Turning to his father, he rose and bowed stiffly. “The time is late. We will stay the night and leave early tomorrow morning.” He glared at his father, daring him to object.
The man merely waved a hand at him and continued his spidery writing.
He had opened the door and handed Elizabeth through when the thin, reedy voice stopped them once more. “Once you return Mrs. Easton to wherever she currently lodges, you will immediately return here. I expect word from the duke any day now, and with this letter”—he slowly waved the pages he’d just finished before his face, drying them—“I believe the offer will be too sweet for His Grace to pass up. Lady Maude is not in her first bloom of youth, but she will make you an admirable marchioness and the duke a strong ally for us.”
Rage descended over Jemmy until the edges of his sight darkened once more. He started toward the man, his only thought to put an end to the hideous imp of hell.
Elizabeth’s firm hand on his shoulder stayed him, but it was a near thing. Swinging for his father’s murder, justified though it might be, would not help him or Elizabeth’s plight. She tugged at his arm.
With a parting glance of abhorrence at his father, Jemmy headed toward the door.
“When you return”—the hateful voice filled the room once more—“bring Georgina with you. The chit can stay here until I can arrange matters for her satisfactorily.”
Resisting the urge to retort back, which would serve no purpose save his own gratification, Jemmy jerked his shoulders back and grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “I will tell her, Father,” he said as he escorted Elizabeth away from the vile man. Under his breath he added, “May God have mercy on her soul.”
* * *
Automatically putting one foot before the next, Elizabeth clung to Jemmy’s arm as they snaked their way through the narrow corridors of Blackham Castle. She neither saw nor heard anything for the spinning in her head that threatened to make her swoon.
Jemmy could not marry her.
The devastation had scarcely begun to sink in. Her whole body was numb as from a blow. She managed to steal a glance at him—jaw tightened, lips in a grim line, teeth clenched—as he escorted her deeper into the bowels of the castle. Gone was the carefree, boyish man she had come to love and admire. Also gone were her dreams of a new, happy life once more. Blasted asunder by the cursed words of a bitter old man. She stifled a sob.
“Here is your chamber,” he said at last, stopping before a solid walnut door. “This was Georgie’s old room.” His words broke the silence, though not the awkward constraint that lay between them. “I will be just around the corner in the next corridor.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, unwilling to meet his eyes.
“I love you, Elizabeth.” He grazed her hand with his lips. “Believe in me, my love; this is not the end of it. I swear I will marry you, no matter what he plots and plans.”
Noble words and spoken with sufficient passion that they brought a measure of balm to her heart. However, the truth lay elsewhere, and she knew it. If Jemmy’s father controlled his money, they could defy him at their peril. Without funds for simple necessities, such as food and lodging, they would be little better than destitute. She tried to smile, but the effort hurt her heart. She must begin to withdraw her newfound affection for Jemmy and find a way to assuage the hurt that cut deeply, even though she saw its necessity. “I love you, too. However, I fear we must face the harsh reality of the situation.”
“Then we shall face it together.” Squeezing her hands a bit harder than necessary, he gave them a little shake. “Do not despair, my love. We will find our way through this. At dinner tonight, we will examine our options and talk strategy. Elizabeth,” he cupped her face and tears slipped from her eyes.
He was so kind, and loving, and she couldn’t have him. She buried her face in his shoulder.
“My love, my love.” He cradled her, rocking her gently. “Shhh. Do not cry. We will be together as man and wife, if I have to move heaven and earth to do it.” He kissed her, lightly, sweetly, devastatingly. “Dinner is at six in the winter months.” He rubbed her back, and she nestled closer to him. “I will have Quick send one of the maids to help you dress.” He pulled away from her and peered sharply into her face. “Trust me?”
“Yes, my love, I do.” Sniffing, she tried to pull herself together. He sounded more sure and confident than she had ever heard him before. Pray God, he had a plan to defeat his father’s wishes.
With a final brush of his lips across hers that melted her heart all over again, he pushed the door open, sent her his best boyish grin, and bounded off down the hall. She gazed after him until he turned the corner and was lost to her sight.
The chill of the hallway caused her to hurry inside, where her battered soul could perhaps renew itself in the warmth of the fire. Gazing about Georgina’s room, she smiled despite her shocked and reeling senses. Whimsical pictures of gardens with riotous blooms dotted the walls, a bouquet of silk violets perched on the writing desk, and a collection of embroidered pillows—the embroidery done by a not-so-skilled hand—made the room speak in Georgie’s enthusiastic voice. A friendly, comforting voice that would help get her through the worst hours, in which she would have to come to terms with the fact that she was now with child, but without the prospect of a husband.
* * *
Sarah, the young maid sent to help her dress, had just clasped a locket encrusted with amethyst around her neck when a kno
ck at the door made Elizabeth jump.
“It’s all right, mum. You look a treat now.” Sarah smiled at her in the vanity’s mirror and hurried to the door.
Elizabeth rose, brushing at her skirts, touching her locket to make sure she was presentable.
Grinning broadly, Jemmy stepped into the room and offered his arm. “May I escort the fairest in the land to dinner?” His gaze took her in, his eyes lighting with approval.
“Indeed, you may, my lord.” In spite of her heavy heart, she smiled back. That grin was too infectious to fight against. And if Jemmy seemed determined to fight his father’s plans to marry him to Lady Maude, and optimistic that they would succeed in thwarting the marquess, then she should allow herself to hope a little while longer.
The shadowy dining room held an extremely long, polished cherry table laid with three places, one at both ends, and a third in the middle. The huge polished expanse, a raised gilt design running around its edge, would easily seat twenty. How on earth could they converse normally at such a distance?
“I’d suggest eating in the kitchen, but Mrs. Harmon would probably pull my ear completely off.” A ruddy-faced young man, who looked like a taller, blonder version of Jemmy, melted out of the shadows and into the stronger light afforded by the three candelabras that lined the table.
“Hal!” Jemmy bounded forward to shake the young man’s hand. “What the devil are you doing here? You are never home from Cambridge so early.”
Hal grinned, a charming, lopsided smile that, paired with his unruly curls and sparkling blue eyes, was immediately endearing.
“Bit of a stramash over another chap landing in the duck pond.” Hal bounced on his feet, as if he were a child’s ball come to life.
“You never!” Jemmy chuckled and shook his head.
“Did I not? Bloke had put it about I fancied one of the most unappealing young ladies I’d ever seen in Town. If that had gotten back to her, I’d never have got rid of her or her father.” He eyed Elizabeth, an approving appraisal to judge by the grin on his face. “I see you’ve fetched up a likely prospect.”
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Elizabeth Easton, may I present my brother, Lord Harold Cross? Hal is my younger brother, a year younger than Georgina and a bit of a bounder.” Despite his words, Jemmy looked rather proud of the young man.
“It’s good to see you too, Jem.” Lord Harold sent a glance of mock scorn to his brother. “But I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Easton.” He bowed charmingly and raised her hand for a kiss. “You are a friend of our sister, Lady Georgina?”
“I am, my lord.” To her astonishment, the young man then grabbed the silverware and plate and strode to the end of the table.
“I intend to eat down here with the lovely Mrs. Easton.” Lord Harold turned an innocent stare on her. “You don’t mind me monopolizing your time, do you, ma’am? Unless you wish to join us, Jemmy?” Pulling out Elizabeth’s chair, Hal grinned down at his brother, who was standing, hands on hips, glaring at them both.
Elizabeth lowered herself into the proffered seat, glancing from brother to brother, torn between dual desires to laugh and weep. The presence of another person had been expected, but she’d anticipated a stiff, unpleasant dinner with Lord Blackham. A brother was a welcome change of dinner companion; however, the subject she needed to discuss with Jemmy couldn’t be broached, not before this stranger.
“Mrs. Easton is my betrothed, Hal, so mind your manners.” Jemmy had piled cutlery and napkin onto his plate, grabbed a wineglass, and joined them at the end of the table.
“Ah, come to get the old man’s blessing?”
“Quite.” Jemmy unloaded his plate, setting the items next to Elizabeth’s place.
“So I may wish you happy?” The eager face lit up again. Such a jovial young man. Elizabeth quite liked him. It was hard not to.
“Not quite yet, it seems.” Jemmy glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.
If Jemmy wanted to ask his brother’s opinion of their situation, it would likely do no harm. He’d know eventually if the wedding never occurred. She gave a very slight nod and sat down, her appetite suddenly vanished.
Chapter 17
Lord Harold lived up to his promise of being a charming if somewhat roguish dinner companion. He possessed a quick wit that put Elizabeth at her ease immediately. Stories of his escapades at university had her laughing in spite of her circumstances.
“You have been at Cambridge how long, my lord?” Elizabeth set her knife and fork down, astonished to find the plate completely clear. She’d feared she’d have no appetite, but Lord Harold’s engaging stories had managed to take her mind off her own woes.
“Only since this fall. Before that I was at Oxford off and on for two years.” He cut his gaze at Jemmy, who snorted.
“My brother, while a brilliant scholar when he wishes to be, usually spends his time at university getting into and out of scrapes. Hal, you’ve been sent home four times in the past three years?” Jemmy sipped his wine, eyes wide and innocent.
With a large, false sigh, Lord Harold slumped in his seat. “Alas, yes. I had actually hoped it would be five by now. I’m in a race with Lord Barger to see who can get booted out of school the most times before our fathers stop sending us. Currently, Barger is one up on me with five.”
Despite herself, Elizabeth had to laugh at the long, unrepentant face. The situation wasn’t crushing, really. Lord Harold, as a younger son, had to make his way in the world, and education would help that. But his joie de vivre, irrepressible as Jemmy’s, made it hard to censure him. “Certainly, you will settle down to your studies eventually, Lord Harold?”
He drained his wine and signaled for more. “Highly unlikely. I’ve my own inheritance when I reach thirty. And then I can always find a pretty girl with a substantial dowry to marry. If I play my cards right, I may never have to do anything with my life save get myself out of scrapes and marry well.” Wagging his eyebrows in rakish glee, he sent Elizabeth into peals of laughter. “Which brings me to the subject of marriage in general and your marriage in particular, Jemmy. You have obviously betrothed yourself to a lady with a keen discernment for wit. I commend you.” He raised his glass of burgundy to Jemmy. “So why may I not wish you happy?” Do you fear Mrs. Easton means to jilt you?”
“Nothing so dramatic as that.” Jemmy’s laughing face sobered at once.
Reminding her anew of her own plight, his words made Elizabeth’s spirits plummet.
“Father has forbidden us to marry.” Jemmy drank deeply from his wine goblet.
“Does he object to your bride-to-be?” Lord Harold cocked his head toward her, twirling the stem of his wineglass between thumb and forefinger. “You are suddenly much more intriguing, if I may say so, Mrs. Easton. I love a puzzle.” His infectious grin made it impossible for her to take offense.
“I am happy to provide you with a new challenge, my lord. You may call me Elizabeth, as I hope we are all to be related soon.” She drank the last sweet drops of the burgundy, feeling suddenly useless. If they did not wed, what would such a familiarity matter?
“And you shall call me Hal. All my friends do.” He shot a look at Jemmy. “Even some of my relations.”
“I have no idea why he objects to the marriage. He refused to say.” Jemmy stared into his final swallow of the blood-red wine. “Then we could at least come up with a counterargument. It’s impossible to argue against ‘None of your business.’”
“Perhaps if you could prove her connections grand enough?” Hal’s eyes brightened. “Please tell me you are a duchess in disguise.” His wistful tone made Elizabeth laugh in spite of herself. Lord knew, there was nothing amusing about her situation.
“I fear not, Hal. I am the widow of the second son of a somewhat prosperous esquire, a lieutenant colonel who died at Waterloo, and the daughter of a viscount. Quite ordinary in fact.” Her laugh sounded like a fox’s yip. “Perhaps that is the objection. Likely, he has grander aims for his son and heir.”
/> “That I can believe.” Hal frowned.
“Still, he didn’t sound unreasonable when you spoke of your late husband.” Jemmy’s brow puckered as he poured them more wine. “I even thought he believed it rather noble that your husband had died for his country.”
“So did I.” The marquess had seemed rather sympathetic at that point in the interview. She twirled her glass by the stem, staring at the candlelight dancing off the crystal. “He didn’t seem inclined to refuse the marriage until I mentioned my father’s name.”
“What’s that all about?” Hal leaned toward her, his eyes sparkling with interest.
“I have no idea.”
“Do they have some feud between them?”
“Not that I have ever heard.” Elizabeth shrugged. Until she met Jemmy, she’d never heard of the Marquess of Blackham. “My parents certainly have never mentioned such. Has your father ever spoken about Wentworth or the Worths before? Or the Kelcotts? That is my mother’s family.”
With a sigh, Jemmy shook his head. “Never. Well, not to me. Hal?”
His brother threw up his hands. “My conversations with Father always center around my shortcomings, not his. But I can tell you this. If there’s bad blood between the families, you and Elizabeth are going to have to find a way to overcome it on your own. Father would willingly march into hell and gladly roast there rather than give in to anyone.”
Hal’s sober face at this pronouncement made Elizabeth’s heart stutter. She clenched her fist around the glass’s stem. Surely that wasn’t true? Hesitantly, she turned to Jemmy, praying he would refute his brother’s bleak statement.
Avoiding her eyes, he grasped her hand in both of his. “Unfortunately, that is true, my dear. If Father is set against the marriage, he will not change his mind.”
A cold chill ran icy fingers down her spine. What on earth were they to do? Her situation could be hidden only for so long. If they could not marry . . .
“Then Father be damned.” Hal thumped his glass on the table, and the dishes danced. “Marry without his consent. You are both of age. Who will stop you?”