by Jenna Jaxon
“I didn’t think you’d want me to . . . yes, yes, of course. I will come immediately after I deliver Georgie.” Unfortunately, that had sounded as though his sister was a parcel. He clutched her arm, suddenly a trifle giddy.
“I hope I shall have good news by the time you arrive. Perhaps my parents can shed some light on your father’s dislike of them.” Taking his hand, she led him the rest of the way to her room, where she paused delicately. “I will miss you so much, Jemmy.” She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips.
His body throbbed, the aching need for her seizing him again. When they married, they must go away somewhere alone and devour one another for at the least a month or two.
Grasping her face, he kissed her deeply, igniting a fire within him that demanded he claim her just once more.
As if sensing that need, she gently withdrew from him, though her eyes glowed with a like desire, her cheeks awash with the red of crisp fall apples. “When you come to me in London, and we are married, then we will continue this moment.”
“Most assuredly.” Breathing deeply, he kissed her hand, and she slipped into her chamber. With a groan for his aching parts, he hurried toward his own bedroom, Fellowes, and a hot, soothing bath.
* * *
Jemmy entered the drawing room that evening determined not to mope over Elizabeth’s absence. He’d managed to see her off in the early afternoon, with another soul-stirring kiss and the admonition to write to him once she arrived and spoke to her parents about their impending marriage. She was not to speak of their imminent parenthood—Jemmy had promised on his life to follow her to London as soon as he had settled Georgie at Blackham, at most in a day or two. Then they would make that announcement together.
He had just greeted Lady Wrotham and assured her of Elizabeth’s good health when Georgie bounded into the room, bringing, as she always did, a breath of vitality and joie de vivre with her. She made for them directly.
“Charlotte, I have such news! Jemmy, did you tell her?” Georgie smiled broadly, hopping from one foot to the other, like she was six years old again. She certainly acted a child much more often than she acted a grown woman and a widow.
“I fear you have interrupted me asking after Lady Wrotham’s health, dear sister. I’ve not had time to tell her more. Besides”—he fixed her with a stare of false sternness—“I haven’t seen you to tell you anything.”
“I talked with Elizabeth before she left.” She raised her chin triumphantly.
“What news is this, Georgina?” Looking from Georgie to him, Lady Wrotham raised her perfectly arched eyebrows.
“Father has sent for me!” Georgie burst out and hugged Jemmy’s arm. “He’s forgiven me and wants me to return to Blackham.”
“That is wonderful news indeed, Georgie. I am so happy for this reconciliation.” Lady Wrotham hugged her, though the puckered frown on her face was less enthusiastic.
Unless he missed his guess, his hostess feared the summons to Blackham had ulterior motives. Those fears would likely prove correct. Georgie had told him of Lady Wrotham’s history with her own father, who seemed even worse than their parent, if such a thing were possible.
“We must leave your kind hospitality tomorrow, my lady. After three years, our father is anxious to see Georgina again.” That final interview this morning had convinced him that their father still harbored resentment over Georgie’s first marriage and her defiance of him. Sadly, she was now out of options. Lyttlefield Park would be closed shortly, leaving her nowhere to go save home or to the Kirkpatricks. Apparently, his sister had decided Father was now the lesser of two evils.
“I am happy you will be going home at last, Georgie.” Lady Wrotham released her, peering closely into her face. “However, you do know that you are always welcome at Wrotham Park? If you ever find your circumstances as difficult as before, you must come to me and Nash. Promise me you will.”
“Of course, Charlotte.” Georgie beamed at her friend. “I don’t suppose Father has actually forgiven me. And I suspect I am in for a great deal of lectures and admonishments about being a defiant child. But I shall withstand him and write to you to put your fears at rest once I have seen him. Jemmy will be there in the beginning, so I don’t suppose Father will beat me again.”
“Georgie!” Lady Wrotham had turned quite pale.
“Georgina.” Jemmy stepped in before his sister could cause a scene. “Father has never struck you in his life.”
A puzzled gaze, wrinkled nose, and knit brows met his eyes. “Well, of course he hasn’t done it in your presence, Jemmy. I just said he wouldn’t do that with you there.”
“Georgina, when did he strike you?” Lady Wrotham’s ashen face grew even grimmer.
“When I was six years old.”
“What?” Jemmy’s jaw dropped. He shook his head to clear it. She didn’t actually mean—
“You must remember, Jemmy. I was six, and I had gone into Father’s study looking for Lucy.” Georgie nodded gravely at Lady Wrotham, whose color had come flooding back. “My King Charles spaniel. She roamed all over the castle, and I had a terrible time keeping up with her. So one day she had wandered into Father’s study—”
“Georgie, do you really think—”
“I am telling this story, Jemmy.”
“Perhaps we should go in now?” Lady Wrotham asked hopefully.
“Brack.” Lord Wrotham appeared beside the countess as if by magic. “Good to see you back.” The tall, dark-haired earl smiled easily. “Thank you so much for your assistance the other day, both with the ceremony and with Mrs. Easton. I trust she is well today?” He peered around the room.
“She left for London this afternoon, Wrotham.” Lady Wrotham placed a hand on his arm. “I was just saying perhaps we should go in to dinner?”
“What about my father beating me?”
In the shocked silence that ensued, Jemmy cursed under his breath. His sister might yet make an actress with her perfect sense of the dramatic.
“I beg your pardon, Georgie.” Wrotham seemed to land on his feet first. “Your father did what?” His mouth drew into a straight line so taut his lips disappeared.
“It’s not what it sounds like, my lord.” Jemmy shot a stern glance at his sister. He must take control of the situation before his father’s reputation was sullied needlessly. The marquess was guilty of many things, but not this one.
“Did your father beat her, Brack?” The narrowed dark gaze sent a qualm of unease down Jemmy’s spine. He’d not like to meet those eyes over a brace of dueling pistols.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Oh, yes he did, Jemmy.” Georgie flew at him, insistent as a sparrow.
“When did this happen?” Wrotham’s face had darkened like a thundercloud.
“When she was six years old.” Jemmy sighed. Georgie was currently more in danger of him beating her than their father.
“Six years . . . I thought you were away to Blackham yesterday?” The earl’s face had cleared into a confused frown.
“Mrs. Easton and I were. Georgina has not seen our father for some three years. The incident of which she was speaking to Lady Wrotham occurred when Georgie was six. It was a mere nothing.”
“He beat me.” Georgie’s insistent voice had the complete attention of Lord and Lady Wrotham.
“He swatted your derriere once, Georgie.”
“It still hurt very badly, and Lucy had to defend me.”
“Lucy?” Wrotham looked as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should laugh or growl.
“My King Charles spaniel.” Georgie smiled brilliantly. “She was the sweetest thing. No one could raise a hand to me while she was around or she’d growl and snarl and make a proper fuss.”
“And this occurred when you were six?” Wrotham looked doubtfully at Georgie.
“Yes, I found Lucy in Father’s study and was trying to get her to leave with me. I pulled her collar, and it slipped over her head. I fell against Father’s worktable. A bottle of
ink spilled, and he spanked me. The once.” She nodded at Jemmy. “That’s when my brother came in and took us out of the room.”
The exact same look of disbelief mixed with repressed laughter on the Wrothams’ faces made Jemmy want to laugh even more. “As you see, my lord, hardly a dire matter.” He tried to school his face, but a chuckle escaped him.
Lord and Lady Wrotham joined him, leaving Georgie miffed.
“It may not have been a proper beating, but it did hurt,” she said indignantly.
“I believe it is now time to go in.” Lady Wrotham took her husband’s arm and led them from the room, her shoulders twitching.
Jemmy followed, with Georgina on his arm. “You had best beware, bran face. I will make that little smack seem like a feather’s stroke if you don’t stop telling that story.”
“Then you will be the one to rue the day, Jemmy. One of Lucy’s great-grandpuppies is still at Blackham.” She smiled sweetly up at him. “And I’ve heard tell she bites.”
* * *
The journey to Blackham, Jemmy’s second in three days, had been more pleasant than expected, given his and Georgie’s confrontation the evening before. His sister had started the day bravely cheerful; however, the final hour of the trip had seen her grow pensive, her front teeth worrying her bottom lip. As they swept up to the castle, she gripped his hand.
“It will be all right, my dear.” He squeezed her hand back and helped her down from the carriage. “We can rest and dine before facing Father.” Something he wanted to do as little as she. “Hal is home, at least he was yesterday. You never know how long he will light here.”
Quick met them at the door. “His lordship requests your immediate presence in his office, my lord, my lady.” The older man’s face split with an unaccustomed smile. “It is very good to see you again, Lady Georgina.”
“Thank you, Quick. It is good to see you as well.” Georgie smiled as she relinquished her green wool spencer. “You haven’t changed at all.” She peered round the foyer, at the heavy ancestral weapons hung around the room. “Nothing has.”
The butler bowed. “I will have Charles fetch your things to your old rooms.”
“Thank you, Quick, but I will be staying the night only. Fellowes will see to my personal items. The rest can remain in the carriage. I leave at first light tomorrow.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Jemmy offered his arm, and Georgie placed a very small, very cold hand on it. “Don’t worry, my dear. I will see you through the first interview with Father.”
“Yes, but then you will leave me.” She puckered her brows. “I shall have to go seek out Lulu.”
“Lulu?”
“Lucy’s great-grandpup.”
Jemmy chuckled as they strode down the corridor. Georgina would be all right despite Father. He’d wager a year’s income on his sister’s resilience. At last, he stopped before the office door. “Are you ready?”
Raising her chin, she nodded and gripped his arm afresh.
Their father sat, behind the captain’s table, in the exact same posture—hunched over, writing a letter—as Jemmy had left him in yesterday morning. Had the man not moved at all? What a wretched existence he must lead. When he inherited the marquessate, he’d be damned if he let the running of it consume his life like that.
They waited several moments before the older man raised his head, his dark eyes betraying an interest in Georgina. “Well, step forward, let me have a look at you, child.” He rose slowly, his face flinching as though he’d not done so in many hours.
Georgie bit her lip but dutifully stepped toward the table, giving him a slight smile. “Good afternoon, Father.”
“Hmm. Turn around please.”
Obediently, Georgie turned in a circle with a sigh, the small steps making her bob.
“You have turned into a lovely young woman.” The marquess sounded surprised. “I commend you on making the most of yourself, despite your disobedience and subsequent dire circumstances.”
“Thank you, Father. I have had the good fortune to make friends who have been very kind.” Georgie clasped her hands, squeezing them together.
“You’ll not need those friends any longer. I have arranged a very advantageous match for you, despite your previous disrespect to me and to the family.” Father’s brows dipped almost to his nose. “You are to marry within the month. I have had a letter just today that confirms the arrangement.”
Georgie turned deathly white and staggered backward.
Jemmy leaped forward to steady her. “You could have told me, Father. I would have broken the news to her better than this.”
His father shrugged. “The news should be a pleasing prospect to Georgina. Not only will she be received by the family once more, but she will finally be aiding the family’s future. I was fortunate that Lord Travers was still in need of a wife and heir. It has been over three years since I had to break off negotiations with him because Georgina ran off and contracted that mésalliance with Kirkpatrick.”
“Lord Travers?” Two spots of color rose in Georgina’s cheeks. “That pompous, overbearing, popinjay with the nasty smile?” She shuddered and clutched Jemmy.
“I would not cast such aspersions on my betrothed were I you, Georgina. The man is respectable and, for some reason, still retains a fondness for you. He was quite eager to discuss settlements when I contacted him last week.”
“He used to leer at me when I first came out,” she whispered to Jemmy. “I hated attending parties and balls because Lord Travers was always first in line to ask for a dance. His hands were so moist I could feel it through my gloves.”
“Is there no one else you could marry her off to?” Jemmy glared at his father as he helped Georgie to a seat on the leather settle, then stood behind her, trying to lend her as much strength as possible.
“Why need I look further?” His father sounded genuinely surprised at the question. “The man’s an earl, has more than sufficient property and income, and a great desire for the match. Your sister should be grateful that I offer this as an olive branch. If she does not care to avail herself of it, I will wash my hands of her for good, and she can find a husband on her own. One who will take her with no dowry or connections.” His smile had an evil glint. “Not an easy task for a widow with not a penny to her name.”
“I will have Mother’s inheritance.” Georgie spoke up, though she didn’t look at her father. “A man might take that into consideration.”
“Perhaps. Although so much might happen in the six years before you come into that money. Some men may not desire to gamble on such a thing.” Father’s tone suggested he certainly would not.
Jemmy dug into Georgie’s shoulders with a convulsive grip. “Do you care nothing for your children, Father, other than to use us as pawns to further the family’s wealth and connections?”
“What other reason should there be other than to serve the family?” His father watched him with cold eyes. “You forget yourself, Brack.” He drew another letter from a pile of correspondence and waved them away. “I will see you in the morning.”
Narrowly holding his anger in check, Jemmy helped Georgina to stand, then escorted her from the room. How could Father do this to Georgie? He should have expected the man to continue to exact revenge for his sister’s disobedience, but marrying her to a man she actively disliked was carrying it too far. Perhaps he should remain at Blackham for a few days to support his sister. If he could come up with an alternate plan for her, she wouldn’t need to make this odious marriage to Travers, a profligate rake with a scandalous reputation no amount of money could make acceptable for a sensitive woman like Georgina.
He’d write to Elizabeth and explain the circumstances. A second letter, to his friend Robin, Marquess of St. Just, might be in order as well. Two heads were better than one, they said, and Rob always had an outrageous plan of action to offer. Right now, the outrageous might be his best hope.
Chapter 19
This time, the half d
ay’s journey to London felt like a week. Alone in the carriage again, with a fresh set of worries and only her own thoughts for company, Elizabeth could have sworn time stood still.
Her last look at Jemmy, waving cheerfully as the carriage pulled away, would remain seared into her memory. Even now she longed to see him again. A hollow space in her heart ached to have him hold her once more. She would not have thought it possible, even two months ago, but Jemmy had captured her heart, and Elizabeth had been powerless to stop it.
Didn’t want to stop it. Perhaps she had unconsciously wanted a man in her life again, not because she no longer loved Dickon, but because she herself needed to be loved. Now the sobering reality that she and Jemmy would have to fight to marry had made her wary and put her on edge. The baby could be kept a secret for another few months, until she began to show. By then her options would be few indeed, so she didn’t want to think of that at the moment.
Unfortunately, her mind was being as stubborn as the marquess himself, shifting back to Jemmy and the plight of their marriage rather than ordinary subjects, like her children or the coming Christmas holidays. By the time she reached her parents’ town house in St. James Square, she had worried her handkerchief so it lay in tatters on her lap. Clutching it to her, she descended the carriage, straightened her shoulders, and marched up the steps.
“Good to have you back, Mrs. Easton.” Tawes took her wrap, a hint of a smile on his lips.
She’d always gotten on well with their butler. “Thank you, Tawes. Where are Mama and Papa?” she asked, stripping off her gloves and flexing her chilly fingers.
“Her ladyship is in the upstairs parlor. Lord Wentworth is in his study.”
“How much time before dinner, Tawes?” She needed to speak to her parents together. Lord knows she didn’t want to have to repeat Lord Blackham’s hateful words more than once.
“A little more than an hour, madam.”
“Good. Would you ask his lordship to attend us in the parlor?”
“Very good, ma’am.” Tawes accepted her gloves, and she headed up the stairs.
The cozy green and gold parlor, with its dainty furniture, gilt and white picture frames, and generous fireplace was usually her favorite room in the house. Today, however, it seemed colder, less welcoming somehow, as she approached her mother, who sat at one end of the green and gold striped sofa, a well-filled tea tray next to her.