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

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Lady Brack.” Mr. Benton bowed to Elizabeth, a bit more elegantly than before. “I am delighted to meet you. Shall I introduce you to the other passengers? Most will be continuing on to Scotland, but there is one gentleman who, like you, will disembark at Penzance.”

  “That will be lovely, Mr. Benton.” Elizabeth smiled serenely as the officer led them toward an older couple. Jemmy couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not only beautiful, but his wife took everything in her stride as well. God, he was a lucky man.

  Benton introduced them to Mr. and Mrs. Saunders, a banker and his wife relocating to Glasgow with their two young daughters, and to Mr. Jonathan Croft, a medical student on his way to Edinburgh by way of Glasgow. Several minutes of pleasant conversation ensued, Elizabeth and Mrs. Saunders speaking about the care of children while Jemmy and the two other gentlemen discovered a mutual enthusiasm for grouse shooting.

  “You both will have the best time of it in Scotland,” Jemmy declared, quite jealous of their proximity to the exceptional grouse moors in northern Scotland. “I visited relatives there several years ago and went shooting every day for a week. Peak of the season, of course, but truly magnificent sport.”

  Mr. Croft had just inquired about the best guns to use, when Mr. Benton reappeared at Jemmy’s side.

  “Pardon me, Lord Brack.” Mr. Benton smiled and indicated a man standing at the sideboard speaking with another officer. “This is the gentleman I spoke to you about, who is also going to Penzance.” He steered Jemmy to the other side of the room, where said gentleman was in deep conversation with the captain.

  “No, I had not heard that the Antoinette had gone down,” Captain Bryant said, his face grave. “The Channel can be treacherous this time of year.”

  “I’d been waiting for weeks for that cargo to arrive. Its loss was quite a blow. But then, I’ve had several such setbacks recently. I trust my luck is about to change, however.” The brooding tone of the unknown man sent an odd chill down Jemmy’s back.

  “Excuse me, Captain, my lord.” Mr. Benton nodded to Jemmy. “Here is the other gentleman who is traveling to Penzance. May I make Lord Brack known to you?”

  The gentleman, attired in a well-cut gray jacket that had seen better days, whirled around to face them. “Brack?”

  Jemmy’s head reeled. “Lord Travers?”

  “What are you doing here?” They spoke in unison, so loudly all other conversation in the room ceased and heads turned.

  Elizabeth quickly excused herself from Mrs. Saunders and hurried to Jemmy’s side. “My dear, what is wrong?”

  With great effort, Jemmy assumed his social manners. Much as he might wish to plant the man a facer, he had to act with civility, at least in public. “My dear, allow me to make known to you Lord Travers. Lady Georgina’s betrothed.”

  Her eyes flew open wide, though she did not give any other sign of astonishment.

  “My lord, allow me to present my wife, Lady Brack.”

  “A pleasure, I’m sure, my lady.” The man mumbled so badly it was hard to make out his words.

  “And for me, my lord.” Elizabeth cut her eyes toward Jemmy, who shrugged. He could only think that Travers had discovered where his betrothed had gone and was in pursuit of her as he and Elizabeth were. The question was, how had Travers found out?

  Before Jemmy could think how to frame the question, Captain Bryant moved to the head of the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would take your seats for dinner, please?”

  Due to the dictates of precedence, Travers was seated at the captain’s right, Jemmy at his left, and Elizabeth on her husband’s left. The rest of the company filled in with the officers around the table, Mrs. Saunders sandwiched between Mr. Benton and her husband at the other end of the table.

  Dinner arrived, and for a while everyone applied themselves to the delicious white soup, roasted chicken, a veal pie, pickled beets, green beans in a cream sauce, and a splendid blancmange. Conversations lulled, though comments lauding the cook were heard throughout the dining room.

  Sitting across the table, Travers glowered at Jemmy in between swallows of wine. Jemmy had no recollection of anything he’d personally done to the earl to merit such impudence. He’d spoken out against the match, but Travers could hardly know about that unless Father had told him. And how had the man learned of Georgie’s flight to Cornwall?

  The man’s sullen face, with puffy, bruised-looking eyes and sunken cheeks, spoke of a life of dissipation. How in God’s name had Father come up with this wastrel as a husband for Georgie?

  “What takes you to Cornwall, my lord?” Captain Bryant’s cheerful voice broke in on Jemmy’s musings.

  “My wife and I are visiting an old school friend for several weeks. He suggested the voyage as a speedier alternative to an overland journey.” Jemmy eyed Travers, but the man gave no reaction to his words. He’d be a sharp card player that one.

  The captain motioned for more wine. “And you, my lord?” He looked inquiringly at Travers. “What business brings you to Penzance?”

  For a moment Jemmy thought Travers wouldn’t answer. The silence lengthened as the earl stared menacingly at him.

  The captain cleared his throat, obviously afraid he’d offended the peer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to pry.” He turned to Elizabeth as a refuge. “My lady—”

  “My wife.” Travers drained his glass and set it on the damask tablecloth with a heavy thud.

  Elizabeth jumped, and Jemmy stared at the man, thinking he’d not heard right. “Your wife, my lord?” What was the man implying? “Did you say your wife?”

  “I did, sir, as you well know. More wine here.” He fixed an ugly stare on one of the junior officers, and the man came at a trot with the carafe.

  “I know nothing of a wife who belongs to you, my lord. Please enlighten us.” This was odd behavior indeed.

  “She’s your sister, Brack. I should think you know her.” Travers glared at him, a menacing stare filled with unrelenting animosity that put Jemmy immediately on guard.

  Trying to avert a disaster at his table, Captain Bryant charged in to change the subject. “Lady Brack, I believe I was told your late husband fought—”

  “I do, Lord Travers.” Jemmy wasn’t about to let Travers’s remark go unanswered. “But unless my father somehow forgot to inform me of the nuptials, she is not your wife.” Glancing down the table, he winced. He’d tried to keep his voice down, but all eyes were focused on their end of the table.

  “We are betrothed, the contracts signed and sealed. Just as good as wed in a court of law.” Travers had sunk back in his seat, brows lowered until they appeared to touch his nose.

  “I think not, my lord.” The captain valiantly dove into the choppy waters. “A betrothal, while legally binding, is not considered a marriage.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Leering at Jemmy, the earl took another sip of his wine. “I intend to find her and to kill the cur who took her.”

  Squeezing Jemmy’s hand, Elizabeth began to tremble, her face drawn and pale. She turned her frightened gaze on him, but he squeezed back, sending her strength as best he could. “Perhaps we should save this discussion for a private moment, Travers.”

  As if just noticing he had a very attentive audience, Travers shook himself, drained his glass, and rose. “If you will excuse me ladies, gentlemen.” He bowed, strode away to his cabin, entered it, and slammed the door.

  A clamor broke out at the table, everyone speaking at once and looking toward Jemmy for answers. He stared back at them, at a loss for words. He had no idea what Travers planned to do, although it certainly sounded like he intended to do more than just draw Rob’s cork. His friend could be in actual danger from that blackguard.

  Surreptitiously, Elizabeth fanned her face with her hand.

  “Are you all right, my love?” Jemmy whispered in her ear.

  “I would like to retire as well, my dear. I am feeling distinctly unwell.”

  Jemmy shot up out of his chair
and assisted Elizabeth in rising. “My wife is fatigued after a very trying day. Do forgive us for leaving so early.”

  “Nonsense, my lord.” The captain took Elizabeth’s other arm and escorted her to their chamber door. “I hope your recovery is swift, Lady Brack. My lord, please call one of the officers if you or your wife requires assistance during the night.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I will inform you if my wife’s health worsens.” Opening the door, Jemmy helped Elizabeth across the threshold and shut the door. Allowing his worry to surface at last, Jemmy grasped Elizabeth’s arm and compelled her to the tiny bunk and forced her to sit.

  “Jemmy, what are you doing?” An eyebrow rose.

  “Making certain you are not so distressed by this turn of events that you become ill, my love.”

  “Jemmy, I am fine.” Drawing his hand to her lips, she kissed it, sending a shiver down his back. “I wanted to have a word with you, away from everyone who would have been asking questions immediately had I not been ‘overcome.’”

  “So you are well?” He gripped her hands. The thought of Elizabeth ill, or even worse, losing the child she carried, had been a constant worry since they had set out from Buckinghamshire.

  “Truly I am. Now come, sit by me. It is the only place.” She patted the bunk beside her. “I fear we shall get very little sleep tonight in this excuse for a bed.”

  “And for all the wrong reasons.” Waggling his eyebrows, he sent her into a peal of laughter that she immediately tried to stifle.

  “Hush. They will never believe I was overcome if you make me laugh.” She leaned on his side, laughing silently as she shook.

  “Well, it’s not as if you were tying your garter in public.”

  She gave his arm a squeeze. “Enough. I wanted to ask you what you make of the fact that Lord Travers is also heading for Cornwall. How did he get the information that she is there?”

  “I assume Father informed him after reading my letter.” Jemmy shook his head. Didn’t his father know what Travers was capable of? Obviously not if he had agreed to Travers marrying Georgie in the first place. “So he is here and spoiling for a fight with Rob. I am afraid, however, that Travers will simply waylay Rob, which will leave Travers Georgie’s only hope of avoiding scandal and ruin.”

  “There must be another way.” Linking her arm in his, Elizabeth laid her head on his shoulder.

  “Of course, there is. The easiest one imaginable. For Rob to marry Georgie.” Jemmy slid his fingers around his cravat to loosen it and pulled it off.

  “I thought you said she disliked him.” Elizabeth yawned and snuggled closer.

  “She does, or did.” He paused in the act of unwinding the cravat. “But Rob can be the most persuasive and charming of fellows. I would not be surprised if he hasn’t made her fall in love with him.” Tossing the length of fabric onto the floor—there was absolutely no place else to put it—Jemmy stood and raised his wife to her feet. “Come love, let me undress you. It’s a good thing we left our servants at home. We’d have had no room for them at all.”

  “Sometimes I wish only you would undress me at night.” Stretching up on tiptoe, Elizabeth raised her arms so he could undo the buttons down her back.

  “And why is that?” Jemmy slipped his hands around to cup her breasts and free them from her stays.

  “For this very reason.” She arched her back into him, and he groaned. The next few days would be torture. The bed was simply too small for any kind of amorous activity. “Do you think Lord St. Just may have developed an affection for Georgie?”

  “I have no idea, but I will tell you, I’d much rather she marry Rob than Travers. Even if I do need to speak a word in the marquess’s ear, I know he is the better man.”

  “But will your father see it that way?” Elizabeth turned toward Jemmy, her breasts now temptingly close.

  If he leaned toward her, he could brush against her. . . .

  “Hand me my gown, please.”

  Groaning again, Jemmy complied, gritting his teeth and summoning his willpower.

  “After our miracle marriage, I believe it is Georgie’s turn.” She climbed up and settled into the far side of the bunk, curving her back against the ship’s wall. Patting the sheets invitingly, Elizabeth sighed, whisper soft. “Come to bed, my love. I am sure we will find a way to make do here.”

  Pulse racing, troubles forgotten, Jemmy stripped out of his breeches, coat, and shirt in an ungodly short period of time. He climbed into the bed and managed to pull Elizabeth into his arms. “I believe you are correct, my love. We will do just fine right here, and, pray God, Georgie and Rob will find a way around both Father and Lord Travers.” He kissed Elizabeth, and heat rose all over him. “There is always a way.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next few days were virtually a dream come true for Georgie.

  She had dutifully sat down the next morning and written to her father about the mysterious kidnapping—neither she nor Rob nor Lady St. Just could come up with a plausible idea of who would have had her kidnapped and for what purpose—asking if he had any enemies or if a ransom note had been delivered to him.

  Admitting that she had nothing to lose, she also suggested that given the time she’d spent alone on the ship with Lord St. Just, Lord Travers might not still wish to marry her. However, St. Just, having compromised her, was willing to marry her. She then touted Rob’s bravery, his kindness, and his quick thinking in time of crisis. Then, to put things in terms her father might actually value, she gave him an idea of the wealth of the marquessate along with the designation of precedence accorded to the Marquess of St. Just, one well above Travers and slightly above his own.

  With a prayer to the Almighty for her happiness, she’d signed and sealed the missive, gotten Rob to frank it, and sent it off in the daily post packet to Penzance. That unpleasantness done, she’d joined Rob as he’d gone about the many duties for which he was responsible for the continued prosperity of the estate.

  The first morning after breakfast they had gone to the tin mine to deliver the urgently needed parts that had taken him to Portsmouth in the first place. She’d been fascinated by the mining operation, although she’d declined a closer look when Rob suggested she go partway down a shaft.

  The next day he’d asked her to accompany him as he visited some of his tenants who were dairy farmers. The cows were in from pasture, making the workload somewhat more taxing now than during the summer months. A conscientious master he liked to check in on them every month or so. Georgie eagerly agreed to this visit and was fascinated as much by the tenants as the cows. This time Rob managed to persuade her to try her hand at milking. The hilarity that ensued had kept not only Rob but the tenants laughing for at least ten minutes as she tried and tried to squeeze the milk out. At last the cow had had enough and simply walked off, stepping on her half boot in the process. Her toes still ached, but then Rob complained that so did his sides from all the laughter.

  This afternoon, instead of a local errand, he’d suggested he show her around the castle. She’d seen very little of it, in fact, beside her room, the breakfast and dining rooms, and of course, the maze. Since she’d arrived, they had been busy outside the castle walls, so perhaps it was time she saw more of the home in which Rob had grown up. Seeing his world had made her long even more to be a part of it, but she had reminded herself several times that her particular fairy story might not have the happy ending she wanted so badly.

  They started in the foyer, with what turned into a history lesson about the Kerr family.

  “These weapons and shields date back to the fifteenth century, when the Kerrs were just plain knights.” He waved his hand at the swords, battle-axes, daggers, and lances positioned high up on the walls. “I’m positive they have been cleaned, but I daresay most of them have been dipped in blood at one time or the other.” He raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “You aren’t particularly squeamish about such things, are you?”

  “Not particularly, no.
” Georgie laughed, but looked closer at the point of a broadsword hanging directly over her head. Was that a spot of rust or . . .

  “I wouldn’t stand so directly under that if I were you, my dear.” Gently he took her arm and pulled her from beneath the weapon. “I do not know how long it’s been hanging there, but if the fastening happened to come loose, well . . . a bit messy, don’t you think? Best to be safe.” He took her arm and looped it through the crook of his elbow. “Perhaps a less dangerous tour is in order. Let us go look at the library.”

  “Well, that certainly seems much safer.” Sighing, Georgie accompanied him out of the foyer. “At least books cannot kill you.”

  “You wouldn’t think so, would you.”

  “Rob!” She batted his arm. “You cannot convince me you have a deadly book in your library. What does it do? Are its pages treated with poison? Or does it explode when one reaches page two hundred seventy-six?”

  “Perhaps I should peruse your library at Blackham. Do you have such volumes there?” The false eagerness in his face, laced with laughter behind his eyes, made her laugh as well.

  “You wretch. No, we have no such books at Blackham. And I’ll wager you have none such here at St. Just.”

  “And just what would you care to wager, my lady?” The humor in his face had died, replaced by a fiery passion. “A kiss?”

  Although thrilled at the thought of kissing him again, Georgie schooled herself to caution. “You would hardly make such a wager if you didn’t know for certain what books your library holds.”

  “Unless I am bluffing.” His eyes darkened to black. “Do you think I am bluffing, Georgie?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Lord, he had her so confused she could barely remember her name.

  “Then let’s find out, shall we?” He led her down the corridor to the rear of the castle, to a huge oak-paneled door that he opened. Beyond was a delightful room with a fireplace where a pleasant blaze crackled, a chaise and several comfortable-looking chairs, and masses of tall, polished wooden bookshelves filled with books of all descriptions. High atop the shelves, busts of stern-looking men peered down at them.