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

by Jenna Jaxon

  Grasping her hand, he led her to the door, but turned before opening it. “I will gladly break the news to my mother, your sister-in-law, and even your brother. I leave you, however, to tell Lulu by yourself.”

  * * *

  Deliriously happy, Georgie sat primly next to Rob on the comfortable sofa in the drawing room, the fire burning merrily, candles aglow all over the room. She couldn’t help stealing sideways glances at him and, every so often, surreptitiously squeezing the hand that rested so conveniently next to her on the cushion.

  “The largest problem they face is the blasted contract Father signed with Travers.” Jemmy continued to pace around the drawing room, more than an hour after Georgie and Rob had entered to announce their betrothal. Her brother had wished them happy, but had seemed anxious ever since. “I’m not really certain such a thing can be broken. We’ll need to consult a solicitor at the earliest possible moment.”

  “The bulk of our family affairs are overseen by Harcourt and Stokes in London,” Lady St. Just offered. “We had a local solicitor in Penzance, but he died several years ago, and I have had no reason to need one since. Until now, perhaps.” Peering at Georgie, she pursed her lips. “Lady Georgina has brought a new element of excitement to the family, to be sure. I wager we shall not need to worry about boredom ever again in St. Just.”

  “As I said to her earlier, she’s the only adventure I now crave.” Rob grasped Georgie’s hand in both of his. “There’s a reason for that, you know.”

  “Can they not simply be married here in St. Just?” Lowering her teacup, Elizabeth turned to her husband. “Georgie is past her majority and a widow. Even if settlements were signed, they only provided for her dowry and any children they might have.”

  “Unfortunately, Father was much wilier this time.” Georgie sighed. She’d outwitted him once; she’d not be able to do so the same way again. “When I first came out, Father was busy with my other sisters’ marriages, and so I had no impediment to falling in love with Isaac, until he asked for my hand and was refused. We discussed running away to Scotland, but Mr. Kirkpatrick was a clergyman and adamant about our being married in the Church of England. So we devised a plan to try to wait until I reached the age of one and twenty, after which we could, of course, marry without Father’s consent.”

  “Three years is a terribly long time to have to wait, never knowing if your father would find a suitor of whom he approved.” Elizabeth shook her head. “You must have been always on tenterhooks.”

  “It wasn’t exactly three years, thank goodness, although Isaac and I were still not happy about it, of course. Fortunately, we did have an ally. My second year out Father was obsessed with arranging a marriage between me and the heir of the Duke of Carford. I had nothing against Lord Wrothby, except I did not love him. He too had placed his affections elsewhere, with a Miss Draper, and so was well willing to help me stall the proceedings. Eventually, Wrothby simply refused to agree to the match, and so Father and the duke had to end their negotiations.” Georgie grinned at Elizabeth. “Father was so angry he agreed to the next gentleman who asked for me. Which turned out to be Lord Travers. And this is where luck and my birthday came in to save us.”

  “Your birthday?” Rob blinked. “How did your birthday come into this?”

  “I was born in late July, you see. So when I had my come out, I was almost nineteen already. By the time Father had been disappointed by the duke, I was only a few months away from being twenty and one. I asked Father to allow me to finish my Season before thinking about marriage, and surprisingly he agreed. Likely because I did not put up a fuss about marrying Lord Travers.” She wrinkled her nose. “But of course I never entertained that possibility for a moment. My birthday came, and the next day Isaac and I slipped away to the parish church and were married, as legal as you please.”

  “The vicar had read the banns in the marquess’s own parish?” Eyebrows raised, Lady St. Just nodded to Georgie. “Your late husband came from bold stock, I see.”

  “Well, not quite that bold, my lady.” Georgie smiled at the woman she prayed would be her new mother-in-law. “I’d saved money for over two years, mostly from my clothing allowance here and there.” She leaned toward the marchioness, confidentially. “I did not have a proper new bonnet until my wedding. But I managed to save enough to send Isaac to London for a special license.”

  “Well done, my love.” Rob kissed her knuckles. This time he refused to relinquish her hand at all, which would bring no complaint from her.

  “And I almost missed the wedding because Rob here did not wish to leave Italy.” With a mock glare at his friend, Jemmy helped himself to another cup of tea. “I returned to Blackham the morning of the wedding, then had to sneak off without letting on to Father at all where I was going. I don’t believe he knows, to this day, that I attended.”

  “Is she the reason you dragged me away from Naples a full month early?” Frowning at her brother, Rob seemed to forget her presence beside him.

  “She is.”

  Rob turned to her, mischief in his eyes. “Then you are forgiven, Brack. You should have told me at the time. I’ve been blaming you these last few years for the missed opportunities.”

  Pretending innocence, Georgie cocked her head. “Opportunities to do what, my dear?”

  Her question caught him just as he was swallowing a mouthful of tea. Choking sounds erupted as her betrothed fought to keep his countenance. Finally the tea went down, although Rob was red in the face. “You will be the death of me yet, my dear. And opportunities to see more of the Italian countryside, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, smothering a smile.

  “We have gone very far afield from the question at hand, Georgie.” Elizabeth broke in. “What has your father done this time to ensure you go through with the marriage to Travers?”

  Georgie sobered. Life could never be light for very long. “Back in December, when Father sent for me, he told me that if he were to take me back into the family again, I had to sign a contract stating that I undertook the marriage of my own free will and would abide by the terms Father set forth.” With a shrug, she looked away. “I had nowhere else to go. Charlotte was getting married, so I could not stay at her house any longer. To give myself a place to live and food to eat, I signed it.”

  “That was hardly a matter of free will, Georgie.” Rob’s face had darkened. “A choice of starving in a hedgerow or marrying a despicable man is no choice of free will at all.”

  “Still, her signature is on it. Father could contest any marriage performed in all of England.” Scowling, Jemmy took a sip of his tea and made a face. “I’m sorry, but I let it get cold.”

  “I’ll ring for more.” The marchioness pulled a bellpull at her elbow. “Then simply don’t get married in England.” She looked expectantly at her son. “Go to Gretna Green. From what I hear, it is the fashionable place for elopements these days.”

  “It is also likely three weeks or more journey from here by carriage, Mamma.” Rob sat rubbing his lip. “And the obvious place for us to go. Both Travers and Blackham will have their men hounding us the entire way. It’s too much of a risk.” He stood and strode to the sideboard. “I beg your pardon, ladies, but I fear I need something stronger than tea at the moment.”

  “But we don’t need to go to Gretna Green, do we?” Georgie twisted around, looking from her brother to Rob. “We could be married anywhere as long as it’s on Scottish soil. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, that is true.” Decanter in hand, Rob paused. “Where in Scotland doesn’t matter at all.”

  “Couldn’t we sail up . . . up . . .” What on earth was the water on that side of the country called?

  “The Irish Sea?” Rob’s brows dipped, and he hastily poured his drink. “Well, it is considerably closer than traveling by carriage, but I will tell you, the sea is a great deal rougher than what we experienced on the way here from Portsmouth.” Taking a long sip, he swallowed and sighed. “It would m
ake those waves seem like a calm day. It’s at least a day, maybe two days longer trip as well.”

  Georgie shuddered. That first day and night aboard the Justine had been nightmarish. To have to endure that horrible sickness for a lengthier time would be close to torture. But it would allow her and Rob to marry. “I’ll do it.” She rose and went to him. “I don’t care that I’ll be ill. As long as we get to Scotland and can be married, I will do it.” She looked up at him and tried to smile. “You just have to make sure I survive ’til the end of the voyage.”

  “Where will you put in, Rob?” Jemmy came over and grabbed a glass.

  “Portpatrick would be the closest port. About a five days’ voyage with decent wind. We’ll stay there for a day or two after the wedding, then return. In all, perhaps a little less a fortnight’s journey.” Gazing at Georgie, Rob ran his thumb down her cheek. “I’ll make certain you survive, love. Trust me.”

  “Georgie may trust you, Rob, but I’m afraid I don’t.” Jemmy raised his glass. “I’m coming with you.”

  “What?” Both Georgie and Rob turned their heads to stare at her brother.

  “You won’t be married until the trip back, so I will be accompanying you as your chaperone. Or would you rather we go to Blackham and attempt to get Father’s blessing?” Jemmy’s smile would have made an alligator proud. “Rob has already gone a fair way to compromising you. I won’t have him go any further.”

  “Do you forget, dear brother, that I am not some innocent little virgin? I was married a good deal longer than you have been.” If Jemmy went with them, she and Rob would have no opportunity to anticipate the wedding. From the frustrated look on his face, Rob was having the exact same thought.

  “And until you are married again, dear sister, you will remain as chaste as the virgin you once were.” To her consternation the stubborn look her father always got—furrowed brow, pinched nose, poked-out lip—now appeared on Jemmy’s face. The Cross family was certainly her cross to bear.

  “Very well.” She smirked at her brother. “Remember it was your choice when I cast up my accounts all over you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lulu at her feet, Georgie sat contentedly in her nightgown, brushing her bright, auburn hair a hundred strokes before the mirror, thinking of Rob’s proposal and the life they could have together here at the castle. “It’s rather like a fairy story really, Lulu,” she confided to her companion. “The handsome prince sweeps the poor, downtrodden girl off her feet and brings her to his ancestral estate to live happily ever after.” She switched hands and continued brushing on the other side. “Well, I’m not particularly downtrodden, nor actually poor at the moment, although that will soon be true. Still, he did sweep me off my feet there in the library. I’d say that counts, wouldn’t you?”

  Lulu growled, then yipped.

  “I don’t know how you can disapprove. The gentleman saved your life, you recall. I am willing to overlook a great deal of his shortcomings because of that one action.” Georgie set the brush down and picked up her cream pot. “Not that he has many, you know.”

  Rubbing lavender-scented cream into her hands, she remembered the touch of his lips there on her palm, on her mouth, on her breasts. A shiver of longing raced down her spine. It had been so long since she’d had a man in her bed. Would it be strange, being intimate with someone other than Isaac? Her hand rubbing slowed. She had not stopped to consider that. She’d simply been enjoying the hot, flushed way Rob made her feel again. If it weren’t such a private conversation, she’d ask Elizabeth how it had been for her. But of course, her friend wouldn’t want to speak of it because the man she’d be talking about was Georgie’s brother. Had Georgie known any of this would happen, she’d have asked Fanny while she was in Buckinghamshire. Fanny would tell her bluntly, and follow it up with advice on the subject, most likely.

  Still, less than a week from now she’d know from her own experience. She trusted Rob with her life. If he’d wanted to make his proposal memorable, then certainly he’d find a way to make their nuptial night just as unforgettable. “He has been one to make an impression from the beginning, don’t you agree, Lulu?”

  Her pet yawned and snorted, then presented herself for her nightly good-night caress. Georgie obliged her, petting her head and silky ears, then scratching under her chin. Lulu replied with a lick to Georgie’s hand, then trotted resolutely into the dressing room. Georgie had seen to a bed for her there with cushions. Lulu had not complained about the accommodations, for which Georgie was very grateful.

  Sighing contentedly, she gazed around the magnificent chamber the marchioness had assigned to her. Rather grand for her own tastes, but perhaps, as Lady St. Just had intimated, they did not have many visitors this far away along the wild Cornish coast and wished to impress.

  That thought brought Georgie up out of her chair. She padded over to the large window that overlooked the ocean and pulled back the heavy drapes. Chill air assailed her, even through the panes of glass. Still, she pressed her ear against the cold windowpane. Faintly the crash of waves against the rocks at the base of the crags could be heard even this far away. Day after tomorrow they would be out on that wild ocean, with even worse to come when they reached the Irish Sea. With a shudder she turned away and drew the drapes. She trusted Rob, but thoughts of the violently pitching ship made her queasy right here on dry land. She couldn’t think about that right now. It was the only way for them to be married.

  Forcing her thoughts away from the journey to come, Georgie made her way back to the massive four-poster bed that occupied the corner of the room nearest the fireplace and next to an oak door. She had tried that door earlier, thinking it led to a servant’s chamber, but it had been locked with no key in the keyhole. A mystery she’d have to ask Rob about.

  The magnificent bed, though it held no mystery, did instill a sense of awe in her. Never had she seen a bed so large. Three or perhaps four people could sleep comfortably in it. Spread with a burgundy silk velvet cover with a bold floral design, and matching curtains, the bed looked like a ceremonial dais for some huge monarch like Henry VIII. Not her choice, but she would be content to burrow under those covers. Despite the warmth of the fire, the room was chilly, and her nightgown was thin.

  She shrugged off her robe, mounted the three steps up to the bed, and flung back the cover and sheet. Running her hand across the smooth expanse, she smiled. Clara had done her work well with the warming pan. Quickly Georgie jumped in, burrowing beneath the heavy covering and pulling it up to her chin, nice and cozy. Even cozier with two, but that wouldn’t be for some days yet. Pity she could never bring herself to pull the curtains around her bed. The bedcurtains would help keep her warm, she knew, but the idea of being entombed gave her the shivers every time she even thought of it. She’d create her own little cocoon of warmth shortly. Slowly, Georgie relaxed, refusing to think of the challenges she and Rob still faced. Instead she imagined Rob with several little children, some auburn-haired, some dark, running through the maze on a brilliant summer’s day, trying to catch her as she sped for the bench at the dead end. Only the dead end turned into a door. Laughing, Georgie opened it and slipped through and was gone.

  * * *

  The creak of a real door must have dragged Georgie back from her dream of frolicking in the maze. Groggy with sleep, she listened for the click of Lulu’s claws on the uncarpeted portions of the floor, but no such sound filtered through her dazed senses. A low shushing of shoes sliding across carpet instead. Clara? Why would she be here in the middle of the night? Why would anyone be here . . . ?

  Rob. Georgie snapped wide-awake, not moving, but breathing quickly and shallowly. He had come to anticipate the wedding night. What must she do? Surely he must think she desired to after her blunder in the library. Just thinking about that misunderstanding right now made her want to cover her head to hide her humiliation. Not because she hadn’t wished to be intimate with him, but because she had made such a mistake at such a time. So did
she want to do it now?

  With everything so unsettled regarding Lord Travers and her betrothal to him, she just wasn’t certain it would be wise. In the very heated moment it had been one thing; now that she was being rational, perhaps it would be best to put off the moment. Savor it, as Rob had suggested. Although he hadn’t been talking about savoring that particular moment. Still, he would likely indulge her on the matter. They’d be married in five days, and then the waiting would be over.

  The bed dipped as Rob slid between the sheets. She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone sleep beside her, hold her as they snuggled together. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too much temptation if they did that for a while. Smiling, she stretched. “I heard you come in. I know why you are here, and I want to as well, but I think we must wait until this unpleasantness with Lord Travers is past. We will be married soon, so a little restraint should be possible.” She turned over toward him. “However, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other in other ways.”

  “The only way I plan to enjoy myself tonight, my lady, is between your legs.”

  The ugly, rasping voice told Georgie exactly who had crawled into her bed. The stench of alcohol merely confirmed that the odious Lord Travers had somehow managed to sneak his way into the castle and find his way into her room. Not for long. She drew in breath to scream the alarm, but a rough hand clamped down over her mouth, stifling her voice and almost cutting off her air.

  “Oh, no, my lady. You’re not sounding an alarm until I’m certain it’s me and no one else you’ll be marrying. Once I spill my seed in you, St. Just won’t want you anymore. Won’t want to live with the possibility that his heir is actually mine.” He pushed his hand harder onto her mouth as he shifted his weight, fumbling with her gown under the covers.

  God, she could not let this happen. Pushing her gown back down with one hand, she slapped at his with the other.

  “Stop that thrashing, or I’ll do more than stop your mouth. I’ve got big hands, my lady.” He chuckled, and her skin crawled. “Hands that can give you pleasure or bring you pain. Or stop your breath until you swoon, real ladylike.”