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

by Jenna Jaxon

  “I will admit, my life has had not one quiet moment since I met Lady Georgina.” Rob took her hand and kissed it. “But I would not change one moment of it. Well”—he stopped and seemed to consider—“I admit I would change having to leap into icy cold water, if I could. Although I would then have missed a terribly efficient method of warming oneself up.” His eyes twinkled at Georgie, and the heat rose in her cheeks. “You must demonstrate it again, my dear.”

  “Speaking of our first journey”—she tried to shift the subject from that terribly intimate moment—“when will we begin our next voyage together, Rob? I recall last time we had to hurry to catch the evening tide. Will we leave in the evening again?”

  “Not this time. After breakfast Jem and I will go to the harbor and make ready the ship. I’ve sent round to the crew, so they will be arriving shortly.” He looked up as Jemmy entered. “Just the man I wanted to see. Will you come down to the ship with me? There is much to do if we are to leave tomorrow morning.” He smiled at Georgie. “That is when the tide should be running right.”

  “It’s been a few years since I sailed, other than this short journey, but I hope I can be of some service to you, Rob.” Jemmy settled into the chair beside Elizabeth. “You are not too fatigued this morning, my dear? You had a very late night. Perhaps you should go lie down, and I shall bring you a tray.”

  Georgie got the feeling her sister-in-law was rolling her eyes inwardly. Elizabeth already had two children from her previous marriage, so carrying a child was nothing new to her. She’d confided to Georgie that sometimes Jemmy managed to be too solicitous toward her. “I wish to be thought capable of more than just carrying this child,” had been Elizabeth’s sentiment when they’d been at Fanny’s wedding. Perhaps that was why Elizabeth had insisted on accompanying Jemmy to Cornwall. Well, good for Elizabeth. What was life without a bit of adventure?

  “My lord.” Myers entered the breakfast room and bowed, a trifle of concern showing in his otherwise inscrutable face. As a rule, butlers were unflappable. Her father’s butler at the castle would likely have borne burning at the stake with the same enduring calm with which he had answered his master’s door for the past thirty years. Something was up.

  “Yes, Myers?”

  “There are several liveried servants at the front door demanding to be shown to Lady Georgina.”

  Georgie sat up at attention. “Travers’s men?”

  Rob shrugged, but rose. “They could very well be. Having not succeeded last evening, he may have decided to try brute force. I told you, Jem, we should have settled his hash while we had the chance.”

  Tossing his napkin onto the table, Jemmy bounded up, his face all frowns. “Dash it, Rob, you can’t just kill a peer.”

  “I could have if you’d let me. There’s no other way to have satisfaction of him, save a duel.” Rob looked thoughtful. “That is an idea. A nice, permanent solution. God knows we don’t want word of what he did to get out.”

  “Well, if your butler is right, you may get your chance sooner rather than later.”

  “True. Summon all the footmen, grooms, coachmen, and gardeners, Myers. Have them assemble in the kitchen and await my instructions. Come on, Brack.” His smoky gray eyes shone with excitement. “Let’s go see how many of these fellows we can number to our accounts in the next half an hour.”

  “I’m coming too.” On her feet before she could get the sentence out, Georgie wrapped her long, China silk shawl around her shoulders like armor. “I am the cause of all this ruckus. I should at least be there to cheer you on to victory.”

  “And I will accompany Georgie, Jemmy.” Elizabeth had risen as well, her face set. “My support for her has been the reason for my entire journey. I will not fail her now.” She held up a finger, not allowing her husband to rebut her statement.

  “And I will not allow myself to miss this encounter for the wide world.” Lady St. Just stood and stared at her son, as if daring him to make her stay behind.

  Rob took one look at the three women and shook his head. “We don’t know who we are fighting yet, although Travers’s servants seem the logical conclusion. Come with me.” Rob led them through the corridor, down the front stairs to the castle’s main door. “In any case, your safety is paramount, my dear.” He’d managed to stay beside Georgie and now spoke directly in her ear. “If this turns against us, you are to retreat to the larder. After last night’s intrusion, I instructed Joseph to take you, Lady Brack, and my mother to safety in Penzance, at the home of a friend of mine, Captain Martin. Ask him, on my behalf, to take you back to London. It won’t be an easy journey, but it will likely keep you out of the hands of Travers.”

  “And what should I do then?” she hissed back, angrier than she’d ever been at him. “Do you plan to meet us in London?”

  He avoided her eyes.

  Just so. “As I thought. So my answer is no.”

  “Georgie.” He pulled her to the side of the entry hall. “I am trying to keep you safe, my love. If something should happen to me . . .”

  “If something happens to you, I will be here with you.” Her words blazed forth, spoken directly from her heart. “By your side as though I were your wife in truth, instead of just in promise. Because if something happened to you, I would not want to go on. Again. It would be too cruel. You would not do that to me, Rob.”

  “You will be the death of me yet.” He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “All right. Stay here. Let me go with your brother and find out who these liveried servants are and what they want with you. Then we will know better what we can and cannot do.”

  She nodded gravely and gave his hand a squeeze. “I will be waiting here for your return.”

  “I love you, Georgina.” He pressed his lips fiercely to hers. “Be ready,” he said, then strode to the massive oak door, and nodded.

  Myers straightened his jacket, raised his chin, and opened the door.

  * * *

  Although Rob had steeled himself for a sizeable group of men, he had expected them to be locals who Travers might have hired for a day, merely for intimidation. If that were the case, he and Brack and the castle servants could likely withstand any onslaught they mounted. Some hired men might even think better of going up against their marquess, and slink off home when no one was looking. What Rob was not prepared for was the sea of men—there had to be at least fifty, strangers every one—standing like an invading army, their leaders in front dressed in black jackets with gold braid and buttons.

  “Dear God.” Brack had come up beside him at the doorway, his face gone pale.

  “They certainly aren’t what I expected,” Rob whispered. “Especially not from Travers.”

  “They’re not Travers’s men.”

  “What? How do you know that?” Rob stole another glance at his friend, who had clenched his jaw so tightly the tendons had popped into clear relief.

  “Because I know these servants.” Raw anger flashed across Brack’s face. The kind that flamed white-hot until it burnt itself out.

  “Then whose men are they?”

  “My father’s.”

  Rob started, but checked himself. The marquess was living up to his reputation. “What are they doing here?”

  “I’m about to find out. Wait here a moment. Let me see if I can get them to disburse.” Jemmy straightened his back and marched down the front steps, like a general about to address the troops.

  To hell with waiting. This was his home, and by Christ he was going to be the one to defend it. Rob dashed down the stairs, on his friend’s heels.

  “Mr. Buckley, isn’t it?” Brack seemed unconcerned with anything save having remembered the man’s name. “From my father’s estate in Somerset.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The tall, bulky steward, flanked by two even larger footman in livery, eyed him coolly.

  “You are somewhat far from home, Buckley. This is the estate of the Marquess of St. Just. What is the meaning of this”—Brack looked out at the sea of unfrie
ndly faces armed with a variety of weaponry—“assemblage?”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but his lordship, your father, has instructed me to find Lady Georgina, who he suspected had been taken here against her will, and return her to Blackham Castle.”

  “But as you can see, I am here now and have things well in hand. I have spoken with Lady Georgina, and the entire episode was a misunderstanding.” The commanding edge to Jem’s voice and his stern visage was credible, nothing at all like his usual boyish demeanor. Good show, that.

  “Your father gave me specific instructions, my lord.” The steward reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a letter. “I am to travel here, to St. Just, recover the lady from the bandits who stole her, and return her.” He offered the paper to Jem. “I was also instructed to do so without informing you.”

  Jem tore the letter open, swiftly read the lines, then curled the missive in his fist. “I have written to my father that I would take care of this matter.” He glared at Buckley. “You can stand these men down, if you please. I will see to it that the lady reaches Blackham Castle with all haste.”

  “I beg your pardon, again, my lord.” The man’s stance, however, was anything but conciliatory.

  Restraining himself from throttling the man was the greatest feat of self-control Rob had ever accomplished.

  “But I take my orders from the marquess, as I always have. Please have Lady Georgina brought out with her maid and her trunks. Her father insists we make the best possible time.”

  “Over my bleached bones.” To hell with restraint. He pushed his way in front of Jemmy. “The lady is no longer of your concern. She is now betrothed to me and will remain here, with her brother, until such time as we can have the banns read and be married.” See what they made of that.

  Buckley looked taken aback, then his eyes narrowed. “The lady is betrothed to Lord Travers and will be taken to her father. I will request, civilly, that you bring Lady Georgina to me or step out of the way so we”—he nodded to the two huge footmen, towering over him—“can fetch her out here.”

  Drawing himself up straight, jaw firm, Rob planted his feet, transforming into every inch the marquess he’d been since the age of five. “You stand on the property of the Marquess of St. Just. Neither you nor your master has any authority here nor over any of the inhabitants of Castle St. Just. If they wish to seek sanctuary here under my protection, then they are entitled to it by my decree, given this date, this instant. Anyone”—he gazed out over the sea of angry faces—“who tries to oppose that edict will be treated as a hostile with the intent of overthrowing the marquessate. Anyone caught doing so can be held as committing treason against the Crown, as the title was created by the King’s grace in 1622.” Rob prayed to God none of these men knew the law. “Those persons will thereby be subject to the punishment for treason, which is death.”

  Immediately a low rumbling went up throughout the gathering. Feet shuffled, and the mood of the crowd changed from belligerent to cautious. They might have come prepared for a fight, but not at the cost of their lives. At the far edge the multitude seemed to fan out, as though some men had decided to leave. Had he pulled off the greatest bluff of his life?

  Buckley turned to the crowd and spoke to one man. At once, a murmur rippled through the mob.

  “What do you think?” Rob glanced at Jemmy.

  The steward turned back to them and raised his hand. “Forward!”

  “I think they’re more afraid of Father than of you or the Crown.”

  The horde surged toward the castle.

  “Damn.” Rob leaped back, dragging Jemmy with him. Buckley swept up to him, and Rob let fly with the right hook he’d perfected at the boxing saloon in London. The steward went down like a tree felled in the woods. Jackson himself would have been proud.

  Jemmy had acquitted himself well with one of the two liveried servants, but Rob and Jemmy couldn’t fight this many unaided. Rob dropped back to the castle door, Jemmy at his side, ready to slip inside and bolt the door, when the doors burst open and the castle servants swarmed out, brandishing everything from soup pots to the ancient spit that Cook used to roast the traditional Christmas boar.

  Grinning, Rob reversed course and waded into the fray. He grabbed up a fallen staff and swung it at the head of the other liveried footman. The man ducked, made a grab at the stick, and tried to jerk it out of Rob’s hands. Rob let go, punched the man in the face, then grasped the pole once again and moved cheerfully on to his next victim.

  What a glorious day to do battle.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Ouch.” Rob shied back as Georgie tried to apply a cloth soaked in witch hazel to the bruised knuckles of his right hand. The skin was broken in several places, and the whole hand was swollen. Sitting on a small hassock drawn up next to a table spread with various medicinal paraphernalia Cook had supplied, he’d finally given himself over to Georgie’s attempts to clean and dress the minor wounds.

  “Hold still, please.” She dabbed the medicine on relentlessly. “If you are going to act like a pirate, you should at least adopt a more stoic attitude to your treatment.”

  “I am not the only one wincing in pain, you know.” He nodded to the other bodies that littered the chairs, sofas, and floor of the castle’s largest drawing room, from which groans and yelps erupted at short intervals.

  Shaking her head, Georgie surveyed the minor carnage brought about by the mercifully quick campaign on the castle steps some hours earlier. “You were lucky you weren’t killed, Rob.”

  “We had the advantage of defending our home and our fair maiden.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Everyone rose splendidly to the occasion. I think half the men were jubilant to actually fight for something they love.” He squeezed her hand and gazed into her eyes until her cheeks heated like coals. “None of them went off to the war, including me, but we all long to demonstrate our willingness to sacrifice for the ones we love. It’s a vital part of being a man.”

  “I cannot thank you enough for making the stand for me.” Tossing the soiled rag onto the table, Georgie sighed and took up the bandage Cook had also supplied, winding it around Rob’s hand. “I don’t know what I would have done had they succeeded in taking me.” Thoughts of her father’s retribution had almost made her ill when she’d learned he’d sent his men to seize her and take her home.

  “They would never have taken you, Georgie. I would never let anyone or anything harm you. Believe that.” The strength of Rob’s conviction warmed her heart.

  “I do, my love.” She stole a glance around the room, but everyone seemed occupied with the other wounded. Quickly, she dipped her head, kissing him with a fierceness that sprang from deep inside her. This was the man she would spend her life with, who she would stand with and die beside if necessary. Pray God it was not.

  When she raised her head, Rob’s eyes had a dazed look, and a lopsided smile was on his lips. “If that is how you are going to thank me for going into battle, I shall have to create a confrontation or invent a campaign on a regular basis.”

  “Wretch.” She sat next to him, and he put his arm around her. “I will thank you a thousand times better if you don’t go getting yourself into mischief. I want my husband unbruised and unbroken. So much better when all your parts are working.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. All the really important ones are.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Care to find out how well they are working at the moment?”

  “Rob.” She leaned her head against his chest. “What are we going to do now?”

  Sighing, he looked about the room.

  The injured servants had mostly been seen to. Elizabeth and, surprisingly, Lady St. Just had worked alongside Cook and the housemaids to tend the cuts, gashes, bruises, and black eyes. Everyone was sore, but in rousing good spirits.

  “We do exactly as we had planned. Tomorrow we sail to Scotland and get married, and then all of your father’s machinations will be for naught. Buckley has set a
guard before the door, but I’m betting he hasn’t had time to discover the smugglers’ tunnel. However, if Travers could find out about it, so will your father’s steward. We must act quickly.”

  “Then why not leave today?” The quicker they were on their way, the sooner they could be married.

  “Because, my love, neither the wind nor the tide is right. Trust me on this. We do not want to end up thrashing about on the ocean, going in the wrong direction.” He kissed her temple, and peace washed over her. “We sail at dawn.” He screwed up his mouth and frowned, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Dawn is a bit too early for me. I say we wait until after breakfast. Can’t sail on an empty stomach, can we?”

  “That is the only way I intend to sail.” Georgie rose and held out her hand to him. “I must go tell Clara the journey is indeed still on. She’ll need to commence packing. Come with me?”

  “I will escort you to your chamber, then I must instruct Lovell to pack me as well before making sure we have provisions ready to take to the ship.” Grinning, Rob wound her arm through his. “So many things to think about when one is eloping and evading two different parties trying to thwart one’s efforts. Once we are married I think I will take to my bed for a week.” He winked at her. “Care to join me there?”

  “Oh, most assuredly, my love.” Georgie returned his grin as they headed into the corridor. “Although I suspect we will end up even more exhausted when that week is done.”

  * * *

  “You’ll want this traveling gown for tomorrow morning, my lady?” The fire crackled merrily in the grate as Clara busied herself helping Georgie prepare for bed.

  “The brown? Yes, I believe that one will do. I don’t wish to take too much with me, Clara. It will all have to be unpacked again when we return.” Excitement washed through Georgie as she sat in front of the mirror, though she tried to restrain herself. This time next week she and Rob would be man and wife. Tingles spread from her innermost core all the way to her fingers and toes at the thought of her and Rob entwined in each other’s arms, a tangle of sheets all around them.