Page 21 of Wedding the Widow

“Jemmy, don’t. What if he cuts you off?” Georgie’s face had shifted into its stubborn lines.

“I will word it so he thinks I do it only to ensure that the family’s honor and reputation are preserved. I’ll suggest to him that I should try to guide you into making a better match than before.” If he wrote the letter just so, it might work. If not, he could find himself as destitute as Georgie. At least until he gained control of his inheritance when he turned thirty, in less than a year.

“There can be no better match for me than Isaac.”

She was changeable as a March wind and twice as stubborn.

“I can also steer you away from some of the more notorious rakes who may still be lurking about. Introduce you to some capital chaps, like Lord St. Just. You seemed to get on with him rather well.” That would be a brilliant match for Georgie. If he could arrange for her to become the Marchioness St. Just, his father would have to welcome her back to the family. Rob’s wealth came close to his own father’s. His friend was quite the eligible parti, though. It might be difficult to convince him to take his sister without some kind of settlement or dowry. At least he had an in with Rob. They’d been friends since school, so it was worth a try.

“Lord St. Just seemed very cordial at the Harvest Festival. He’s amusing, but then he tries hard to be amusing.”

The undertone of reproof sent a frisson of warning. For his scheme to work, Georgie must be amenable to it. He’d thought her quite appreciative of the marquess. “Did you not like him?”

“Yes, he was frightfully entertaining.” Georgie nodded enthusiastically. “But he smiles a great deal. And I suspect he has a truly wild streak in him.”

“Why on earth would you say that?” He’d always thought Rob the steadiest of chaps.

Georgie giggled. “Have you never really listened to the tales he tells, Jemmy? He grew up on the coast of Cornwall, near all kinds of smuggling activities, and seems very envious of their adventures.”

“He grew up around tales of smugglers, that’s all.” Waving her concerns away, he rose to investigate his hostess’s decanter, perched temptingly on a Queen Anne butler’s desk. “I seriously doubt he wants to be one himself.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” She shook her head, making her red curls dance. “The gentleman has more than a touch of the pirate in him. He may surprise you yet.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, a sure sign she knew more than she was telling him. “But what else do you have planned to do in London? You won’t need to chaperone me constantly.” A sudden, but deliberate tilt of her head. “Do you plan to see Elizabeth?”

Caught in the midst of pouring whiskey into a glass, Jemmy jerked his arm, sending an arch of the pungent spirit cascading over the carpet. “Damn it, Georgina.” He set down the dripping glass, inspecting his outfit to see if any had spilled on him. Leave it to Georgie to change the subject so violently. “Can you call for one of the maids to clean this up?”

Laughing softly, Georgie strolled to the wide strip of tapestry and pulled. “You didn’t answer my question.” Idly, she played with the tassel on the end, staring at him, waiting for an answer, damn her.

“Just pull the bell.” Jemmy sipped the spirits left in the sticky glass, hoping it would settle him. He’d not discussed Elizabeth with Georgie since the day he’d returned. “I suppose I shall see her if she attends the same entertainments we do.”

“You don’t plan to call on her?” His sister’s gaze speared him like the shaft of an arrow.

“I told you I tried that with no success.” The bitter words were out before he could stop his mouth.

“So you should try again.” She gave the pull a sharp tug. “Because if you don’t continue to pursue her, you’re a fool.” Sauntering back to the sofa, his sister wore the deeply satisfied expression of a cat who has killed an especially juicy mouse. “I am surprised you didn’t return to London sooner. At least, you have written to her since your return, haven’t you? You cannot take for granted that she understands the depth of your attachment to her.”

Jemmy swallowed uncomfortably and sipped his whiskey. He’d not told Georgie he hadn’t had the courage to send a letter. Gulping the last of the fiery liquid too quickly, he sputtered and coughed. “I should hope Elizabeth knows in what high esteem I hold her.”

Of course, by not writing to her during the past month, she might very well think he’d acquiesced to her wishes and abandoned his pursuit. That had been cowardly of him. It would serve him right if she’d already accepted another man. That sobering thought brought him up short. Pray God that had not occurred.

“She might know it with her head, but not with her heart, Jemmy. You have written to her since?” Her innocent question made his heart sink.

“Since when?”

“Since your return, ninny. You told me you would write to her the day you came back to Lyttlefield Park, but you never said if she replied.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did she?”

“No,” he sighed. Time to pay the piper. “I haven’t heard from her since I returned here.”

“And you’ve done nothing this whole time?” She bounced up on the sofa, indignant. “You haven’t written her a second letter? Honestly, Jemmy, why didn’t you tell me?” Georgie’s voice rose in shrill tones. “I could have mentioned you in my letters.”

“Did she ever inquire after me in any of her letters to you?” he asked, hope rising.

“No, she has not. I would have thought that peculiar, but I believed she had no reason to because she was corresponding with you.” The annoyance in her face made him draw back.

“Perhaps she has done with me.” His heart stuttered at the thought, but it would serve him right for his cowardice in not writing to her. How could he have simply accepted her wishes at face value and done nothing to try and change her mind? He’d been in limbo these past weeks, waiting for some signal from her that he knew would not come unless he goaded her to give it.

“Nonsense.” Georgie rose, standing straight, eyes clear and determined. “Do you love her, Jemmy?”

The question froze him. He’d scarcely thought past the physical passion of their last encounter to the more eloquent dealings in his heart. That he might never again hold her in his arms, kiss her lips, behold a smile meant solely for him was unimaginable. The consequences of his non-actions crashed over him with the intensity of an ocean tide so cold he ceased to breathe. He should have remained in London and insisted she see him.