Page 52 of Wedding the Widow

“No, Mama. I am sorry, but I completely forgot to bring it.” Best sit across from her mother while delivering her news. Elizabeth sank down into the green wing-backed chair opposite the sofa.

“Well, dear, Dotty will be so disappointed. She has talked of nothing but dreaming of her future husband.” Mama shook her head and paused for a sip of tea.

“I am sorry, Mama.” Elizabeth seized the moment to take the conversational reins. “I will explain it to Dotty when she comes home tonight. But I wanted to tell you my news.”

“News?” Mama’s eyes grew round, glee spreading across her face. “Tell, tell! One says nothing ever happens in the country, but Lady Wrotham’s parties seem determined to break that rule.”

“I’ve asked Papa to join us. He will want to hear this as well.” Elizabeth turned anxiously as the door opened, but it was only the maid with fresh tea.

“Oh, dear. I do hope it is not bad news.” After pouring, her mother dropped four large lumps of sugar into her own cup.

Elizabeth shuddered as always at so much sweetness, adding one lump to hers. “That may well depend on what you and Papa can tell me. There is a sort of mystery afoot, and I dearly hope you can enlighten me about it.”

“Mystery? Elizabeth, please tell me you have not gotten yourself mixed up in some intrigue down in Kent, of all places. First, it was those robbers you told me of, now something different has occurred?” Her mother’s eyebrows swooped upward, alarmingly close to her hairline.

“No, Mama. Not intrigue. At least, I don’t think so.” She sipped the hot tea, and the tension in her shoulders lessened. “But it does apparently concern you and Papa.”

“What concerns Papa?” Her father came through the doorway, a cherubic smile on his handsome face. “Good afternoon, darling. Did you just now return? We have missed you.” He strode forward to kiss her cheek. “I am so used to having you back with us I don’t quite know what to do when you are gone anymore.”

She must seize this perfect opportunity to tell them. “That is what I wished to tell you about.” Elizabeth set her cup down and squeezed her hands together. “Papa, Mama, I am to be married again.”

“What?” Her parents spoke in unison, her mother suspending her cup before her face while her father froze in the act of reaching for a piece of bread and butter.

“Married again?” Mama rattled her teacup into its saucer. “But you have just put away your mourning, Elizabeth. I assumed you would grieve for Dickon at least a little while longer. You seemed so heartbroken when he died.”

“I know, Mama.” Heartbeat speeding up, Elizabeth set her cup down before she spilled it. Indeed, it seemed strange to say out loud that she would marry again. Only the image of Jemmy’s dear face gave her the courage to continue. “I did not believe I would ever love again, but it has happened.”

“Is it that chap you sisters were talking of the last time you came home? Lord Brack?” The bread and butter continued into Papa’s mouth. “Afraid I don’t know him.”

“Did you meet him at Lady Wrotham’s party? You never said a word about him to me.” Mama turned a cool eye to her husband. “When did Bella or Dotty speak of this Lord Brack to you?”

“In October, I believe. About the time Bella’s betrothal was announced. Perhaps you were distracted by Lord Haxton’s presence.” Papa gave her an arch look that was ignored.

“Well, I must say you have been a slyboots about this, Elizabeth. Now”—Mama settled back again, hands crossed over her stomach—“who is this Lord Brack?”

“I believe you know his father, the Marquess of Blackham?” Elizabeth sipped her tea, keenly interested in her mother’s answer. At last, she would find out the reason for Lord Blackham’s rejection of her.

Her mother gave a strangled shriek and clutched her throat.

“Blackham!” Papa spat the name as if it was poison. “You wish to marry the Marquess of Blackham’s son?”

“Ohhh . . .” Her mother had slumped over on the sofa, moaning in a low, guttural voice. The usually serene expression on her face had flown, leaving wild staring eyes of vivid blue in a stark white face, held in the grip of an unspeakable horror.

Shocked and confused at this totally unexpected reaction, Elizabeth carefully set her cup down once more. “Yes,” she answered, shakily. “His eldest son, James, is Lord Brack.” The suspicion that all was not well, based on yesterday’s interview with Lord Blackham, had erupted into full-blown fear. What in the world could have happened to provoke a reaction such as this from her parents?

“It is out of the question, Elizabeth.” Her father drew himself up, tall and forbidding.

“But, Papa—”

“No, Elizabeth.” Her mother had sat up and recovered her voice, though she still clutched her throat. A wash of pink had suffused her face, so perhaps she would not faint after all. “He is a cruel, cruel man. You must not marry him.”

“I’m not marrying Lord Blackham, I’m marrying his son. Jemmy is nothing like his father from what I have observed.” Fear flooded her mouth, leaving a sharp, coppery taste in its wake. She’d clung to the hope her family would be supportive of her marriage to Jemmy, even if his father was not. They might have been able to live at Worth House for the time before Jemmy came into his inheritance. Without their assistance, however, their marriage would hinge solely on Jemmy’s grandfather, a completely unknown factor. The impossibility of it ever taking place began to loom larger in her mind.

“He must take after his poor mother, then.” Groping in her pocket, Mama produced a handkerchief and pressed it to her streaming eyes.

“You knew his mother?” Elizabeth seized on this smidgeon of hope in the swirling chaos. “Then surely you must believe me when I tell you Jemmy is a wonderful man who will make me as happy as Dickon ever did.”

“His mother, God rest her soul, was a sweet girl. So he may be all you say he is. But if he’s got Blackham’s blood in him, well . . .” Her father shook his head, his face grave. “I warn you, he could change.”