Page 81 of Wedding the Widow

“For heaven’s sake, Dotty.” Scrubbing at her ruined gown, Bella grabbed the cup from her and set it on the tea table. “Now see what you’ve done.”

“Goodness, Papa!” Elizabeth stared at her father’s face and neck, now an alarming shade of red. “What has happened?”

“We cannot get married, Elizabeth.” Jemmy took a large slug of the brandy, his eyes squinting closed at the burn as it made its way down his throat.

“What?” She clutched her throat, her stomach sinking to her toes.

“The Archbishop of Canterbury refuses to issue a special license for our marriage.”

Peering first at Jemmy’s bleak countenance, then at her father’s livid one, Elizabeth gathered her wits and pursed her lips. She had had enough of waiting. “Why won’t he issue it?”

“Because . . . because . . .” Papa couldn’t quite spit out the words.

This inability to speak frightened her more than his blustering, which she’d dealt with all her life.

“Because, apparently, His Grace the Archbishop is the cousin of Lady Maude Aston.” Jemmy stared at her, misery in his eyes. “He refuses to issue the license and has sent instructions to all the parishes under his diocese forbidding them from reading the banns for us.”

“Why would he do such a thing? Cousin or not, he’s a man of God.” Elizabeth had to catch hold of the back of a chair, as her knees threatened to buckle.

Jemmy leaped to her side and lowered her into the chair. “He must have received instructions from—”

“Wentworth!” Lady Wentworth swept into the parlor, her eyes blazing like a demon. “What has Blackham done now?”

Chapter 30

Her mother strode over to her father, outrage and anger in every seething movement. All eyes followed her progress in silence until she stepped beside Papa, whose lips were firmly sealed.

“Well? I was summoned from my nap by Weller, who hurried me into these most inappropriate clothes”—she waved her hand to indicate a serviceable, but plain, day gown of deep purple—“and insisted you must see me at once.” She narrowed her eyes. “I do not do anything ‘at once,’ unless I myself deem it necessary. So I ask again, Wentworth”—her gaze speared her husband—“what has Blackham done now? Only his didoes could cause this much to-do.”

“You are very astute, my dear.” Papa’s face had returned to mostly a normal hue from the vivid scarlet of a few moments before. “Lord Blackham is indeed behind the latest outrage. Here, please sit.” He ushered his wife to her usual wing-backed chair, then downed his whiskey and returned to the sideboard for a refill. “You tell her, Brack. I am liable to break something else if I try to tell it.”

“We went to obtain the special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury, who we discovered is the cousin of Lady Maude Aston, to whom my dear father is endeavoring to engage me. We were therefore sent away with a large flea in our ears.” Patting Elizabeth’s hand, Jemmy continued to try to sooth her. Unfortunately, it helped not at all.

“I see the Archbishop is not above petty family loyalty. So unexpected in the highest clergyman in the land.” Mama sniffed and rang the bell. “His mother was Bridget Sutton, as I recall. Well, Wentworth, what is our next option?”

“For tuppence, I’d go down to Blackham Castle and speak a word with his lordship.” Her father growled, beginning to pace like a tiger in a menagerie. “That he refuses to allow Elizabeth to wed his son is an undeserved disgrace on her and an insult to our entire family.”

Choking back tears, Elizabeth sank further into the chaise. Would she and Jemmy ever be able to wed? Doors to their ultimate happiness kept slamming shut at every turn. There seemed few options left them. Time was running out before scandal overtook them.

“I doubt that would have any effect at all, my lord.” Jemmy rose and went to refresh his glass. “Lady Wentworth, did you ring for tea? I fear Elizabeth needs something against this shock.”

“Here is the footman now.”

The man entered, tea service in hand, and set the tray down beside Mama.

“Thank you.” Immediately, Mama poured tea and dropped in five lumps of sugar. She passed that cup to Elizabeth, who took it without a murmur. “What are our other options?”

“Well, we could attempt a common license.” But Jemmy shrugged almost before the words got out. “However, it needs to be in your home parish, and I am certain the vicar at Blackham would refuse us as well.”

“And apparently all the parishes of London are closed to us as well.” Papa’s color had returned.

“On what grounds?” Elizabeth raised her head. Surely the clergymen had to have a reason to deny them to wed.

“Pre-contract with Lady Maude. My father was supposed to sign the settlements with the Duke of Buckleigh the day I escaped Blackham. The Archbishop would not let me marry one woman when I am contracted to another.” Jemmy sighed and seated himself next to Elizabeth. “I am so sorry for all of this, my love. You deserve none of it.”

“No, she does not, Lord Brack.” Mama sipped her tea, her mouth pursed as though the tea had no sugar. “I was against this match from the beginning because of the machinations of your father, who I remember quite well. You take after your mother, thank the good Lord, or I would forbid it still.” She sniffed and sat back in her chair. “However, the current circumstances, plus the imminent possibility of scandal should Lady Locke return to Town soon, lead me to suggest a course of action I really cannot believe I am saying.”

Grabbing Jemmy’s hand, Elizabeth sat up and took a deep breath. “What, Mama?”