Page 85 of Wedding the Widow

“I demand to know who you are and where that carriage is taking my wife and daughter.” Lord Wentworth’s face hovered inches from one of the four black-and-gold-clad men.

“They’re likely bound for Black Tower, my father’s house in Regent Park,” Jemmy said, dusting himself off and hurrying to Wentworth’s side.

“Your father’s house?” A snarl on his lips, his lordship peered at the men.

“Yes, I recognized the livery as soon as they appeared. You”—Jemmy snapped his fingers and pointed at the nearest man—“did my father order this abduction?”

“Sorry, my lord.” The young man stood straight, fear in his eyes. “He ordered us to bring you to the house as quickly as possible. To get the ladies away first so you’d follow.”

“That certainly sounds like Father.”

“That’s Blackham, all right,” Wentworth echoed. “He has gone too far this time, Brack.”

“I agree, my lord.” Numb with an outrage he’d never before experienced, Jemmy’s whole body quivered. How dare his father abduct his bride? If this terrifying ordeal harmed her or the baby, his father would pay in the most horrific way possible. He would make an end to this for once and for all. “You!” He pointed at the servant again. “Father would know we’d need horses to go to Black Tower. Did you bring them with you?”

“No, my lord, but there is a carriage.” He indicated a conveyance off to the side of the road he’d not noticed in his rage.

“Very good. Lord Wentworth, we will follow them in this conveyance, and I promise you,” he said, clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms, “it will end now.” They climbed into the carriage as the liveried men mounted their horses.

They jerked forward, and Jemmy began to seriously contemplate the possibility of patricide.

* * *

“Do not panic, Elizabeth.” Putting on her tone of righteous indignation, Mama was ready to do battle with whomever had orchestrated this outrage, be it the devil himself. “Whoever is behind this kidnapping has not taken into consideration who they are abducting. We will make them pay for this outrage to the fullest extent of the law.”

“I suspect it is Lord Blackham again, Mama.” Elizabeth sighed. She would have some sharp words to say to the marquess when next they met. “Who else would want to kidnap us?” She forced her words out calmly, despite the fact she was seething inside. How dare this tyrant abduct her—and her mother—and try to keep her from marrying Jemmy. Her mother might have a golden nugget or two to tell Lord Blackham, but she wouldn’t get the chance until Elizabeth had finished with him. If there was anything left.

The carriage wound back into London, quickly reaching a very fashionable area.

“This is Regent Park, my dear,” Mama peered out the window. “Perhaps your suspicion is correct. Blackham has a house on one of the terraces, as I remember. Part of his enticement for me to marry him was his listing of all his properties.” She sniffed. “Thought he could sway me from your father with the promise of material possessions. True love will trump that any time.”

“I certainly hope so, Mama.” Craning her neck, Elizabeth gazed back and forth at the tall, stately houses, built in the classical style that seemed to be preferred on the street they were now passing down.

“Remain steadfast, Elizabeth. No matter what Blackham may offer as an inducement to abandon Lord Brack, do not be tempted.” Mama nodded even as she looked back and forth at the splendid marble columns and stoops gracing all of the residences they were passing.

“I will hardly give Jemmy over with his child on the way, Mama. It will take more than a marble floor and a Regent Park address to make me give him up.” Elizabeth hung onto the strap grimly as the carriage turned a corner onto York Terrace. “Do you think Jemmy and Papa are following behind us?”

“Most likely.” Mama peered out the window, trying to see behind the carriage. “I cannot get a thing from this window, though. Oh.”

The carriage bumped to a stop.

“We seem to be here.” Thank goodness, it had taken no longer to arrive. All the excitement was extremely wearing on her these days.

The town house they had swept up to was imposing, if a trifle austere. Four smooth white marble columns framed the façade, a small portico carved with Greek statures. The house itself seemed to exude cold, and Elizabeth shivered at the thought of confronting Lord Blackham once more.

“If this is Blackham’s doing, he’s going to rue the day he interfered with my daughter’s life,” Mama huffed as she emerged from the carriage, assisted by another liveried servant.

“Yes, I suspect he will do a deal of ruing before the day is finished.” She glanced back the way they had come, hoping to spy another carriage or horses with Jemmy atop them. No such luck. Well, she’d give the marquess an earful for causing them all this bother.

The door to the mansion opened, revealing a tall, dignified butler who did not speak but motioned for them to enter.

“Cat got your tongue, my man?” Mama threw at him, never pausing as she strode inside.

With a doleful smile, the butler led them down a corridor, up a short flight of stairs, to a dark, forbidding door. The whole household was dim. Elizabeth couldn’t remember seeing more than two or three lamps or candles in the whole place at Blackham. Such dark-natured places always frightened her; however, anger sent fear flying out the window. She pushed the door open before the butler could make a move.

The chamber itself was as dark and gloomy as the corridor. A sullen fire burned in the grate, giving off indifferent heat. The wizened figure seated at the desk looked exactly the same as the one she’d met ten days before. A single difference in the man jarred Elizabeth, sending an icy trickle down her spine.

Lord Blackham was smiling.