The Wary Widow Read online

  “I know,” Lizzie sighed, plopping down onto the bed. “Lord Michael gave me the same warning.”

  “Lord Michael?”

  Lizzie nodded. “He found us. He promised not to say anything, but it was clear he wouldn’t hold his tongue forever.”

  “But why, Lizzie? Why do you risk it?”

  Lizzie flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “It’s just, well, I care about Andrew and all, and of course I want to marry him, but I just can’t seem to help myself.”

  Another clap of thunder boomed, followed by a bright flash of lighting. Lizzie turned to look out the window, but Chloe cocked her head like a confused bird, trying to understand what her cousin was talking about.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, moving to join her on the bed.

  Lizzie looked at her as if she should have understood. “Well, didn’t you ever wonder if there were other men who could love you as much as Sam did?”

  Chloe shook her head, hoping her face did not deceive her words. “No, although we didn’t have the same caliber of man wandering about in Essex as you do here in London. Sam was the best, and didn’t every girl in the village know it?”

  “Yes, but suppose another man had come along and told you things you’d never heard before?”

  “Like what?” Chloe asked.

  Lizzie grew wistful and turned her face to look out the window. “Like how beautiful you are. How clever and smart.”

  Chloe chuckled lightly. Poor Lizzie had succumbed to the attentions of a flatterer. She knew how her cousin felt. There had indeed been another man in her life, one who wrote horrible poems about her and begged her every day to choose him over Sam. And she’d spent countless nights, lying awake, debating the merits of her two suitors. But she hadn’t loved Louis, and she knew she never could. That alone kept her from marrying him.

  “Well, then,” she advised, “I suppose I would make sure my decisions are based on practical things rather than flattery.”

  “It’s not flattery,” Lizzie practically shouted over the thunder. “He really does think I’m beautiful and clever.”

  “That’s not surprising, Lizzie,” Chloe said, somewhat alarmed that her cousin had lashed out so. “You are beautiful and clever. No one would deny that, but perhaps some are simply more vocal about telling you.”

  Lizzie didn’t appear satisfied with this answer, but Chloe didn’t know what else to say. Was she really thinking of backing out of her agreement with Lord Andrew because of that peacock from the park? If Lord Andrew were her betrothed...

  But he wasn’t, and it was horrible for Chloe to even entertain such thoughts about her cousin’s fiancé. Like a rotten berry, she tossed aside the image of him standing before her on the stoop earlier that morning, his dark hair tousled, his breeches tight, and his eyes dancing with amusement then darkening in concern for her scraped hand.

  “Well, perhaps I prefer the more vocal ones, then.”

  “Does not Lord Andrew tell you things you'd like to hear? He seems awfully vocal to me.”

  “Yes, when he is dictating what I should or should not do. Goodness, could you believe his audacity this evening? To scold me like a child, and in front of you, no less.”

  Chloe sighed. A good cousin would tell Lizzie that flattery was fleeting, but a man like Andrew would take good care of her forever. And that the only reason he'd yelled at her was because she'd made two very stupid mistakes that evening. It was common sense. However, what Chloe really wanted to do was encourage her cousin to break off her engagement and pursue the peacock.

  Of course, Chloe chose the first option. “You're simply having second thoughts, Lizzie. This will pass and you will soon realize that you’ve got the most wonderful fiancé a girl could hope for.”

  ***

  “What has you in such a mood tonight?” Michael inquired from his side of their usual table at White’s.

  Andrew glanced up from his dinner. He hadn’t realized his face was such an open book. He shook his head.

  “Nothing,” he replied, before shoving a spoonful of peas into his mouth.

  Michael gestured to the steward for two more pints of ale. He obviously anticipated a long evening of trying to get Andrew to admit to what was wrong. Unfortunately, Andrew had no idea what was wrong.

  He knew he was troubled by the scene in the park, especially Mrs. Hawthorne’s desperation to cover for whatever his fiancée had been doing. And the fact that she had to cover for Lady Elizabeth in the first place meant that his betrothed had been doing something improper.

  But what?

  Furthermore, he wasn’t sure that he cared. What he did care about was that she had left her cousin, a girl clearly not accustomed to city life, all alone in the middle of Hyde Park at dusk. What could she have been thinking to do such a thing? Though Mrs. Hawthorne had spoken to the contrary, he was positive she could not have made it home alone. Hyde Park was a complicated place in the daytime, even for one who was familiar with the park, let alone in the dark.

  The thought of Mrs. Hawthorne being left alone there at night sent a shiver down his spine. He was going to have another talk with Elizabeth about her careless behavior. The one in the park certainly hadn’t gone as intended. How dare she argue with him over the matter!

  That wasn’t all that bothered Andrew, though.

  “Come on, out with it. I have nowhere to go this evening, so I’m willing to sit here all night until you tell me. I haven’t seen your brow furrowed so deeply in- well, ever, to be quite honest.”

  Andrew sighed and leaned back, bringing his pint with him. He took a drink and then held the glass on the arm of the chair. Should he voice his concerns to his brother? Or just accept them as wedding jitters and forget about them at Madam Stone’s?

  He looked up at Michael, who sat patiently, waiting for him to explain. Damn. There was really no way out.

  “What if I said I was having doubts?”

  “Doubts?” Michael repeated.

  “About Elizabeth.”

  Michael’s eyes widened at this admission. He leaned in, his voice lowered, and asked, “Are you planning to break off your engagement?”

  “No, of course not,” Andrew assured him and then added, “At least not yet.”

  “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

  Someone else? Was he referring to him or her? Andrew had his suspicions about Lord Edgmond, based solely on Benjamin’s advice, but for him-

  A vision of Mrs. Hawthorne standing in the fading sunlight invaded his thoughts just then and for no apparent reason. He remembered her laughing; the way her eyes lit up with mirth. He could even smell her, as subtle as her soft, floral scent had been.

  He shook his head. Why was he thinking of her at a time like this?

  “I think so,” he admitted to his brother. “Benjamin alerted me to a situation involving Lord Edgmond. Said I should pay more attention to my fiancée, because Edgmond appears to be on a mission to steal her from me.”

  Michael’s expression grew shuttered all of a sudden, and Andrew wondered if his brother knew something he didn’t. “But why call off the engagement?”

  Andrew sighed and thought for a moment before answering. “I just know that I don’t...that I never could truly...love her.”

  He expected his brother to erupt into laughter at this. They shared a lot of things, but rarely did feelings come into their conversations. But Michael simply stared back at him, an understanding smile on his lips.

  “It’s hard to imagine a marriage without it after the examples that have been set forth for us, isn’t it?”

  Andrew chuckled as a loud clap of thunder penetrated the walls of their club. So, his brother understood. That was comforting, and not all that surprising when he really thought about it. Why wouldn’t his twin feel the same way about the institution of marriage? They’d grown up in the same house watching their parents moon over one another. They’d watched as their brother fell in love with Phoebe, and then as
Katherine grew devoted to William. No, it was really no surprise at all that his brother understood.

  He took another long swig of ale, feeling much better about the whole thing, and gestured for another round. Perhaps it really was just a phase of the betrothal process.

  He cared for Elizabeth. She was beautiful and well mannered. Together they would certainly produce attractive looking children. And what did it matter if they didn’t love one another right now? Perhaps he could learn to love her someday.

  For heaven’s sake, they hadn’t even shared a kiss!

  Andrew tried to imagine kissing Elizabeth. He closed his eyes and saw her face, her blonde curls, and in his mind, slowly moved in to meet her lips. But when he pulled away-

  Good God, what was wrong with him? And why was Mrs. Hawthorne appearing in his fantasies about Elizabeth?

  “Damn,” he muttered, slamming his pint down on the table, sloshing ale onto his breeches.

  Michael raised a brow. “Everything all right?”

  “No,” Andrew replied as he stood from his seat. There was only one way to get a woman from one’s head. “I’m going to see Madam Stone. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  ***

  “Ah, my favorite customer!” Madam Stone greeted Andrew as he strode into the receiving parlor of her Bruton Street establishment. “Why the furrowed brow, my lord? Never mind, it doesn't matter, I'll fix you up with one of my best girls and all your troubles will be but fleeting memories.”

  Andrew smiled. He'd been coming here to forget his woes since he was eighteen. He and his brother were well known now and highly regarded by the madam. She always treated them with the utmost regard and had rarely disappointed when it came to her selections for them.

  “What's your fancy this evening, milord? Small and malleable? Buxom and languid? Your wish is my command.”

  “I'm not in any particular mood. Why don't you surprise me?” He gave her a wink and then climbed the stairs to his usual room.

  It was a small room, warmed by a crackling fire, decorated in dark blue and brown. It was plush, yet masculine, and he thought he might like it even more than his own room at home.

  He undid his cravat and tossed it aside, then proceeded to lose the rest of his clothing until he was nearly nude, ready for whatever little tart Madam Stone would send through his door. Only a few moments passed before he heard a scratch and then the door opened to reveal a girl of average proportions with flowing blond hair. She had a sweet face and a wicked glimmer in her eye, and Andrew grew immediately hard.

  “Come in,” he encouraged.

  She did, and shut the door behind her. As she walked toward him, he noticed the way she swayed, her hips swinging, her arms hanging loosely by her sides. Dammit, it reminded him of someone. Not just anyone, though. She reminded him of Elizabeth. As she grew closer, it became evident that her hair was of an exact color, her eyes a very similar blue. His ardor died quickly, and the girl was well aware.

  “I do not please you, my lord?” she said with a thick Russian accent.

  “Ahem, goodness, no. You are quite lovely. It's just that...well, you remind me of the woman I came here trying to forget.”

  A small smile broke out on the girl's lips, for she was merely a girl. Too young for his taste anyhow.

  “I'm sorry, but I must decline your services. I will ring for the madam and explain.”

  He sent the girl away and rang for Madam Stone. She arrived at his door within moments—he'd barely had time to tie the rope of his dressing gown—a look of utter concern on her brow.

  “What has happened, my lord? Did she say something that was not to your liking? Or was it her breasts? Too small? Oh, goodness, my apologies, Lord Andrew.”

  “No, no.” He held up a hand to stop her. “None of that. She's just a little young, that's all. Might you send someone a bit further along in years?”

  “Ah, hah! An experienced woman is what you're looking for this evening. I've got just the one. You wait here. She'll be along shortly.”

  Madam Stone left the room, leaving behind a cloud of cheap perfume, and Andrew settled onto the edge of the bed to wait. The woman worked fast, for it seemed that barely a minute had passed when the scratch came at the door and another girl walked in.

  Andrew's mouth went dry. Good Lord, what the hell was wrong with him? And damn Madam Stone for sending him women that looked precisely like the ones he wanted to forget about tonight.

  Curly red hair tumbled over a pair of rather large breasts and tapered where her waist drew in, just before her voluptuous hips curved outward. Though her body was nothing like the petite Mrs. Hawthorne, her hair and skin were far too close a match for his taste. However, unlike his loss of ardor with the blonde, his sex raged beneath his dressing gown at the sight of this redhead.

  Deuce take it, he couldn’t do it! Andrew knew he had to get out of there, for he could have tousled with that girl all night, imagining her to be Mrs. Hawthorne, and that just wasn't proper for a man who was engaged to another.

  Less than an hour after his arrival to Madam Stone's, he marched into the street and turned towards home. He was in a rather uncomfortable state, physically stiff and mentally dumbfounded. There was only one thing left to do.

  He walked briskly back to his town house, took three shots of whisky, and went to bed, praying for a dreamless night.

  Seven

  “Chloe!” Lizzie called from the hallway outside Chloe’s bedroom.

  “Come in.”

  Lizzie opened the door to find Chloe, dressed in black once again, dripping wax onto a folded piece of parchment. She waited until Chloe had stamped the seal to address her.

  “I’ve just come out of the bath, and the water is still warm,” she said, eyeing the drab garment draping her cousin. “Would you like me to help you out of that?”

  “Thank you, yes,” Chloe replied. “I could certainly use with a bath before our shopping trip today.”

  Chloe turned her back to Lizzie so she could unfasten the clasps. Lizzie remained quiet as she helped her cousin undress and then began to gather the garments from the floor.

  “Lizzie, what are you doing?”

  Lizzie looked up with a smile. “Just helping. Go on, take your bath, and I’ll put these away for you.”

  “But Sarah—”

  “She’s busy helping Cook peel potatoes.” Lizzie grabbed at the tattered chemise and stopped when she realized her cousin still stood there, staring. “Go, Chloe! We haven’t much time.”

  With a strange nod, Chloe finally quit the room. Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief and then swung open the closet door, which adjoined the next room.

  “Sarah!” she hissed through the doorway. “Hurry!”

  The little maid rushed in, and both women set to work, frantically pulling every piece of black, gray and charcoal from Chloe’s closet.

  “Won’t she be angry, my lady?” Sarah asked tentatively, as she scrutinized a hideous gray frock.

  Lizzie shot her an annoyed look. “Of course she will...at first. But she’ll soon realize it’s for her own good. Did you bring my lilac dress with you?”

  “It’s already hanging, my lady. Shall I lay it out for the missus?”

  “Yes, quickly.” Lizzie could barely see now over the pile of ugly dresses in her arms. “And then take these downstairs with you. You and the rest of the staff may take whatever fits. Whatever does not, you can have delivered to the poorhouse. Now, go!”

  Sarah practically sprinted to where the dress hung and then into the bedroom where she laid it out with all the proper undergarments. Lizzie waited while she did so, terrified that Chloe could return at any moment. She didn’t so much care about Chloe’s wrath as much as having to relinquish the frocks back into her cousin’s care again. Whatever happened, those dresses had to be gone by the time Chloe returned from her bath.

  ***

  Andrew woke with a pounding in his head to match the pounding in his groin. What the hell had happened last nigh
t? He had hoped for a quiet evening, a little dalliance, and it had turned out a disaster. His sleep was fitful at best, images of Mrs. Hawthorne spinning in his mind, mingling with his mounting fury at Elizabeth.

  He still couldn’t believe she’d left Mrs. Hawthorne alone in the park or that she’d had the audacity to defend her actions to him. He knew Elizabeth had a mind of her own, and he didn’t mind too much, but she’d been in the wrong. And when one was in the wrong, they admitted it and apologized. They didn’t argue about it.

  He should probably let it go and forget about it, but he couldn’t. It kept him up most of the night and now he was even angrier than he’d been the moment it happened. He had to speak with her and come to a satisfactory conclusion over the matter. He had to know that she understood her wrongdoing.

  With a groan, he rolled out of bed and rang for his coffee. He dressed, then met his brother in the breakfast room, where he requested only plain toast from Mrs. Finch. The sulfuric smell of the eggs on his brother's plate threatened to send him running for the nearest chamber pot.

  “You look like hell,” Michael remarked. “You must have had a rousing good time at Madam Stone's to look like that.”

  “Hah,” Andrew replied, unable to muster any other syllables.

  “That good, huh?” Michael opened that day's news sheet and blanched.

  “What is it?” Andrew asked on a mumble. “Another silly debutante caught in a compromising position?”

  “Actually, yes.” Michael sighed and slid the paper across the table so Andrew could read for himself.

  A certain engaged young lady was seen lurking behind bushes in Hyde Park with a man who was decidedly not her fiancé. Though the encounter was reported as being “innocent enough,” this author cannot help but wonder if her betrothed would view it as such.

  “Goddamn it!” Michael jumped at the force in Andrew's voice, but he couldn't help himself. So, it was true. The rumors about Lord Edgmond were true, damn him. Damn her! Not only had she left her cousin alone in a strange place, she'd left her so she could dally with some other man.