What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  So not only did she need to tell Matthew he was Ella’s father, but she must make it clear that they could never marry and expose the girl to ridicule and a life of shame. The prospect of a life without Matthew could scarcely be borne, still she must be strong. She had tried to persuade herself that she could keep Ella and Matthew apart in public, easy enough to accomplish once Matthew had been apprised of the risks of their being seen together. However, upon further reflection, she’d come to the unfortunate conclusion that it was probable that people who saw Ella would, as Lady Lathbury had, see the resemblance between the two even if they weren’t together. And if she and Matthew married, the association between Ella and Matthew would already be in place.

  Fanny had hit upon the suggestion of sending Ella away to boarding school abroad to return in ten years’ time. A quick Season and marriage and the scandal might not touch the girl very harshly. A possible plan, but one Fanny was loath to enact. Ella was the innocent one in all this turmoil. To have her sent away, as though it were her fault entirely, was wrong. The guilt was Fanny’s, almost entirely as she had initiated the affair with Matthew in the first place. It would be up to Fanny to bear the brunt of the pain caused by the remedy, although Matthew would suffer as well.

  Oddly enough, once assured Fanny did not intend to keep Ella’s parentage from her son, Lady Lathbury had seemed unconcerned about the situation. She’d remarked that such things were not unknown in ton circles and though there might be some talk, there would likely be no lasting repercussions for Fanny or Ella. Fanny had gazed at her would-be mother-in-law, astounded by the declaration. The only reason for the countess to make such a patently false statement must be her motherly desire for Matthew to be happy by marrying the woman he loved. Such a sentiment seemed more and more unlikely every time she thought of it.

  As the carriage pulled up before Lyttlefield Park, Fanny still had not decided when she would inform Matthew of these life-changing matters. In an effort not to spoil Charlotte’s party, perhaps she should wait a little. Savor her last moments together with Matthew. Experience his love one last time before learning how to live the rest of her life without him.

  * * *

  “Fanny, how lovely to see you. You look marvelous this afternoon.” Charlotte greeted her warmly with a hug as she entered the cozy drawing room. She’d gone straight to her room upon arrival and dressed in a new green silk gown with stripes of gold and maroon running through it. It truly became her well and she wanted to look especially good for Matthew.

  “You are kind, Charlotte. Thank you so much again for inviting Lord Lathbury and me. He was still distraught that he could not attend last time.” Peering around the room she frowned. “Am I the first to arrive?”

  “You are, although I believe you will have company in a few moments. I see Fisk approaching.” Her friend nodded toward the open door where the butler stood.

  “Lord Lathbury, my lady.”

  Fanny’s heart gave a funny beat, making her catch her breath. Matthew.

  Elegantly attired in a plum-colored coat, striped waistcoat, and fawn-colored breeches, he filled the doorframe briefly, then doffed his gray silk hat and handed it to Fisk. “Lady Cavendish.” He smiled broadly and bowed. “My heartfelt thanks for inviting me this weekend. Allow me to in some way make up for my absence from your August party.”

  “There is no need, my lord. I am so very pleased you could attend now. I think you know Lady Stephen?” Charlotte’s eyes laughed as she bowed and turned to greet other arrivals.

  “Fanny, why the devil have you been hiding all week?” He frowned at her, his lips pursed in displeasure. “I called twice and was told you were indisposed.”

  “You know I was overwrought from the visit with your mother. Have she and Beatrice returned to Hunter’s Cross?” Changing the subject would work for a short period only. She’d have to answer his questions sooner or later. She greatly preferred later.

  “Yes. They left two days ago, and while I would not wish them away, I must say they have been acting peculiarly ever since our visit last week.” Knitting his eyebrows, he gestured for her to sit on the sofa, then joined her. “Beatrice has done nothing but laugh and giggle every time I come into a room. Extremely strange behavior, even for her. And Mother has talked of nothing but the wedding and your moving to Hunter’s Cross, although she’s gotten the oddest notion in her head that you will be sending Ella off to school in Germany or Switzerland.”

  “We had spoken of that while you were at tea with Ella. I am not, however, highly in favor of such a scheme.” At least she could be honest about that.

  “Well, I am happy to hear it.” His frown relaxed, and he slid next to her. “I would like to keep her with us, have my younger sisters’ governess take over her care as soon as we marry, rather than send her to a boarding school here in England.” He shook his head. “My mother has some odd ideas. I am surprised she didn’t try to send Beatrice off to a school in Germany.”

  “We needn’t talk of such things this weekend, do we?” With her life spinning wildly out of her control, Fanny needed some other type of distraction. “I’d hoped we could take this time to enjoy ourselves.”

  He slid closer, his mouth so close to her ear his breath heated her neck, causing all the hairs on her nape to rise. “I’d hoped we’d make plans for our wedding now that the question of Ella is settled.”

  “Oh, there is Georgina.” Springing up off the sofa as if launched by a catapult, Fanny waved to Georgie as though she were a long-lost relation. “I have not seen her in an age. I must go speak to her.” She sped across the room, praying Matthew would not follow. Grasping her friend’s elbow, she continued toward the doorway.

  “Fanny, how nice to see . . . where are we going?” Georgie’s comical look of surprise would have made Fanny laugh, had not the circumstances been so dire. She could not allow Matthew to discuss plans for a wedding that was not going to take place.

  “Far enough that Lord Lathbury will not pursue me.” She cast a glance back toward him, but Matthew had reseated himself, his eyes narrowed and the ends of his mouth drifting downward.

  “A lovers’ quarrel? Shall I go cheer him up?” Georgie asked, helpfully.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” With a firm hand, Fanny caught the bow at the back of her friend’s blue sprigged gown as she teasingly turned to go.

  “What’s the matter, my dear?” Turning back, and drawing Fanny a little farther away, Georgie leaned close to her. “Has he done something to upset you?”

  “No.” The plaintive sound of her voice made Fanny even more distraught. She wasn’t some weak-willed miss who couldn’t handle a man. Especially one she loved. “There are things that must be said between us that I would rather be left unsaid. Once they are spoken, I do not think anything will ever be the same again.”

  “Can there be no remedy for the situation, Fanny? You’re always so clever with men there must be something you can do. I quite envy your abilities that way.”

  “Do not envy me, Georgie.” Fanny shook her head, resisting the urge to look at Matthew. “I have thought myself clever in the past, but I now find revenge is a two-edged sword, just as apt to bite you as the one you wield it at.”

  Georgie frowned, her ginger brows furrowed over her petite nose. “I cannot know what you speak of, of course, but I believe that true love will always triumph, no matter what’s at stake. Choose love, Fanny. It’s the only thing that truly matters.” A toss of her head and her eyes lit up. “Jemmy is here! Please excuse me, Fanny.”

  Two very handsome young men had just entered the drawing room. Lord Brack, Georgie’s brother, she’d met at the party in August. The other devastatingly attractive gentleman was a stranger. Another time she’d have followed her friend and begged an introduction. Now she wanted nothing more than to return to sit with Matthew, smooth the brooding lines from his brow, and plan a future together with him. Was there a way through this tangle she’d not considered? Could they marry and be h
appy without a scandal or the ruin of her child’s life?

  Every instinct told her that a life without Matthew would be widowhood all over again, with no hope of putting off her mourning in six months or a year. Grief she hadn’t felt at Stephen’s passing would now consume her for the rest of her days if Matthew was not at her side. By God, she would find a way to make the impossible possible.

  Straightening her spine, head held high, Fanny strode back to the sofa where Matthew sat, his face still morose, his countenance sad.

  He gazed up at her, a wariness not usually in his eyes now apparent.

  Smiling, she seated herself on the sofa so close to him their hips touched. “Now that that is done, I think we can proceed. Did you wish a country wedding at Hunter’s Cross, or a more fashionable one at St. George’s in London? We must think carefully and come to an accord, for I swear before God, this is the last time I intend to go through with such a ceremony.”

  * * *

  Lord Kersey’s chin hit seven steps as he tumbled down the staircase shortly after dinner that evening. Matthew and the other gentlemen had been drawn out into the entry hall by a thunderous crash upstairs, followed shortly by the sound of someone bumping down the stairs.

  “Is Lord Kersey drunk?” Fanny led the women who poured out of the drawing room as the unfortunate earl landed with a loud thud on the floor.

  “I’ve no idea,” he replied, alert for some other explanation of the carnage. He’d been in Jackson’s enough to recognize when a man had had a good drubbing. The question now was with whom had he gone several rounds?

  Immediately behind Kersey, Lord Wrotham trotted down the staircase, murder in his eyes. That look would certainly account for the downed lord’s appearance.

  “What’s going on, Wrotham?” Lord Brack bent over, peering into the fallen man’s bloodied face.

  The other ladies hovered around the body, exclaiming loudly at the unfortunate sight or offering advice.

  “Is he conscious?” Fanny called over the din of voices.

  Grasping her arm, Matthew pulled her aside. “He’s breathing at least. Do you know what caused Wrotham to draw his cork in the first place?”

  “I have no idea. We were in the drawing room, sitting down to whist when the commotion started. I wish we’d come out sooner. It seems pretty much over now.” Fanny sounded put out that she hadn’t seen more.

  Raising his hands, as if to quiet the crowd, Wrotham spoke again. “Let us say Lord Kersey insulted me in a manner I will take from no man.”

  “Devil the man. Sounds like he had it coming.” Matthew shook his head and gulped from the glass he’d brought out with him when summoned by the noise. “Are Lady Cavendish’s parties always so lively?”

  “This is a new height, I must admit.” Excitement had brought a pretty blush to Fanny’s cheeks. “Last time all that happened was Lord Fernley kissed Charlotte and Wrotham threw him over a balustrade into a rosebush.”

  “Indeed.” Considering Kersey’s condition, the man had likely done much worse than steal a kiss from his hostess.

  “Alan!” A shrill female voice brought their attention back to the staircase where a small woman, dressed only in a blue dressing gown, raced toward the fallen lord. “Alan, who did this to you?”

  “I believe we may be in for act two of this Drury Lane drama. Who is this woman? One of your circle of friends?”

  “Yes, well, no, not really. Maria Wickley. She is a widow and a distant relation of Jane’s who she invited to the last party. What is the woman doing?” Fanny stepped forward, looking ready to join in the fray, as Mrs. Wickley drew back her hand to take a swing at Lord Wrotham.

  “I think we’ve had enough uproar for one evening, my love.” Executing a neat strike, Matthew snared Fanny’s arm and propelled her, protesting, toward the now empty drawing room. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against it. “I would, however, be ready for excitement of a completely different sort.”

  “That sort being?” Her tone was biting, but she came willingly into his arms.

  “One for your eyes—and body—alone, my love.” Enfolding her against his chest, Matthew pulled her lovely face up to his, still in awe that she had finally consented to their marriage. “Although we did not discuss the wedding trip, my dear, I do have some thoughts on the matter. I suggest we remain at Hunter’s Cross for a week after the wedding, then travel on to whatever our final destination may be.”

  “Why stay at home for a week?” Her puzzled frown delighted him.

  “Because I vow to you I will not let you out of my bed for a solid week after we are wed.”

  “Matthew!” She squealed and hit his chest.

  “So if we will see nothing but the inside of the earl’s chamber, I see no reason to spend good money on—”

  “Wretch.” Settling her head onto his chest once more, she stroked his arm in sudden silence. “Matthew.”

  “Yes, love?”

  “If I told you an awful secret, something truly dreadful”—the stroking stopped—“would you be able to forgive me?” Fanny tensed in his arms and waited.

  “I suppose that would depend on what the secret concerned.” A deep foreboding raised its head. What had Fanny done? His mind leapt to the obvious, most devastating conclusion imaginable: She had in fact lain with Alan Garrett at the first house party, had lied about it to him, and now carried that man’s child. That might account for her odd behavior of late. A phantom hand squeezed his heart until it hurt to breathe. “Does it involve Lord Kersey?”

  Fanny jerked back, her face screwed up in disgust. “Lord Kersey? No, of course not. What secret could I have concerning Lord Kersey of all people?”

  “Well, you did say dreadful, so I thought you might have—”

  “Good Lord.” She dissolved into giggles, all her tension draining away. “Are you still bothering over a rendezvous that never took place?” Shaking her head she slipped her arms around him, pulling him closer. “Your jealousy is very sweet, Matthew, but I have truly desired no man save you in seven years.”

  “Is that so?” Relief washed through him, bringing a surge of passion to his cock that swelled it in moments. “Would you care to demonstrate your desire?” He claimed a kiss, and his hunger for her soared. “Now?”

  “Mmm. Now, but not here. The others will certainly be upon us shortly. Come to my room as soon as you can.” She kissed him again, stabbing her tongue inside him, hardening him fully, then she was gone.

  Exhaling shakily, he prayed he made it to her room before he burst. He’d go now, find his hostess, and excuse himself from the rest of the evening. That should cool him down a bit. It dawned on him, as he left the drawing room, that Fanny still had not told him her dire secret, but no matter. If it did not involve another man, it was likely not as calamitous as she believed. As with her, he could forgive anything save infidelity.

  CHAPTER 20

  “If you had told me Lady Cavendish’s house party was going to be a debauch to rival the Hell Fire Club, I’d have said you were daft.” Matthew pulled Fanny toward the circle of torches that ringed the Harvest Lord and his four prospects for the title of Corn Maiden.

  Wrotham Village’s Harvest Festival today had been a merry time for all the house party members, enchanting them all with stalls of local goods, games of skill, and the awarding of prizes for best produce. Now, however, the festival would close with a pagan fertility rite called the Crowning of the Corn Maiden and the mood of the spectators had sobered strangely into something darker, more sensual than Matthew would have thought possible given the cheerful atmosphere of the day.

  The Harvest Lord, a strapping lad named Michael Thorne, ogled the four young girls—not one of whom looked over sixteen—who were all swishing their skirts and holding bouquets of flowers in front of their breasts. Oh, yes, Mr. Thorne was getting an eyeful, as was every other man with enough age on him to know how to use his member. Matthew, who’d thought himself impervious to anyone’s charms save Fanny’s,
found he needed to adjust himself now and then to disguise his erection.

  “I don’t see anything so scandalous happening. The Harvest Lord will pick a Corn Maiden, he’ll give her a kiss and it will be done.” Fanny tried to act nonchalant, but her pulse raced beneath the skin of her wrist where he’d clasped it. Was she feeling some of the power of this ceremony? God knew he was.

  “He used to give her more than a kiss, so Wrotham was telling the gentlemen after dinner.” Waggling his eyebrows, Matthew drew laughter from Fanny.

  “Tell, tell.” She wrapped her arms around his, her giggling doing nothing to allay his predicament down below.

  “The Harvest Lord claimed his Maiden, gave her a kiss to seal the temporary marriage, then the couple retired to a bridal tent made of sheaves of wheat draped with sheets washed in a local well. The couple spent the night there, in the field, the Harvest Lord sowing his seed with the Corn Maiden to bless the ground and increase the harvest for the next year.” Perhaps there was something to the ancient rite. The stirring in his groin had grown most urgent just describing the event.

  “So they had sexual congress and then?” Fanny’s arms around him heated him to an inferno pitch.

  “If the Corn Maiden caught with child, then the lord married her. If not, they did not. A man wants to sow in a fertile field.” That was certainly what Matthew wanted to do—this very minute. He checked the crowd, but every eye was on Michael Thorne, who looked ready to make his pronouncement. Now would be the best time to slip away with Fanny and complete their own fertility rite.

  “As the seed goes to the fertile ground, so goes the Harvest Lord to his maiden . . . Nora Burns.”

  The Wrotham tenants cheered as Thorne claimed his prize, drawing her to him, his attention so keenly focused on the brown-haired girl he’d just chosen Matthew doubted the man even noticed the noisy crowd around them. He’d not be surprised if Thorne lowered the girl to the stubbled ground and mounted her this moment.