To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  * * *

  Dinner that evening did not improve. A pall had been cast over the whole party and Charlotte was at a loss how to lift it. She feared herself at fault and redoubled her efforts to engage her guests, yet she sensed the whole party overcome with melancholy. Were they unhappy with her hospitality? She thought not. Everyone had complimented her throughout the weekend on how well her first entertainment in her new home had gone.

  She doubted Fernley’s departure had upset the company, but he had left her number of men sadly depleted. Perhaps that accounted for everyone’s lack of spirits. Or the fact that they would leave on the morrow, all except her and Jane. That thought left her melancholy as well. Still, she tried to rally the conversation when the ladies gathered for tea in the drawing room.

  “We shall be sorely in need of company after tomorrow, won’t we, Jane? The party has been so lively, we will be quite at sixes and sevens for at least a week. Perhaps we should think about going up to town as well?” Charlotte hoped to plan a long visit to London shortly. Living so close to Lord Wrotham might prove detrimental to her in several ways.

  “Oh, my dear, I am to be in such a whirl for the next month!” Jane beamed at Maria. “Sinclair has invited Maria and me to his estate in Suffolk. We are going to teach Maria how to ride. The poor thing never learned properly. Then, when hunting season arrives, he plans to have a ladies’ hunt.” Jane laughed, her eyes gleaming. She glanced around the room. “And you all are invited. Sinclair plans to make accommodations for all of this party, as well as a few new faces.”

  “Do you know when you will return?” Jane’s news had thrown Charlotte into a dither. “I had hoped we could go up to Town before the harvest season begins in earnest. Of course, that may be delayed until late in September with this horrible cold, wet weather we’ve been having. Apparently, the farmers are hoping for a final spell of good weather to help ripen the crops.”

  “I believe I shall have returned by then, my dear. And you know we are always welcome at Theale’s town house.” Jane smiled and turned to Maria, at her side as she had been all weekend.

  “Thank you, but whatever am I going to do for company while you are gone?” Charlotte straightened her shoulders. The perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone had just presented itself.

  Jane snapped her attention back to her cousin. “I can ask Sinclair to include you in the party of course.” Her gaze flicked over Charlotte’s face. “We would not dream of abandoning you.”

  “I’m sure you would not, my dear.” Charlotte turned to Georgina beside her, who had just picked up her cup of tea. “However, I have actually hit upon an idea that will give you a bit more freedom to pursue your own entertainments without worrying about me being left alone.” She put her hand on Georgie’s arm. “I have come up with a scheme, my dear, that will be to both our benefit if you agree.”

  Georgina stopped with the teacup almost at her mouth. Her brows furrowed and she carefully set the cup back into its saucer. “What do you mean, Charlotte?”

  “After all the company I have had this weekend, I fear I am not inclined to the solitude of the country. Elizabeth, Fanny, and now Jane even are leaving. If you have no fixed engagements, I wondered if you would care to remain here with me? We will be great company for each other and when Jane returns, we can all go up to London.”

  She’d already decided that if Georgie agreed, she’d have her fitted out completely for that hunting party and the Christmas season when they went to Town. Shopping would make the trip even more enjoyable.

  Georgina sat in stunned silence, her hands working in her lap. “Charlotte, that is too generous an offer.” Her bright eyes said she longed to take it, yet something, perhaps pride, held her back. “I would need to write to Mrs. Kirkpatrick, to make sure I am not needed at home.” A hint of blush on her cheeks told Charlotte she knew how little she was needed—or wanted—in her sister-in-law’s house.

  Thinking only of the greater good for her friend, Charlotte made the final argument, one Georgie could not refuse. “You would also be in close proximity to Lord Wrotham, Georgina.” Charlotte spoke his name without a qualm, although her stomach clenched painfully. “If some affection has begun to grow between you, surely you would be better able to pursue it here than in London?”

  Georgie blushed but nodded. “I am not sure if there is anything to speak of yet.” She peered keenly at Charlotte and said, “I thought some affection had begun to develop between the two of you, Charlotte. Was that not true?”

  Charlotte waited, steeled herself, and shrugged. “There may have been some interest early in the weekend, but that has passed. By all means, if you have a tendre for him, we must help foster it. And that is easier accomplished here.” Charlotte smiled at the reluctant widow, in whose face she saw a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this scheme would be the best thing for all concerned. Now she could put this weekend behind her and focus on helping Georgina bring Lord Wrotham up to scratch. The sinking feeling in her stomach said she was making a mistake, but if so, at least it would be her own to make.

  Chapter 15

  September 16, 1816

  Dearest Charlotte,

  Thank you so much for your kind letter of condolence. It quite touched my heart. My uncle died peacefully and I talked with him and sat at his bedside until the end. He was most adamant in his hope that I would carry on the title in an acceptable manner and do my duty in every way possible. My reputation was much on his mind, which I can certainly understand. But I reassured him that I would not bring shame to Kersey, but do my utmost to carry on as he would have me do. I hope he believed me.

  As a result, the responsibilities of the earldom weigh more heavily upon me than I anticipated. I am spending my early mourning period here, at Kersey Hall, locked away with the account books, trying to make sense of bills of sale and prospective acreage yields on five different estates. Most of my friends would simply not believe the lengths to which I am going for the properties. My head aches with the figures and I long for some feminine companionship.

  By happy circumstance, I find I will be in London next week and would ask to call upon you and your cousin at your earliest convenience. Lady John informed me of your intent to meet her there for the beginning of the Little Season. She, Sinclair, and Mrs. Wickley have been much in company with me at Sinclair’s estate, where they have resided for the past month, is not far from Kersey.

  As we have some unfinished business to attend to, I look forward to being in your excellent company once more.

  I remain, as always, yours to command,

  Alan, Lord Kersey

  When Charlotte had read this missive for the tenth time, the once-crisp cream-colored stationery, edged in black and crested with the embossed image of a lion couchant, had become creased and bedraggled. She still did not know quite what to make of his words.

  She had been surprised to receive a letter at all. Astonished, in fact, as she’d given Mr. Garrett—rather, Lord Kersey now—no encouragement whatsoever, unless one could call a perfunctory letter of condolence encouraging. So she had read the missive with some trepidation the first time and sighed in relief to find it rather straightforward. A new sense of responsibility seemed to have been instilled in the earl, as Jane had predicted. A dutiful letter sent to acknowledge hers.

  Until that final sentence.

  As we have some unfinished business to attend to, I look forward to being in your excellent company once more.

  To what unfinished business did the man refer? There could only be one. That outrageous question he had asked while they danced in August. Shall I come to your room this evening? Why would he still want to pursue a dalliance with her after all this time? His other words echoed eerily in her mind as well. I usually get what I want.

  Surprisingly, the more Charlotte thought about the possibility of an affair with Lord Kersey, the more appealing it became to her. She did long for the excitement of male companionship, especially since Jane and Sinclair�
��s liaison had put the matter right before her face, so to speak. Warm arms and hot kisses, like those in the stairwell at Almack’s, would be much more welcome now she knew very well what she was missing. She had even gone so far as to daydream—scandalous images of her entwined in bed with Lord Kersey had played tantalizingly in her mind ever since she had received his letter. The daydream, however, had the unfortunate habit of changing to one of her entangled with Lord Wrotham instead. Oh, Lord, but she had tried more than once to rid herself of the thought of the man.

  She had done her best to put Georgina forward as a replacement candidate, although so far her strategy had met with little success. An invitation for both her and Georgie to dine at a neighboring estate had seemed promising when Lord Wrotham turned up as part of the party. He had, fortunately, not been seated with her, and when the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner, she had latched onto an elderly relative of the hostess, asking all manner of questions about the neighborhood and the harvest, ignoring everyone else.

  Georgie had taken the opportunity to engage Wrotham in conversation instead. Several times, Charlotte had caught them laughing out of the corner of her eye. On the carriage ride back to Lyttlefield, she had pounced on her companion, demanding to know everything about the evening and her conversation with Wrotham.

  According to a very enthusiastic Georgina, they had touched on her move to Lyttlefield, those awful robbers who still remained uncaught, books they’d read, her brother. . . and Charlotte.

  “What did he want to know about me, Georgie?” Charlotte fought against the agonizing leap her heart took at that statement. Drat the man.

  They climbed the stairs to the first floor and headed to Georgie’s room.

  “Just the usual polite questions. He asked after your health. If you’d been riding out, and whether or not you had an escort.” Georgie chatted gaily as Charlotte helped her off with her stays. They had found they enjoyed assisting with each other’s toilettes since Georgie had come to stay at Lyttlefield.

  “The gall of the man.” Charlotte jerked the laces.

  “I’m sure he’s just concerned for your welfare. Ouch! I want them off, Charlotte. You’re tightening them.”

  “I’m so sorry. Here.” She unthreaded the laces, and the stays loosened. “That should be better.” She took the stays and shift and handed Georgie a nightgown.

  Slowly, she folded the garments, lost in thought. Lord Wrotham still asked after her. The notion filled her with both longing and resolve. She laid the clothing on the dresser for the maid to attend to the next day. She’d hired a local woman, Martha Grant, to see to Georgie.

  “Did Lord Wrotham ask anything else?”

  Georgina began brushing her hair, avoiding Charlotte’s eyes. “He did ask if you’d been up to London yet.”

  Hmmm. He was still interested in her. Interested, perhaps, in who she would see in London. Part of Charlotte thrilled to the idea that he was still attracted to her. Yet her mind insisted nothing could come of an affaire de coeur between them. The best thing to do was put him out of her mind and try to move on. If she set her cap for another man and let Wrotham know about it, hopefully he would take the hint, put her out of his mind, and pay his attentions to Georgie instead.

  That dinner party and the ensuing conversation had been two weeks ago. As soon as Lord Kersey’s letter had arrived, she’d begun to plan for a rendezvous.

  He would call on her at the Marquess of Theale’s London home, where she would be staying with Jane. They obviously could have no assignation there. Perhaps his town house would be more discreet. Or they could go to an inn outside Town. Outside of a country house, she had no idea where people usually went to conduct illicit affairs. The problem with being innocent was a lack of knowledge about so many very important things.

  Since she’d emerged in June, she’d lived from one exciting event to another: the Almack ball, the move to Kent, her house party, Lord Wrotham’s proposal. The culmination would be this chance for the physical intimacy she’d been denied with Edward so many years ago.

  Charlotte folded the letter and put it in her escritoire once more, thoughtful. If the new earl had indeed turned over a new leaf, as Jane suggested, then he might also be in search of a wife rather than a mistress. Who would have thought it so difficult to find a man who wanted a night of passion without it being followed by an offer of marriage? She’d believed men were in dire dread of being leg-shackled. That they considered widows safe women with whom to indulge their passionate natures. She had obviously not found those particular gentlemen. Except for Fernley, who disgusted her. Was there no middle ground when it came to taking a lover?

  Charlotte stood, wandered over to the window, and gazed down the driveway, playing with the small locket at her throat. Only two miles to Wrotham Hall. It might as well be a thousand.

  Worse, she had to admit she missed Lord Wrotham’s company. She had come to admire him for so many more reasons than just his physical attributes. His intelligence attracted her more than she would have suspected. Conversations with him had never been dull and often she had to focus, as much as in a game of chess, to stay abreast of his wit. His interest in his land and its people too had struck a deep chord with her. With the harvest finally approaching, she hoped she could work half so well with the tenants as he. The only area where he had not succeeded was with the capture of the robbers, who still plagued the countryside. Still, given time and his determined nature, she had faith that Wrotham would triumph there as well. Truly a man to be admired.

  Unfortunately, no matter how much she esteemed Wrotham, she still refused to agree to marry him. The horrors of her first marriage made her value her hard-won freedom too much to consider relinquishing it.

  So Alan—she’d best learn to use his first name now—remained her best choice if she simply wanted a dalliance. He had agreed to call on her and that was a start. She must set Rose to begin packing for her departure. If only she could as easily set herself to the task of seducing her rake.

  * * *

  Almost a week later, on her first night in London, Charlotte made ready for bed in the comfortable chamber allotted her at the Marquess of Theale’s town house. She and Jane had had a long, comfortable coze to catch each other up and her cousin had just risen to retire when she grasped Charlotte’s hand and asked, “Why do you not wish to marry, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte sank onto the bed, amazed at the question, which came from nowhere. They had just been talking about Lady Havercourt’s invitation to dine tomorrow evening, certainly nothing to do with marriage. Once the question sank in, Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. Why did she have to keep answering that question?

  “You have had a declaration from one of the most eligible men in England.” Jane gave her arm a shake. “Why did you not accept him?”

  “Other than the fact that I have no wish to marry?” The hair on the nape of Charlotte’s neck rose.

  Jane shrugged. “I do not believe that. I think you are afraid to risk being hurt again. Mind, you have every right to be wary. Between your father and Sir Archibald, you have had a miserable life. However, as bad as it has been, it will be that much more wonderful if you find the right man. I can assure you, Wrotham’s interest in you is genuine. I’d wager my fortune on it. You should have seen his face that night at Almack’s. He looked ready to throttle Lord Kersey for stealing you away.”

  “I have been married.” Charlotte sniffed and stared into Jane’s narrowed eyes. “It is not an experience I wish to repeat.”

  “You were married to a man much older than you who may not have been kind, but—”

  “He was definitely not kind, Jane.” Charlotte twisted her handkerchief. Perhaps, at last, she needed to explain how horrible her life had been to her cousin, to make her understand why she feared losing her independence so much. It was a tale she had told no one.

  “Sir Archibald made the five years of our marriage a living hell for me, Jane. I don’t know if he was under orders fro
m Father or if he simply hated me from the moment we wed. From the beginning, he would insult me at dinner, whether we had guests or not. He would tell me I had no intelligence, no grace, no manners. That I was ugly. That I never did anything right.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. She refused to cry over his insults any more. “He kept me buried at a cottage in Itchingfield most of the year, a small property with only one servant. I had little allowance for clothing and I had to be frugal just to eat and stay warm.” She fisted her hands, then slowly unclenched them. “All the while he kicked up his heels here in London. He and Edgar. I was brought to Town only when it suited him, when he needed a hostess for some political dinner or party. I’m not sure which I despised more, the lonely months in the country or the loathsome weeks in his company.”

  As she spoke, Jane’s face had paled. She swallowed several times and clutched her throat. “My dear! I had no idea . . .” She grabbed Charlotte into her arms, tears trickling down her cheeks, falling onto Charlotte’s back. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “I told no one.” Charlotte sniffed and blinked back tears. “No one knew, unless Sir Archibald told someone, which is unlikely.”

  Jane sat back. “Was he . . . did he ever physically harm you?”

  “No, he never struck me.” She kept her eyes on her lap. “He never touched me at all.”

  “What?” Her cousin’s eyes rounded. “You mean he never once came to your bedchamber?”

  Charlotte shook her head. She still thanked God every night for that. “I don’t think he was capable. To my knowledge, he never dallied with anyone else either.”

  Jane sniffed. “He may have been very discreet. If you were so often in the country, you may not have known of it.”

  “Humph.” Charlotte snorted. “Do you think Edgar wouldn’t have known? The slightest thing he could have said to hurt me, he would have shouted it gleefully—in the most public place possible.”