To Wed The Widow

by Megan Bryce

  And stopped dead the next question before it formed. . .

  A little too late.

  Sebastian stopped smiling and wondered just who had relieved his wife’s tension.

  Flora had been right.

  The girl was beautiful and gay and when George tried to shock her, her eyes twinkled. Her hair was a dark lustrous brown, her skin the color of smooth alabaster, and her chestnut eyes the same color as his favorite horse.

  It, she, was not unattractive.

  She was still a girl, though. And young.

  And while George did not normally find silliness off-putting, she was slightly silly.

  All those would be easily overcome with a little experience and he could very well see that in a few years, with a husband and children behind her, she would be the toast of the town.

  Flora was right. This one he could like.

  This one would not make him want to swim the Thames with his pockets weighed down with bricks.

  This one could be it.

  If one absolutely had to make do with one of them.

  He left her after their one set of dances, not asking for a second when every other gentleman begged it of her.

  When he made it back to Flora, she murmured behind her fan, “She watched you walk away.”

  “Of course she did. Who wouldn’t?”

  He turned though and when he found Miss Westin still looking at him, he bowed his head at her.

  She lowered her eyes in a subtle curtsy, then turned back to her hordes of admirers.

  “I think you were right about the competition,” he said and Flora nodded.

  “She still noticed me.”

  Flora laughed. “Of course she did. Who wouldn’t?”

  “Have I done my duty, then? Am I allowed to escape to the card room and lose my brother’s fortune for him?”

  She nodded hesitantly and George waited.

  Flora shook herself and smiled widely. “I might join you a little later.”

  “I would enjoy that immensely, Flora. It will be grand fun to throw away Sebastian’s money with you.”

  She shooed him off and George left, pretending not to look for golden locks even though he knew she wasn’t here.

  Tried not to feel deflated when he entered the card room and no icy blue eyes were there to greet him.

  Sebastian was there though, acknowledging George with a tip of his head and waving him over.

  George snaked his way through the crowd.

  “What are you doing in here? Losing your fortune is my job, not yours.”

  Sebastian didn’t bother saying he wasn’t here to gamble. The man never did. He just held up his drink and said, “Taking a short break.”

  “Surprising that you decided to do this while I was safely ensconced with Miss Westin.”

  “Was it?” Sebastian sipped. “As you well know, I came to make sure there was nothing here to distract you. Not when we’ve finally found someone interesting.”

  No one here to distract him.

  George shuddered. “Don’t say it like that. We’ve found someone interesting.”

  “Have we not?”

  And when George didn’t answer, because what could he say, Sebastian said, “I assume you have procured a second set of dances with her.”

  “No, I have not.”

  Sebastian choked and George gave him a few hearty whacks to the back.

  George enjoyed it thoroughly.

  “Why the devil not,” the earl shouted when he’d caught his breath, and the room paused in its excited frenzy to look at them.

  George sighed, smiling and shrugging his shoulders at his brother’s antics. When everyone went back to their games and drinks, George said, “You have no notion of subtlety. Of restraint.”

  “Go back right now and get those second dances. How will she know you have your eye on her?”

  “And when I go crawling back and her dance card is full, what then Cyrano?”

  “Then at least she’ll know you are interested and not accept any untoward proposals.”

  “Firstly, I doubt there will be any proposals tonight or even this week. And secondly, she knows.”

  Sebastian froze for a second. “What the devil did you say to her?”

  George wasn’t sure if he found his brother’s lack of faith amusing or irritating.

  “The subtlety will be lost on you, Sebastian.”

  “Try me.”

  “I asked her to save the first waltz of the next ball for me.”

  Sebastian nodded happily. “The subtlety is not lost on me. And good.” He handed his now empty glass off to a servant. “And you’ll call on her tomorrow.”

  George shook his head. “Really, Sebastian. How in the world did you not scare off Flora?”

  “Don’t let this one get away, George. Or you’ll find yourself wed to whatever is left.”

  George clamped his jaw together tight. “I know what I’m doing. And kindly remember that I am not to the marriage stage yet with Miss Westin. I am interested.”

  Sebastian sighed. “Despite what you think, I would love for you to be happy in your marriage. But that I can not wait for. Interest is almost more than I can wait for.”

  “Did Father wait for you to be happy with your chosen? Or were you merely interested?”

  “I knew Flora would be my countess the first time I spoke with her. I wasn’t happy or not happy. I wasn’t interested or not interested. It simply was.”

  George knew he was right. Everyone had known that Flora was it. Everyone had been happy with the match.

  And if George had been in the same situation as his brother had been, he would have known that Miss Westin was his countess.

  It galled him to admit that he was in the same situation as his brother.

  Miss Westin was everything he needed. Everything he should want.

  And while he was interested, he wasn’t entirely happy with her. But that wasn’t her fault.

  He simply didn’t want a countess.

  Elinor received the Countess of Ashmore in her drawing room again.

  “We missed you at the Westins.”

  Elinor laughed. “I doubt it. But thank you.”

  “Were you ill?”

  “No. I didn’t want to see him.”

  Not when she might have him. If.

  If was too tempting.

  “The earl was relieved to not have to chase you off.”

  Elinor smiled conspiratorially. “Oh, yes? How relieved was he?”

  Flora pinched her lips together. “Not that relieved.”

  “Oh.”

  “He thinks he’s found a wife for his brother,” she said and Elinor’s heart stopped beating.

  Flora said into the void, “Miss Westin would be a wonderful countess. And George was interested despite himself. Or so Sebastian assures me. I, of course, have my doubts.”

  Elinor put her cup down before she broke the thing. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Flora took a deep breath, looking down at her hands.

  “I love my husband, despite how gauche that is. He is happy in his position of power, happy with the wife he needed to choose.

  “And I love his brother, too. As if he was my own. I would like him to be happy and I can’t see him ever being happy as the earl. Can’t see him being happy having to choose the wife he needs to fill that position.”

  “You think he would be happy with me?” Elinor held her breath, waiting for the countess’s answer.

  “I think he will only be happy when he can choose what he wants, not what he needs.”

  He already wanted Elinor. She could make him want her more. She could make him want her enough.

  If.

  Elinor said, “If he could choose.”

  “If he could choose.”

  “And why can’t he, Flora? I know we are speaking of the earl but he is a man. They are notoriously easy to seduce.”

  Flora set her cup down, looking away.

  Elinor
stood, rounding the little table to sit next to Flora and say softly, “That was not a comment on your womanliness. I am sure you lead your husband around like all wives. It is what we must do. The man thinks, just like a horse, that since he is in front, he is in control. And all women know that it is she who holds the reins who tells him where to go. So why isn’t he going where you want him to?”

  “You do have a way with imagery, Elinor.” Flora shook her head. “And this is an area where I have never needed to lead him before.”

  “It is no different than getting him to do anything else. Put his nose in the right direction and let him get there himself. The real trouble is in getting him to stop, and that you do not need to worry about.”

  A snort escaped from beneath Flora’s hat. And then another.

  “Put his nose in the right direction?” And then she peeled with laughter.

  Elinor chuckled lightly with her, thinking it was nice to have female companionship. Someone to laugh with, to share with.

  Someone she did not need to lead by invisible reins.

  Flora patted her eyes. “I had not realized how little we touch. We have been married ten years and have become so comfortable with each other that we hardly notice the other.”

  Elinor thought it important to say, “Flora, you have become too comfortable.”

  “I did try, Elinor. Every chance I had. He has not deigned to visit my bedchamber, though I am sure he knows I would be happy to receive him.”

  “And why did not you visit him in his?”

  “Because I am not at all sure he would be happy to receive me.” She cleared her throat. “Rejection is not to my taste.”

  Elinor laughed. “Spoken just like a countess. But what if you thought of it not as rejection but as. . .”

  She put her chin against her fist and thought. No rejection for Lady Ashmore. How did one go about the dance if one was afraid of failing?

  “Oh! What if it wasn’t him rejecting you? What if it was you teasing him?”

  What if seducing a reluctant man you were married to was exactly the same as seducing a man you wanted to be married to?

  Elinor turned on the sofa, smiling wickedly at her new friend. Her only friend.

  She said, “Make him want you but don’t let him have you.”

  Seven

  George did not call on Miss Westin the next day.

  He still couldn’t believe Sebastian had managed to catch Flora when he was so ham-handed. If the man hadn’t been an earl, he’d be a confirmed bachelor by now.

  But George was not an earl, yet, and instead of relying on his position and name and power, he used charm and subterfuge.

  He ran into Miss Westin while she was out riding on the mile. Surrounded by her beaus, her hapless maid, and sitting atop her horse like a queen. Or a countess.

  George tipped his hat at her, smiled, and rode right on past.

  He liked to think he heard her gasp. That she had been outraged that he hadn’t stopped to chat when he’d danced and flirted with her not two nights ago.

  And he decided he’d go on thinking that because, well, he couldn’t know otherwise. Not with three men and five horses between her and him.

  When he turned around half an hour later, the crowd had thinned and he could see in a distance that she’d managed to shake a few of her followers. Enough so that when he caught up with her, he could stop without feeling like one of her hangers-on.

  She turned her head just far enough to meet his eyes.

  “Miss Westin.”

  She sniffed. “Mr. Sinclair.”

  She faced forward again, her chin tipped up a fraction, and they rode in silence for a furlong.

  One of her beaus said something vacuous and she laughed gaily. Almost seductively, and George thought that if she had ten more years and five dead husbands behind her she could lead any man around as well as the widow.

  He almost wished he’d brought his pup. Whip Anala out of his pocket and let her yap away because he still hadn’t figured out how to train that out of her.

  But he didn’t want to share her yet with Miss Westin. She wouldn’t hug the dog to her chest with hurt blue eyes and scold him for keeping it in his pocket. She wouldn’t surround herself with three Mastiffs and get angry with him for overstepping his bounds with her servants.

  She wouldn’t make him forget where he was or what he needed to do. Even when he hadn’t seen her in days. Even when he couldn’t smell her scent anymore on his shirt.

  Miss Westin flicked her eyes at him. “Wool-gathering, Mr. Sinclair?”

  Oh, she was too easy. He’d already won without saying a word.

  And he was forced to play on anyway.

  “Just thinking of what fun the Greyson’s will be tomorrow night. I assume you are attending.”

  “You assume correctly,” she said without a hint of welcome in her voice.

  They rode another furlong in silence, her speaking and laughing with the other men and ignoring Sinclair, and Sinclair riding alongside, happy being ignored.

  She turned to him again. “I assume you will be attending?”

  “Of course. I am looking forward to the waltzing,” he said and lightly kicked his horse into a trot without a word of goodbye.

  Flora smoothed her new nightdress.

  Belted her dressing gown tightly, and then loosened it. And then tightened it again but pulled the lapels until they hung softly against her.

  Yes, that was it.

  She let out the long braid her maid had prepared for bed and shook her hair out. Pulled it over one shoulder, then pushed it back.

  She looked at herself in the mirror and wriggled her nose.

  She wanted to look seductive without Sebastian knowing she meant to look seductive. Wanted to look as if she was off to bed but had just remembered something vital to tell him.

  Flora had the vital. She’d been biting her tongue all night, saving it up.

  She wasn’t sure she had the seductive yet.

  She fluffed her hair again and made a loose braid, pulling it over her shoulder and deciding that was the best she could do.

  She bit her lips until they were puffed and reddened.

  She smoothed the wrinkles around her eyes that hadn’t been there ten years earlier. And contented herself with the thought that there was also knowledge that hadn’t been there either.

  Perhaps it was a fair trade.

  It was an inevitable trade at any rate.

  She knocked lightly at the connecting door that led to the earl’s bedchamber and pushed it open. Not locked, never locked. And still she’d never tried to open it.

  “Sebastian?”

  The earl’s valet was helping him into his dressing gown and Sebastian said over his shoulder, “Flora? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. I just remembered about Camilla. Should I come back?”

  Sebastian shook his head, thanking his man and sending him off.

  Flora perched on the bed, arranging herself just so and watching as he folded back the bedding.

  She swallowed. “George asked if he could take Camilla to the docks. He is inspecting a shipment that just came in.”

  Sebastian stared incredulously at her. “I can’t decide which of those statements has me more stupefied. Of course Camilla can’t go to the docks. And what is my brother doing inspecting a shipment?”

  “I think you should go with them and let George explain it to you.”

  He shook his head, crawling into bed. “Camilla is not going, and I can’t believe that you would even consider it.”

  “You must know that George would protect her with his life.”

  “And he may very well need to down at the docks.”

  She felt the bed shift, watched him pull the blankets to his waist.

  “Not with the two of you there. I think you should see what your brother has been up to the last eight years.”

  She rested her hand on his foot tucked beneath the blankets, and then began to strok
e it softly.

  He watched her hand and the skin between his eyes puckered.

  She said, “He’ll be here in the morning.”

  “Flora!”

  “If you decide that it is too dangerous for Camilla, you do not have to take her.”

  “It is too dangerous.”

  She looked down at her hand still stroking his foot and didn’t say anything. She thought about horses and reins and pointing a man in the direction you wanted him to go.

  Every good wife instinctively knew how to do this. How to keep her husband’s pride intact while she ran her household.

  The picture Elinor painted still made her want to smile, though.

  Flora took her hand off his foot and played with her braid.

  Sebastian sighed, tried to find a comfortable position and said in the tone of a man who thought the subject was over, “What is the shipment?”

  Flora undid the bottom third of her braid and brushed her fingers through it, and then began to braid again.

  “Trinkets. Combs like he gave me and the girls.”

  Sebastian grunted and she said, “Perhaps I will take Camilla tomorrow. He says it is great fun to watch the ships being loaded but has never been on this end of it before.”

  “You will not.”

  She kept braiding and flicked her eyes up to her husband’s. “It is too dangerous?”

  “And. . .uncouth.”

  She smiled a tight smile and looked down at her braid again. “Sailors.”

  Sebastian fidgeted. “Yes, sailors.”

  “Pirates?”

  “Some of them.”

  “How exciting.”

  “It’s not exciting. It’s dirty and foul and frantic.”

  “Oh, have you been?”

  “Of course. It is no place for a lady.”

  She sighed. “I agree. No place for a lady. No place for a countess. Only men and children could be excited about orderly chaos, frantic shouts, and potential disaster.”

  “It is no place for a countess’s daughter. . . Is that how George described it?”

  “Mm. He made it seem quite exciting.”

  “George could make tea and crumpets sound exciting.”

  She laughed lightly, knowing it was true.

  Sebastian said, “Do you know anything else about these trinkets? And just what the devil he’s doing with a shipload of them?”