The Wary Widow

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  She cleared her throat to answer, but Lord Andrew spoke first.

  “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

  Blast it all, how did he know what she was going to say?

  “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to dance with you, my lord, but...well, there are many reasons that I cannot.”

  Lord Andrew’s lips turned up into a devilish grin. “Let me guess. You cannot leave your cousin unattended. Is that right?”

  Chloe blinked. “Well, yes, but that is not the only—”

  “And, judging by your attire, I’m guessing it’s been some time since you’ve danced.”

  Chloe swallowed against the sting to her pride and nodded, somewhat perturbed by his ability to read her mind.

  His smile grew wider at her silence.

  Arrogant rogue.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Well, Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ve been charged with keeping a better eye on my fiancée in order to maintain my position as her betrothed. Therefore, you and I will be spending a great deal of time in one another’s company.”

  “Shouldn’t you be dancing with your fiancée, then?”

  Lord Andrew turned toward the dance floor where Lizzie whirled about with some other gentleman. “It would appear she is otherwise engaged at the moment. Besides, it isn’t done to monopolize all of one particular girl’s dances.”

  Chloe knew that, of course. Though she was a simple country girl, she still understood certain things about society and its protocol.

  “Furthermore, if you don't dance with me, I'll be forced into dancing with Lady Bertha.”

  Chloe followed Lord Andrew's gaze across the room to where Lady Bertha stood by the refreshment table. In all honesty, that was the last place Lady Bertha should have been. Where Chloe needed to gain a stone or two, Bertha needed to lose no less than three. She had a good feeling the crème puffs that she stuffed surreptitiously into her mouth were not going to help in her pursuit for a husband.

  She looked back to the hand he proffered and gave him a sheepish smile. “I suppose I cannot say ‘no’ then, can I?”

  Lord Andrew shook his head and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. Chloe couldn’t ignore the odd spark that surged through her at his touch. Of course, it had been years since she’d so much as held hands with a man. It was no surprise she’d had such a reaction.

  They walked until they stood at the edge of the dance floor and Lord Andrew turned to gather her in his arms.

  “I really must warn you, my lord,” she said nervously. “I’ve only waltzed once or twice in my life. I’m not—Ah!”

  Before she could say more, Lord Andrew whipped her around and dragged her into the fold of dancers. It took a moment for her brain to tell her feet they’d begun to move, but thankfully Lord Andrew had a firm grip on her waist and spun her around with little effort.

  When she finally braved a look at her dance partner, his eyes sparkled with poorly veiled mirth. “I told you I’m not very good at this.”

  “You mistake the source of my amusement, Mrs. Hawthorne,” he said, whisking her from the path of oncoming dancers. “You’re not actually that bad. If you would only remove that terrified look from your face, no one would know you weren’t an accomplished waltzer.”

  “Oh.” Now aware of her furrowed brow, she relaxed her face and allowed a smile to tug at her lips.

  And then she tripped over Lord Andrew’s feet.

  He laughed. Loudly. “All right, then, perhaps we’ll introduce smiling at our next waltz.”

  Though her cheeks burned with embarrassment, she couldn’t help but laugh. Lord Andrew had such a charming personality that even insults sounded like sweet nothings. And for some reason, the mention of their “next waltz” sent a frisson of excitement through her.

  Immediately she chided herself for having such impulses towards her cousin’s betrothed, and told herself it was simply because she hadn’t enjoyed male company in such a long time.

  Perhaps she should use the Season to her advantage and seek out a husband for herself.

  Hah! A husband. In London. As if any of these fine gentlemen would look twice at a country bumpkin like herself.

  No, she would do her duty by Lizzie and then return to the country at the Season’s end. Surely, she could find a husband in Essex...preferably one with a stronger constitution than her last one.

  Oh, what an uncharitable though, Chloe!

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Chloe looked up to find Lord Andrew regarding her with a mixture of confusion and...amusement?

  “What?” she asked, a bit confused.

  “You said ‘What an uncharitable thought, Chloe.’” He grinned widely. “Do you talk to yourself often?”

  Chloe’s cheeks flushed. “Yes,” she admitted, shifting her eyes away from his to the flower on his lapel. “Quite often.”

  “Would you care to share your thoughts?”

  Her eyes widened at his suggestion and she sucked in a startled breath. Goodness, he smelled delicious. Sam had always smelled of pigs and mud. But Lord Andrew...it was such a refined mixture of starch and brandy, she completely forgot to answer him.

  “I shall take that as a ‘no’, Mrs. Hawthorne, but I won’t always be so kind. I really hate to be left out of conversations.”

  Again, Chloe couldn’t refrain from laughing. No wonder Lizzie had chosen this man for a husband. He was quite perfect in every way, even if he did quirk his brow too often.

  The song ended and Andrew led Chloe back to her bench at the edge of the ballroom. She was reluctant to see him go. She had truly enjoyed his company.

  There is an end to everything, good things as well.

  Lord Andrew gave her a funny look as he bowed over her hand, and she worried that she’d once again spoken her thoughts aloud.

  But then he straightened, and asked with genuine concern, “Are you all right, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

  “Quite,” she replied quickly. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” He smiled, baring a row of dazzling white teeth. “Thank you for the dance.”

  Chloe regarded him suspiciously before answering, “No, thank you.”

  Then he was gone. And once again, Chloe found herself alone, on her cold little bench.

  Three

  Katherine Hart, Duchess of Weston, sat down before her two best friends—Phoebe, Marchioness of Eastleigh and Becky, Viscountess Hastings—and set to pouring the tea. Both women waited patiently for her to state the business for which they’d been summoned early to the impromptu garden party. However, Katherine had a flair for the dramatic, so she said nothing, despite knowing her friends were practically dying of curiosity.

  When she began to drop sugar cubes into the cups with pain-staking slowness, Becky clearly reached the end of her tether. “All right, Kat, that’s enough. The others will be here soon, and I’m itching to know what has you in such a tizzy. Why were you so eager for us to be here early?”

  Phoebe seconded the sentiment. “Yes, dear, do hurry.”

  Passing the cups and saucers to her friends, Katherine finally looked up and grinned devilishly.

  “Did either you have the opportunity to make the acquaintance of Lady Elizabeth’s new chaperone at the party last night?” she asked before taking a dainty sip of her still-steaming tea.

  Phoebe and Becky both furrowed their brows and gave a unified, “No.”

  Katherine smiled with satisfaction. “Well, I should begin by telling you that she is not really of an age to play a proper chaperone. She can’t be much older than Lady Elizabeth. If it weren’t for her wardrobe, I would think them the exact same age.”

  A faint ring came from the front hall and all three of the ladies’ eyes widened in panic.

  “Good heavens, Katherine, get on with it!” Phoebe prodded, setting her cup back onto its saucer. “They’re already here.”

  “All right.” Katherine scooted to the edge of her seat and spoke quickly. “Th
e poor girl is a widow already. According to Elizabeth, the marriage was short lived and Mr. Hawthorne passed well over a year ago. Mrs. Hawthorne has been summoned from country life to play chaperone to Elizabeth, but I think we could make her stay in London much more adventurous than that.”

  Phoebe and Becky exchanged a knowing glance. They knew Katherine loved to meddle; it was practically her life’s work.

  “Once you have met her, you’ll feel the same way I do,” she assured her friends. “Now, come. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

  ***

  Ashbury Manor’s butler ushered Chloe and her cousin through the massive house and out onto the terrace. Chloe was already shaking with intimidation. The foyer alone was bigger than her family's little cottage in Essex. And much cleaner. The permeating lemon scent bespoke of meticulous cleaning practices, and she could almost see her reflection in the black and white marbled floor.

  Chloe gave a little gasp as they stepped over the threshold to the outside. The grandeur of it all reminded her once again of just how unworldly she was. The country was beautiful, of course, and there were plenty of grand homes to behold, but this was the closest she’d ever been to such opulence, and it took her breath away.

  An overhang, held up by thick white columns, shaded the balcony, and two curved staircases led down into the manicured garden. Carefully plotted beds of tulips and daffodils made up the garden below, with various animal-shaped topiaries throughout. Chloe decided her favorite was the bunny, who stood sentinel over a bed of swaying pink tulips. Stone walkways curved and swirled amongst them, culminating in a courtyard, which boasted an enormous Grecian fountain.

  Grasping her cousin’s arm a little tighter, Chloe noted the table and chairs to her left, and small buffet just beyond. Pink and white seemed to be the theme of the garden party, as the table boasted flowers, china and a tablecloth of those exact colors.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” Lizzie asked from beside her.

  Chloe had no words, so she simply nodded, trying to take it all in. But she didn’t have much time before the duchess and two other women she recognized from last night’s ball burst onto the terrace.

  “My dear Lady Elizabeth!” Lady Weston exclaimed, pulling Lizzie away and planting a kiss on each cheek. “How wonderful of you and your cousin to join us for our little party.”

  Chloe felt uncomfortably exposed without her cousin to cling to and began to twist the fabric of her charcoal dress between her fingers. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t polite to fidget so, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. The other two women were looking at her—well, smiling at her, really—and she was completely unnerved.

  Introductions commenced with the Marchioness of Eastleigh, an auburn-haired beauty with enormous brown eyes. Her gown, the color of field poppies, was one of the most exquisite things Chloe had ever seen.

  “And this is the Viscountess Hastings,” Katherine continued. Chloe turned her attention to the viscountess, who looked precisely like an angel with her golden hair and pale blue gown. She carried a little more weight than her friends, but it suited her. The woman positively glowed.

  With a toss of her raven curls and a swish of her jonquil skirts, the duchess led the small group to the table at the end of the terrace.

  The afternoon passed far too quickly for Chloe’s taste, for she enjoyed the company of these women immensely. They chatted away about their families. The viscountess had given birth to their second child on Christmas Day of the year past, which accounted for the glow Chloe noted earlier.

  Phoebe, the marchioness, had two young children, who were supposedly doted upon far too much by their father. And the duchess had three little ones, who were clearly the joy of her life.

  “How is the puppy faring at Hastings House?” Lizzie asked the viscountess.

  “Oh, the children adore her, although I daresay she is more companion to Lord Hastings than anyone. He doesn’t go anywhere that Iris doesn’t follow.”

  “Puppy?” Chloe asked, excited to move on to a topic she knew better than children.

  “One of Daisy’s litter,” Lizzie provided. “You remember, she gave birth just before Christmas. Andrew and Michael took a puppy to the Hastings children as a Christmas present.”

  Daisy was the family dog, and rather too large to be living in a London townhouse, in Chloe's opinion. But the Crawleys loved her—well, most of them anyway. Aunt Prudence was actually deathly afraid of the animal—and Chloe had rarely seen a dog so spoiled in her life. Though, she had to admit, she probably did far more of the spoiling than anyone else. She had a tendency to take too many bacon slices from the breakfast buffet, and no one seemed to notice when she slipped them discreetly beneath the table into Daisy’s watering mouth.

  “Clarabelle is especially fascinated with Iris, though,” the viscountess went on.

  “Well, she is at the age of discovery,” Lady Eastleigh put in.

  “What a beautiful name. Is Clarabelle a family name?”

  All three ladies erupted into laughter at Chloe’s question. She looked quizzically at Lizzie, who merely shrugged and raised her brows.

  “Was it something I said?” Chloe wondered with a smile.

  “Yes, actually,” Lady Weston replied as the laughter died.

  The viscountess turned to her, a large smile pasted on her face. “Lord Hastings was charged with looking after his niece and nephew many years ago when their mother passed. Little Lydia created an imaginary friend and named her Clarabelle.”

  “Clarabelle, the imaginary one, was the bane of Lord Hastings’s existence,” Lady Eastleigh announced.

  “Eventually, Lydia grew out of her imaginary friend, but when we had our first daughter, it just seemed the thing to do to name her Clarabelle.”

  “And now Clarabelle is anything but the bane of Lord Hastings’s existence,” Lady Eastleigh finished with a flourish.

  “What a wonderful story,” Chloe said as she settled back into her chair.

  Chloe listened intently to their stories, trying to ignore the pangs of loss she felt as the conversation turned back to their families. When she married her Sam a little over a year ago, they had high hopes for a family. He wanted an entire brood of children, and Chloe had been more than willing to oblige. But two weeks was hardly enough time to start a family. When Sam died suddenly of a fever, Chloe hoped and prayed and waited to see if perhaps their few attempts had taken. Losing Sam would have been easier if a part of him had lived on through a child. But it was not to be, and Chloe fell into an inconsolable depression.

  “Do you not agree, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

  Chloe snapped from her sad memories to realize she’d not been listening. Her cheeks turned hot.

  “Forgive me,” she stammered. “I’m afraid I was woolgathering and lost the thread of conversation.”

  All four women stared back at her, pleasant smiles on their faces.

  “That’s all right, dear,” the marchioness said. “It’s not as if our discussion about dressmakers was all that important anyhow.”

  “Oh, no, I’m sure it was quite riveting,” Chloe corrected her. “As a matter of fact, your input on the matter would be greatly appreciated.”

  Covert glances passed among the three women and Chloe wondered whether she’d said the right thing, or the wrong thing. Based on the duchess’s surreptitious smile, she assumed the right thing.

  “Well, perhaps we should all embark on a shopping trip together, then.”

  Lady Hastings and Lady Eastleigh leapt at the idea as if it were a mouse, and they the cats.

  “Oh, do say yes!” Lady Hastings begged of Chloe and her cousin.

  Lizzie smiled wide while Chloe tried to dampen her own anxiety. Shopping with three women of the realm. Good heavens, how had this happened? She had only asked for their input on dressmakers to seem polite. She had no intention of abandoning her vigil to Sam now, regardless of what anyone said. Now what was she to do?

  Chloe sighed inwardly. T
here was no way out of it. And all four of her companions were so excited that Chloe imagined if she reneged, it would be like telling a child there was no more Christmas.

  “That sounds wonderful, my lady.”

  ***

  “You must be joking.”

  Andrew sat across from his brother, Benjamin, in the Eastleigh House library. He stopped swirling his brandy long enough to take a drink and then resumed.

  “I wish I were, but it is the God’s honest truth.”

  “And what would you suggest I do?”

  Benjamin stood to refill his glass and then sat back down in the large, leather armchair.

  “Marry her. Now. Or at least soon.”

  Andrew sighed and let his head fall back. Staring up at the ceiling, he began to feel as if the weight of the world had been put upon him. It was a bit melodramatic for the occasion, but he just hadn’t planned on marrying quite yet. He still had an entire summer during which he intended to carouse as a bachelor. And now that blasted Lord Edgmond was going to ruin everything.

  “Are you sure you heard correctly, Ben?” Andrew asked hopefully. “Perhaps he was merely making a joke.”

  Benjamin shook his dark head. “This was no joke, Andrew. The man is intent on winning Lady Elizabeth for himself. He needs the money and he needs the connections - it’s really not much of a surprise.”

  “But Elizabeth would never back out of our agreement.”

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself, little brother. The way she looked at him last night while they were dancing...trust me, I know that look.”

  Damn! Andrew wasn’t upset by the fact that Elizabeth might have eyes for another man, as much as the fact that he just didn’t want to marry yet.

  Domesticity was not something he looked forward to. He would break off the engagement himself if Elizabeth could keep her reputation intact afterwards, but he knew better. It would never do to ruin her in such a way. And his family would be sorely disappointed in him. He couldn’t very well break off his engagement just because he was afraid of settling down too soon.

  He could ask her to break it off. His reputation would certainly survive. But then what? He would have to start the entire bloody search for a wife over again.