The Wary Widow

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Andrew pushed back from the table, causing Mrs. Finch to squeal as he nearly missed running over her toes.

  “Andrew, be careful how you handle this,” Michael warned. “If I were you, I'd walk off some of that anger before you go barging into her parents' home.”

  His brother was right. As much as he wanted to tear both of them limb from limb, he couldn't go stomping around like a mad man. He nodded his head to his brother and stalked out of the room, mentally girding his loins for what was certain to be a trying confrontation with his future bride.

  ***

  Chloe returned to her bedroom with the cheery scent of verbena in her nose. Lizzie had a wide array of bath salts from the perfumer, so bathing was always an adventure for Chloe. She felt clean and refreshed—just what she needed after the night she’d had. Every time she closed her eyes, Andrew’s face appeared, smiling and handsome, and she’d opened them again, desperate to erase the image.

  But then he started appearing of his own accord, popping into her head without notice, and causing her to think the most scandalous thoughts.

  Chloe was no innocent, and though she’d only been married for two weeks, she knew well the customs of the bedroom. Sam had been eager to bed her, having waited almost their entire lives to do so, and just as eager to start a family.

  She grimaced as she remembered their wedding night. Neither one had any experience, and if she were being honest, it had been rather uncomfortable and awkward. But Sam had been sweet and gentle, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So, she’d borne it like a good wife and-

  She was distracted from her thoughts by the presence of a dress laid out at the end of her bed. She picked up her brush and crossed to the bed curiously as she began to pull the tangles from her hair.

  “What in the world is this?” she wondered aloud. “Lizzie!” Chloe went to the door and flung it wide before calling again, “Lizzie!”

  No response. She stared back at the dress. It was pretty. Lilac with white lace trim. Feminine and soft, like the dresses she used to wear before...

  “Oh, Sam,” she whispered as she traced a finger along the lace bodice.

  And then she shook her head and turned her back on the dress. It was all well and good for Lizzie to hint at her needing a change of wardrobe, but she just wasn’t ready. The dark colors had become her security and her one link to her late husband. She hated herself for entertaining the idea of other men, such as Lord Andrew, and for even thinking of wearing colors. She knew that the time for mourning had passed sometime ago, but she still wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  Chloe flung open the door to her wardrobe and stopped short when she saw that it was empty. Anger boiled inside her like hot lava, causing her to tremble. Everything. Every last one of her mourning dresses had been removed, leaving her with nothing to wear except that blasted lilac thing. As soon as she got her hands on Lizzie, she would wring her neck.

  “Lizzie!” she shouted again as she moved frantically to her dressing table. Gone. All her caps were gone as well. “Elizabeth Crawley, I will never forgive you for this!”

  Silence. Where had she gone? She was probably in her room, pretending not to hear, so that Chloe would be forced into wearing the gown.

  Well, Chloe Hawthorne would not be bested. If Lizzie wanted to steal her clothes, she would just have to find another chaperone to escort her around town.

  ***

  “Chloe, open this door!” Lizzie banged furiously at the oak panel. “Lady Weston and the others will be here any moment.”

  “I’m not going,” Chloe called from her bed.

  She had decided, since she now had the entire day free from responsibility, that she would snuggle up with a book and relish the quiet. Well, as soon as Lizzie left, she would relish the quiet.

  “What are you talking about? You must come. Think of the reflection this will have on me.”

  That was it. “On you?” Chloe shot back indignantly. “You’re the one who stole my clothes—”

  “And left you a perfectly fine dress instead—”

  “That I will not wear!”

  “Just open this door, Chloe, please.”

  Chloe stared dubiously at the door. She detected a sense of remorse in her cousin’s tone, which Chloe might have taken into consideration if she didn't think it was for completely selfish reasons.

  “I will not open the door until I am sure you have recovered my clothes.”

  There was silence on the other side of the door.

  “Lizzie, did you hear me?” Chloe waited. “Lizzie?”

  Perhaps she had giving up and left her alone. Good. The last thing she wanted to do today was go shopping with a duchess anyhow.

  She propped her book up again and began to read. Only she couldn’t see the words on the page, for the tears had begun to flow freely, obstructing her view. She allowed the book to drop and then turned herself over on the bed and shoved her face into her pillow.

  She knew it had been a bad idea to come to London, but everyone said it would do her good to get away from Essex and the cramped little home she shared with her parents and five siblings. But getting away had only made things worse.

  Now she was being forced to lie, forced to go to social functions she didn’t want to attend, and forced to wear clothing in which she didn’t feel comfortable.

  “Ah!” Chloe started when someone’s hand touched her shoulder.

  She turned to find Lizzie standing over her.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked, swiping at her eyes.

  Lizzie gave her a sheepish look. “Sarah didn’t lock the closet door when she left with your clothes.”

  All of a sudden, Chloe wanted to laugh. The picture of her cousin and the maid ransacking her closet tickled something inside of her. She snorted. Lizzie’s eyes widened and blinked.

  Chloe snorted again and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggle. “I’m sorry,” she choked, realizing that she was going to burst into tears again. “I don’t...I don’t know what’s come over me.”

  She erupted into another giggle, but Lizzie just stood there, dumbfounded. “Then, you’re not mad?”

  “Oh, no, I’m furious, but...” she sat up, trying to gain her composure. Really, she wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying now. “Why did you steal my clothes?”

  Lizzie sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Because, Chloe,” she began, “you cannot mourn Sam forever.”

  “But-²

  “No! No buts, Clo!” Lizzie stood and flailed her arms as she continued. “I know you loved him and he loved you, but he’s gone, and you have to let him go. You’re barely twenty and you look like an old woman.”

  Really, that was too much. Chloe bestowed her most perturbed scowl on her cousin. She was going too far telling her what to do and when to mourn.

  “You deserve to be happy, Clo, and you’re the only one who doesn’t realize that.”

  “The only one?” Chloe repeated. “So I take it I’ve been the topic of conversation around here?”

  Having calmed down, Lizzie sat again on the edge of the bed and took Chloe’s hand. “Only because we love you and care about you and remember what a bright, lovely girl you were before Sam died. We know you miss him, but he’s gone. And the fact of the matter is that you’re still here, and we miss you.”

  Lizzie stood without waiting for Chloe’s response. Which was fine, because Chloe didn’t know what to say to her cousin’s little speech.

  When she got to the door she turned and said, “I’ll make your excuses to the ladies, but only this once.”

  And then she shut the door, leaving Chloe alone again.

  So very alone.

  ***

  Later on that afternoon, having mulled over her cousin’s speech, Chloe donned the lilac gown. She didn’t intend to wear it out, of course, but she just wanted to try it on to remind herself of how she’d looked before.

  She did a half-turn in front of the cheval gl
ass. It was a little big—Lizzie had more substantial parts for filling out a dress—but the color suited her perfectly. She never would have guessed that lilac would be so complementary to her complexion. She smoothed the fabric in front and fingered the lace trim, then used one hand to pile her hair atop her head.

  The effect was quite lovely, she thought. If only her eyes weren’t so puffy from crying half the day, she might pass for someone rather pretty.

  A knock sounded at her door just then. Had Lizzie returned home already?

  “Yes?” she called out.

  “A visitor for you, Mrs. Hawthorne,” the butler announced.

  A visitor? “A visitor?”

  “Lord Andrew Wetherby, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

  “What?” she blurted out in astonishment. “I mean, why? Lizzie is not at home.”

  “I told him that, but when I informed him that you were home, he asked if he might have an audience. I put him in the front parlor.”

  Oh, dear. Chloe looked around her room frantically. She couldn’t meet with Lord Andrew looking like this. She looked in the mirror.

  Or could she?

  It didn’t really matter either way. She had no other clothes. She couldn’t meet with him in the nude and she couldn’t turn him away.

  “Madame?”

  “Tell him I will be down shortly.”

  With a sigh, she sat down at her dressing table and set to the task of trying to tame her wild hair.

  Eight

  The door to the drawing room creaked open and Andrew turned from his position by the window. He had every intention of greeting Mrs. Hawthorne, but all of a sudden he could not find his tongue.

  Dear God, what had happened to her? He had found her attractive before, but now-

  “Lord Andrew?” her sweet voice cut through the silence and brought Andrew back to earth.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, I...”

  “Yes?” She stared at him curiously.

  Get a hold of yourself, man! Gathering his senses, he offered a bow and said, “I trust you are well, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

  Mrs. Hawthorne walked into the room, the pastel gown billowing at her feet, and motioned for him to sit. He willingly obliged. Some things were easier concealed when sitting down.

  “You do know my cousin is not at home?”

  Andrew nodded. “I do, but I had hoped to speak with you, actually.”

  “Me?” Her eyes widened. “But why?”

  Damn. He should have thought this through a little better. He had no reason at all to speak with the woman, but he’d told the butler he wished to see her anyhow. Now she stared at him, with those brown doe eyes, waiting for a reply.

  “A gift!” he shouted, and then realizing there was no reason to shout, repeated, “A gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “Yes, for Lady Elizabeth,” he said, speaking off the cuff. “I wished to ascertain an opinion from you regarding a gift for her. You see her Birthday is soon—”

  “Her Birthday is not until October, my lord.”

  Damn! He could have sworn it was in early May. “Yes, well, I wanted to start planning early.”

  Mrs. Hawthorne stood and walked to the bellpull. “I’ll just ring for tea, if you don’t mind,” she said, clearly trying to hide a smile. Did she suspect he was lying? “Now, would you like to tell me the real reason you wished to see me?”

  Andrew’s mouth dropped open, and he was fully aware that he gaped. But he couldn’t help it. Beautiful and perceptive. Now what was he to say?

  God, that gown looked lovely on her. And the way she’d done up her hair. It wasn’t complicated, like Elizabeth’s, with curls and twists and all manner of decoration. Rather, it sat loosely on her head, and curly, red tendrils dropped around her face.

  Dear Lord, he was so uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair, realizing he still had not answered her. He couldn’t very well tell her that he just wanted to see her again, that he had enjoyed their brief encounters and that he wished for many more. He was engaged to the woman’s cousin —her charge, for God's sake.

  “How is your hand, Mrs. Hawthorne?” he finally asked.

  “My hand?” she repeated, seemingly caught off guard. “Oh, yes, my hand. Better, thank you. Please tell Mrs. Finch that her salve worked wonders. Why, I can barely see a single scrape now.”

  “I will certainly pass that along. She will be delighted. She's always experimenting with herbs and potions and what not, ever since Michael and I taught her how to read. Now, she pores over herbology books in her free time.”

  “Oh, goodness...that's rather unexpected, isn't it?”

  “Why? Because she was a whore?” Chloe's jaw unhinged and he laughed. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, I seem to say whatever comes to mind when I'm in your presence whether it's proper or not.”

  “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “Indeed.”

  They stared at one another for a moment and it was all Andrew could do to not lean over and plant a kiss on those soft, pink lips. Or bury his face in her neck and take in that delectable lemon scent. Thankfully, a servant entered to deliver the tea and Chloe immediately set to pouring it. Andrew watched her intently. Mrs. Hawthorne was obviously a country girl at heart and he wanted to know more about where she came from.

  “Where is your home, Mrs. Hawthorne?” he asked.

  “Essex, my lord. A tiny parish, hardly worth mentioning, but I grew up there, and I love it.”

  “And your family? They are there as well?”

  “Oh, yes. Mother, father, three brothers and two sisters—”

  “Six children?” Andrew asked, astounded. “I thought the Crawleys had a large brood with five, but six!”

  Chloe laughed and it warmed Andrew's blood. It wasn't the giggle of a green girl, but rather a throaty, mature laugh that made him think of having her in his bed. Of making her laugh while he made-

  Damn it, man, you're engaged to her cousin!

  “Yes, we are a larger brood, however, I believe the Crawley children best us in rowdiness. Now that all three of the boys are home from Harrow it's absolute mayhem around here. It doesn't help that Julia is a spoiled little princess, doted on ridiculously by her mother and father. Good Lord, the tantrums that child throws when she doesn't get her way.”

  “Not unlike her big sister, is she?”

  Mrs. Hawthorne looked up at him. Her hand held the teapot over his cup that he'd held out to be refilled. Their gazes locked and it wasn't until it ran over, burning Andrew's skin and spilling onto the white lace tablecloth, that he came back to his senses.

  “Oh, goodness!” Chloe exclaimed, jumping from her seat.

  Andrew placed the cup and saucer back onto the table with great haste and then took the hot teapot from Chloe's hands. He was so astonished at its temperature that he dropped it at once. It clattered to the table and rolled off the edge, before either of them could react, and landed on the floor with a thud.

  Liquid and tea leaves continued to spill out onto the carpet. Mrs. Hawthorne was about to reach for it, but Andrew held up a hand.

  “Stop!” he shouted, fearing that if either of them moved, they would do even more damage.

  The pair stood silent for a moment, then slowly turned to look at one another. Mrs. Hawthorne remained frozen in her hunched over pose, a terrified look on her face as if she might be punished if she moved. And then together, they burst into riotous laughter.

  Mrs. Hawthorne threw an arm around her middle, while the other went to her bouncing chest. Andrew fell back onto the sofa, wondering what had come over them. Tears leaked from his eyes for the first time since he was a child. No one had ever made him feel so giddy.

  After a few minutes, when they both finally gained their composure, Andrew looked at Mrs. Hawthorne, and asked, “May I be permitted to call you by your given name, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

  She sobered quickly and gave him a nervous smile. “I don't think that would be wise, Lord Andrew.”

  Andre
w smiled back, feeling somewhat foolish. Of course he couldn't call her by her given name. But he would certainly think of her as Chloe from now on. She was far too young and vibrant to be Mrs. Hawthorne.

  “You're right,” he said at last. “I'm not sure what came over me. Shall we clean up our mess then?”

  They rang for a maid and then set to gathering up the cup and teapot. The air was charged with unspoken feelings—feelings that if said aloud could have horrific repercussions. So they worked in silence until the maid arrived and Andrew finally felt it was time to take his leave.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hawthorne,” he said as bowed to her. “Your company was...delightful.”

  With an awkward smile and a curtsey, she replied, “And yours as well, my lord. Good day.”

  ***

  Chloe was still reeling from her afternoon with Lord Andrew by the time Lizzie arrived home. And she was still in the lilac gown. She’d been so nervous to wear it at first, but when she saw Andrew’s reaction, she was almost grateful for her cousin’s bold actions that morning.

  It had been so long since she’d enjoyed male attention, and even then, Sam’s attention had been more akin to a lovesick pup than a lust-hungry man. The look in Andrew’s dark eyes sent chills skittering over her bones every time she saw him, or simply thought of him, for heaven's sake!

  The housekeeper, Mrs. North, poked her head in to tell Chloe that her aunt and cousin awaited her in the drawing room. Oh, dear. She hoped she and Andrew had done a sufficient job of cleaning up their mess.

  She peeked her head into the parlor, feeling sheepish after her childish behavior that morning. Both women gaped as she padded slowly into the room, clearly baffled that Chloe stood before them in the lilac dress. Well, what else was she going to wear, for heaven's sake?

  “Chloe?” Lizzie ventured. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m more than all right, Lizzie, darling,” she said quietly, moving to sit next to her cousin. “You know, you were right this morning, and I’m sorry I gave you such an awful time about my dresses.”

  “Lizzie, what did you do?” Aunt Prudence asked as she settled into a blue striped chair.