When she arrived at the back door, she made her way inside and found a servant girl.
“Can you point me to the necessary, please?” she asked, her voice thick with tears.
The little maid nodded and turned down a corridor, then opened the door to a water closet at the end of the hall. Chloe stepped inside and shut the door behind her, before falling to the floor in a fit of silent sobs.
How could this have happened? How could she be attracted to the one man in London that she truly could not have? As a widow, she could have her pick of any manner of men, even married ones if she was discreet enough.
She wrinkled her nose. The thought of dallying with a man who already had a wife made her rather ill, now she thought about it. Even so, it would not have been so out of the ordinary.
But to dally with her cousin’s betrothed would be reprehensible. She already felt guilty enough about that kiss.
Her heart twisted. Lord, that kiss. As if their lips had been designed one for the other.
“Chloe? Chloe are you in there?”
Blast, they’d found her. Lizzie pounded on the door.
“Andrew said you were feeling ill, are you all right?”
“Did he mention he was the cause of my illness?” she muttered bitterly.
“What?” Lizzie knocked again. “Chloe, I can’t hear you. Are you well enough to open the door or shall I have a maid fetch the key?”
“No!” she shouted suddenly, trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. “I’m fine, really. I think it was just a bit too much sun.”
“Oh, of course, darling.” Lizzie hesitated, clearly at a loss for what to do or say next. “Would you like to let me in?” she finally asked, a bit awkwardly.
Chloe took a few steadying breaths, knowing she would have to face her cousin sometime, then opened the door. Worry etched Lizzie’s features. A horrible guilt washed over Chloe, and she began to wonder if she smelled like Lord Andrew. Had his manly scent rubbed off on her? Oh, good heavens! How could she have done such a thing to her dear cousin? She was supposed to be looking out for her, keeping her best interests at heart as her chaperone. Not kissing her fiancé.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Lizzie threw an arm around her shoulder and led her out of the room. “I’m just glad you’re all right. Let’s find the boys and go home, shall we?”
Awkward silence dominated the ride home. Lizzie fussed over her the entire way, as did Michael, but Andrew only sat there, staring blankly out the window. He wouldn’t even look at her, and somehow, it broke her heart.
She wished they could go back to the way they had been the day before, having tea in the parlor, laughing and talking like old friends. But she knew they couldn’t. They never would.
All of sudden, Chloe wished Andrew and Lizzie would just hurry up and get married, so she could go back to her quiet, widow’s life in Essex. Alone.
***
“So?”
Michael sat across from Andrew at their favorite pub, hunched over a pint. He stared up intently at him, his brown eyes so familiar.
“So, what?” Andrew shot back before taking a sip of his beer.
“So, why did you insist on coming here instead of the club? Why were you missing from the game this afternoon, while I sweated my bullocks off mashed in between that irritating Miss Smythe and Charles Oster? And why do you look as if you could tear the ass out of a rhinoceros?”
Andrew almost laughed at that last one. His brother’s turn of phrase could be colorful at times. But the circumstance alone was enough to keep his mood in the somber place it was.
“No particular reason,” he replied to the first question. “I was seeing to Mrs. Hawthorne’s well-being while the rest of you were playing a game. And it’s none of your damn business why I look like that.”
“And when you say that you were ‘seeing to Mrs. Hawthorne’s well-being,’ you mean...?”
Andrew glared at his brother. Damn him, it wasn’t any of his business. And there was no way Andrew was going to make it his business. What was done was done, and it didn’t matter anymore. He would forget about Mrs. Hawthorne and marry Lady Elizabeth. No matter what.
“Listen, Drew,” Michael began, leaning further over the table. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you have a fiancée.”
“You don’t say!”
“Andrew, I’m trying to help you.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes at his twin. “What are you talking about?”
Michael looked around and then, in a low voice, said, “We’re twins, you nodcock. You can have your way, and so can Lady Elizabeth.”
Eleven
“You can’t be serious, Michael,” Andrew whispered. “We haven’t done that since we were children.”
“Yes, but we don’t look any less alike than we did then.”
Michael had a point. People could only tell them apart nowadays because of their clothing and hairstyles, but their facial features were uncanny and their builds exact. If they swapped clothes, and if Michael trimmed his hair slightly shorter, most people would not be able to tell them apart.
“So what do you suggest?” Andrew asked, leaning further across the table.
“Well, I suppose I will escort Elizabeth to the various functions—as you, of course—and you can have your little romance with her chaperone...as me. Of course, you’ll have to tell Mrs. Hawthorne, and she will have to agree to the deception—”
“That’s not a likely possibility.”
Michael’s brows shot up quizzically. “How do you know?”
“Because she slapped the living daylights out of me this afternoon when I suggested such a thing.”
Michael’s mouth dropped and amusement danced in his eyes. “You already approached her, you blackguard.”
Andrew cleared his throat. “Yes, and what of it?”
“I don’t really understand your obsession with the woman when you have the toast of London ready to walk down the aisle with you.”
“Do I detect a hint a jealousy, little brother?”
“Three minutes hardly makes you older, and no, I’ve resigned myself to a life without Lady Elizabeth.” He eyed a pretty barmaid and smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Yes, I am quite resigned.”
“So, do you really think we could pull off this kind of charade? What if she turns me down again?”
“She only turned you down, I’m sure, when it could mean Elizabeth finding out. She’ll never know this way. Elizabeth will simply think it’s me that’s taken a liking to her cousin.”
“And you will keep her occupied if I wish to spend time with Chloe?”
“Chloe?” Michael's eyes widened in astonishment. “My God, man, when did you have time to get to be on a first name basis with the woman? Clearly, you don’t really need my help.”
A raucous group of drunkards broke into song just then, pulling Andrew’s focus from his brother. It was a seedy pub they frequented, but it was comfortable, with its musty aroma and dark corners. Not to mention it removed them from the watchful eyes of the ton. Few gentlemen would find themselves in a place like this.
“I do need your help,” Andrew said, turning back to his brother. “When shall we begin the charade?”
***
“Are you feeling any better?”
Lizzie walked into Chloe’s bedchamber and shut the door behind her. After they arrived home, Chloe escaped to her room. She needed to be alone to think about what had happened that afternoon with Andrew.
And to cry her eyes out over it.
It just didn’t seem fair. She knew that was a childish notion. Life wasn’t fair, and she knew that better than anyone. It certainly wasn’t fair that she’d been widowed two short weeks after her wedding.
“I am,” she replied, hoping her eyes were not as puffy and red as they felt. “Just resting.”
Lizzie climbed onto the bed next to her. “Chloe, are you sure it was the heat that
caused your illness this afternoon?”
A hot blush stole over Chloe’s cheeks. Did her cousin know something? Had she seen them in the bushes? No, she had been hiding. There wasn’t any way.
But what if someone else had?
“Of course I’m sure. Why would you ask?”
Lizzie looked at her like one might regard a crippled puppy and grabbed her hand. “I know you’re lonely, Chloe, and I’ve seen the way you look at Lord Andrew.”
Oh, no! She knew. “What are you talking about?” Chloe asked, trying to look appalled at the accusation. “I’ve no more interest in your fiancé than—” you, she wanted to say, but ended instead with, “the Prime Minister.”
“Then why were you both so awkward in the carriage on the way home? And why were you both missing during the game? I just assumed that something had transpired. Oh, Chloe, you didn’t make any untoward advances, did you?”
“Lizzie, of course not!” Chloe nearly fainted dead away at the question. How could her cousin think such things of her?
“I wouldn’t be upset, I promise. You can tell me, Chloe.”
“How could you even ask?” Chloe rose from the bed and began tidying her bedchamber, desperate to avoid eye contact with her cousin. “We started to look for you this afternoon, and I became faint from the heat. Andrew escorted me to the house and left me right where you found me minutes later.”
Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “Andrew wasn’t coming from the house when I found him. And he certainly wasn’t looking for anyone.”
“What do you mean?” Chloe stopped her busy work to look at her cousin.
“He was leaning against a wall on the outer edge of the garden, looking rather guilty, if you ask me. Furthermore, I had asked him to find me, Chloe. I even told him where I would be in hopes he would find me first. I simply wanted a moment alone with him. Do you know what it's like, Clo? We've been engaged for months and he's never even tried to kiss me!”
Chloe regarded her cousin with curiosity. Had she been wrong about her? Did Lizzie truly care for Lord Andrew? Were her dalliances an attempt to garner his attention? The scoundrel! He hadn’t even tried to make it appear as if he’d been looking for his betrothed, nor had he mentioned that he knew where she was. And now Chloe stood in the weeds because of him. Either way, she had to put an end to this immediately and set her cousin’s mind at ease. If Lizzie really did care for Lord Andrew, how could Chloe possibly stand in the way of her marriage to him?
“Lizzie,” she said, walking back to the bed and sitting down beside her. “I don’t know what Andrew was doing, but I promise things transpired just as I’ve said. I hold no tendre for your betrothed. You have my word.”
Goodness, she hated to lie so blatantly. But how could she tell Lizzie what really happened?
She couldn’t. And it didn’t really matter, because it was never going to happen again. Ever.
***
“How do I look?”
“Exactly like me. Dashing.”
Andrew and Michael stood side by side, staring into the Cheval glass at their reflections. How bizarre to look in the mirror at one’s self, but see one’s brother staring back.
A chill chased up Andrew’s spine. Bizarre indeed. No matter they were six-and-twenty, it never stopped being odd.
If he didn’t know better, he would truly think he was Michael. All it had taken was a quick trip to their barber and a swap of particular wardrobe pieces and they were both transformed.
“And do I smell like you?”
“Oh, good God, Michael, I'm not going to bloody smell you!”
“Perhaps your cologne smells different on me than it does you. They were specially blended, you know.”
Andrew rolled his eyes, but finally gave in to his brother's request and took a sniff. “Ah, delectable! Lady Elizabeth won't be able to keep her hands off of you.”
Michael grinned childishly, and said, “Well, shall we, then?”
“As long as you’re ready,” Andrew replied. “You’re the one who’s got the toughest job in this. I get to tell Chloe who I really am.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Michael tugged at his ascot. “I’ve spent enough time with you and Elizabeth to know how to act towards her.”
“And how is that?”
“Cool and indifferent.”
Andrew shot him a look. “I most certainly do not act that way toward her.”
“No?” Michael shrugged. “No matter. Let’s go.”
They made their way to the Crawley townhouse in silence. Michael fussed with his gloves and ascot the whole way, but Andrew sat quietly, contemplating his brother’s words. Was his indifference really that noticeable? Elizabeth had never said anything, although she probably felt thoroughly thwarted after that afternoon when he’d failed to find her in the bushes.
She wanted a kiss, he was sure of it. But he didn’t want to kiss her. Why? She was beautiful by any standards. She was kind and sweet.
But she wasn’t Chloe. How had that woman needled her way into his mind so quickly? She had burrowed and nuzzled so deeply that he was helpless to think of anything else.
Anticipation grew in his gut at the thought of seeing her tonight. He hoped with all his might that she would not still be angry with him, but it wasn’t likely. He’d rarely seen a woman so furious in all his life, except maybe his sister. Katherine had a temper that would be hard to rival.
The carriage pulled up to the townhouse, and the brothers alighted and walked together to the door.
“Well, Michael,” his brother asked. “Are you ready for this?”
“It’s a little late for that question,” he retorted, “Andrew.”
***
Chloe and Lizzie descended the stairs to find the brothers Wetherby waiting for them in the foyer. Chloe’s heart beat a little faster at seeing Andrew, but she ignored it—and him. After a polite greeting, she latched herself on to Michael’s arm, determined to remain there for the duration of the evening. She would not be tempted into slipping away with Andrew, should he ask.
Though she didn’t think he would. She had made her feelings more than clear that afternoon. He would be a fool to try anything more.
The foursome made their way to Covent Garden in the Eastleigh coach and then into the opera house itself. The current of patrons dragged them along, up the stairs, until they reached the privacy of the Wetherby box. A strong smell of wine and cigars lingered in the lobby, and Chloe couldn't help but imagine it was exactly what debauchery would smell like, if debauchery actually had a smell, that is.
A frisson of excitement chased down her spine as they entered the box through the velvet curtains. She loved opera, but she’d never enjoyed it in such a lavish environment. They didn’t have such places in the country. Most of the opera she’d heard had been in homes or at the local assembly hall.
From their vantage point, they had their choice of which performance to watch: The one on the stage, or the ones in the other boxes. Already, people were whispering and pointing, with an occasional laugh of shock at who had arrived with whom. Their own box seemed to draw a vast majority of that attention. Clearly, she was in rather popular company.
Chloe took her seat beside Michael, while Lizzie and Andrew settled in front of them.
Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare...
Blast! He was perfectly positioned in front of her and slightly to the right; she had no choice but to look at him in order to see the stage. Good heavens, this was going to be torture.
The overture played and then quickly moved into the first scene. Chloe loved this scene. Poor Susannah simply wanted for Figaro to validate her choice of hat, yet all he cared about was where they were going to put the marriage bed.
She watched the actors intently, trying to keep her eyes above Andrew's head rather than on it, but then he leaned into Lizzie and whispered something in her ear. Lizzie giggled and playfully swatted at Andrew with her ungloved hand.
Chloe turned away. How lo
ng this summer was going to be. She let out a low groan as the soprano screeched out a rather strained high note. Whoever thought Madame Pizzarelli was the toast of Italy must have had a serious hearing problem. Her cat could sing Susanna with far more skill than this overblown—and over aged—madam could. Visions of Tabitha decked out in skirts from the previous century, meowing Giunse alfin il momento, had Chloe giggling.
“Did I miss something?”
Chloe turned to Michael, embarrassed she had been caught mid-reverie. She said nothing.
“Please, Chloe,” he begged. “If there is something amusing, you must share, otherwise I might die of boredom.”
A smile cracked on Chloe’s lips. “Sorry, but I can’t possibly tell you what I was laughing at. You’ll think I’ve gone positively out of my mind.”
“Shall I guess, then?”
“You may try, but I’m sure you will never succeed.”
Michael opened his mouth to voice his first thesis when an agitated whisper cut him off. “Could you two please keep it down? We’re trying to enjoy the performance.”
Andrew leaned backwards to deliver this message, no doubt, on behalf of Lizzie. Lizzie was the singer in the family and she actually had a stunning voice, though her nerves prevented her from singing anywhere other than in the comfort of her own music parlor.
“You can’t be serious, Andrew,” Michael retorted. “This is absolutely dreadful stuff.”
“Just be quiet, will you?”
Andrew turned back around and flashed a reassuring smile at Lizzie, indicating that all had been taken care of. Lizzie, in return, gave a demure grin and refocused her attention on the squealing soprano. Chloe ruthlessly suppressed the jealous pang that twisted her stomach.
Though shalt not covet thy cousin's fiance, though shalt not covet-
“So, come on. What was so funny?” Michael interrupted her silent chant.
Chloe, not wanting to be reprimanded again, put a single finger to her lips to quiet Michael. Rolling his eyes, he settled back into his chair. Chloe did the same, and her mind began to wander to the man who sat before her. How could it not? He was close enough for her to be able to smell him; his scent as familiar to her now as her own. She closed her eyes, trying to put the kiss he'd given her that afternoon from her mind.
The Wary Widow Page 9
