A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  Untouched and alone…could he awaken her senses?

  Part of The Widows of Westram

  When widow Lady Carrie meets charming gadabout Lord Avery Gilmore, she is shocked by her intense reaction to him.

  She’s never before longed for wifely pleasures, and it takes all of her courage to propose that he show her them! He might be taken aback by her request, but as Carrie learns firsthand, this lord will take the challenge very seriously...

  The Widows of Westram miniseries

  Book 1—A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

  Look out for the next story, coming soon!

  “Ann Lethbridge’s talent for penning deliciously naughty and smart love stories shines... A zippy, delightful read.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Rescued by the Earl’s Vows

  “A charming, highly romantic story filled with engaging characters.”

  —RT Book Reviews on An Innocent Maid for the Duke

  The Widows of Westram

  Widowed by war...tempted by new flirtations!

  Lady Carrie and her sisters-in-law, Lady Petra and Lady Marguerite, each tragically widowed on the same day by the same battle in Portugal, have had time to come to terms with their circumstances.

  Now these three beguiling widows aim to seize the day and build their own destinies—in life, and in the realm of romantic liaisons...!

  Find out what happens in Carrie’s story:

  A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

  And look out for Petra and Marguerite’s stories coming soon!

  Author Note

  In each and every book, I try to find some little part of Regency everyday life that might be new to you in addition to the usual glitz and glamour of the balls, jewels and gorgeous gowns. This time you meet a real elephant and visit a typical English fair of the time. I do hope you enjoy Carrie and Avery’s story because I am busy writing about Petra just for you.

  If you want to know more about me and my books, visit me at annlethbridge.com. There you will find links to social media, books and my newsletter. If you would like to get in touch, write to me at ann@annlethbridge.com. I love to hear from readers.

  Ann Lethbridge

  A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

  In her youth, award-winning author Ann Lethbridge reimagined the Regency romances she read—and now she loves writing her own. Now living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand—or so they say—her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at annlethbridge.com. She loves hearing from readers.

  Books by Ann Lethbridge

  Harlequin Historical

  and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebook

  It Happened One Christmas

  “Wallflower, Widow...Wife!”

  Secrets of the Marriage Bed

  Rescued by the Earl’s Vows

  The Widows of Westram

  A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

  The Society of Wicked Gentlemen

  An Innocent Maid for the Duke

  Rakes in Disgrace

  The Gamekeeper’s Lady

  More Than a Mistress

  Deliciously Debauched by the Rake (Undone!)

  More Than a Lover

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  This book is dedicated to Lilly, a very special young lady who recently came into our lives. Lilly, you may never read Grannie’s stories, but provided you grow up a strong, sensible woman like your mother, you will make me very proud.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Beauty and the Brooding Lord by Sarah Mallory

  Prologue

  April 1812

  Redford Greystoke, Earl of Westram, forced himself not to look away from the three black-clad, heavily veiled ladies arraigned before his desk. It broke his heart to see them. Beneath those veils hid three beautiful young women. Two were his sisters, the other his sister-in-law. All of them widowed on the same day, at the same hour. Their husbands had been absolute idiots. Their loss left him numb.

  From being an earl with a brother as heir and a spare hopefully in the offing, he’d become the last male member of his family with three destitute women to support. The very reason for their presence here and the reason for the animosity filling the air.

  ‘You will remain under my roof,’ Red repeated firmly. ‘There is no more to be said on the matter.’

  ‘Redford.’ Lady Marguerite, his sister older than him by two years, had taken the role of spokesperson. She spoke quietly enough, but nevertheless with underlying heat. ‘You cannot tell us where we shall reside.’

  The trouble with widows was that they thought of themselves as independent women.

  ‘I can, if I am to foot the bill.’ Damn. Now he sounded like a truculent schoolboy. ‘Let us be clear, ladies. I do not have the funds to set you up in your own establishments, whether I might wish to do so or not. You will reside with me in Gloucestershire until your period of mourning is over. At which time, I will be more than happy to open the London town house from where we will set out to mingle with our fellow peers.’

  Lady Petra, his other sister, glared at him. Despite the veil hiding her face, he knew exactly the look directed his way when she was crossed. Petra was a master of glares. ‘If you think I could ever marry anyone else...’ A handkerchief in a black gloved hand disappeared beneath her veil. She sniffled.

  He mentally cursed. ‘No one is forcing you to do anything. If next year you do not wish to attend the Season, or go to balls, you may stay at home.’ But knowing women as he did, he had no doubt they’d be bored within a few months of isolation in the country and begging to attend a ball or Almack’s.

  His sister-in-law, Carrie, the woman he hoped like the very devil was carrying his brother’s heir, put an arm around Petra’s drooping shoulder. ‘It is all right, lass,’ she said softly.

  He liked Carrie Greystoke. A great deal. She was a practical no-nonsense woman, though she must have had a momentary loss of reason when she’d agreed to wed his harum-scarum brother. Fortunately, since her husband’s death, she had been a rock of good sense in the eddying currents of grief and shock.

  Sometimes he thought she was almost too calm. The kind of calm that he suspected hid quiet desperation. He forced the thought aside. All three women were baulking at his proposal and he needed to marshal all his faculties if he was to prevail.

  ‘Pluck up your courage, Petra,’ Marguerite said. ‘No need for tears because a bunch of idiots went off and got themselves killed.’

  Marguerite had also wept on his shoulder when the news had been delivered. The fact that she now had her emotions under control was a very good thing. He hoped.

  Petra, who
had lost not only her husband and lover but her very best friend in the world, buried her head on Carrie’s shoulder and sobbed.

  Red wanted to bury his head in his hands and weep, too. For a few short weeks, he’d thought he was finally able to see his way clear of the debt left him by his father. Until the earth crumbled from beneath his feet, leaving this gaping abyss. He still didn’t know what had sent these women’s husbands off to join Wellington’s army. Some sort of wager was the only explanation he’d been able to glean from their friends. Whatever it was, it had been the most nonsensical ridiculous prank—He cut the thought off. There was nothing he could do about the past. The future was his concern now.

  The thing that had shocked him the most was the extent of Jonathan’s debts. They had eaten up every penny and more of the wealth brought into the family by his marriage to Carrie. Red still could not believe he had not known that his brother had dipped so deeply in the River Tick.

  And what his father had been about, letting Red’s two sisters marry men without prospects, he could not imagine. Except that his father had been overindulgent where his daughters were concerned, giving them whatever their hearts desired. Which was why they were being so dashed difficult now.

  ‘I think it would be best if you would let us at least try to manage on our own,’ Carrie said, over his sobbing sister’s head. ‘We won’t be a burden on you, Westram. I promise you that.’

  If Carrie supported his sisters’ mad scheme, then he was lost. Sensible and down to earth and as stubborn as they came, she would never give in. Perhaps it would be best if they learned first-hand that they were like babes in the woods when it came to the real world. Then they would listen to reason. His reason.

  He threw his hands in the air. ‘As you wish. I will give you the period of your mourning to try this experiment. I can afford very little in the way of allowances.’ He shot Carrie a look of apology. ‘I am so sorry, but all the money you brought to the marriage has gone to pay Jonathan’s debts.’ Jonathan had also charmed her father into handing over what should have been her widow’s portion to invest in what his brother had called a sure thing on the ’Change. If her father had talked to Red beforehand, he would have disabused him of the notion. And maybe Jonathan would still be alive today. ‘I would replace what my brother misappropriated, if I had it. I do not. Perhaps in time...’ He tailed off, sick at heart. His sisters were no better off. He was appalled that their husbands had left their affairs in such disarray. He sighed. ‘I will give you the use of Westram Cottage in Kent provided you can keep yourselves on that property within your allowances.’ He glared at them. It was the only way he could maintain his dignity. ‘I will be checking.’

  They’d be back knocking on his door within a month.

  Marguerite rose. Carrie did likewise, helping his younger sister to her feet. As always, he was taken aback by the woman’s height compared to that of his sisters. His family tended to be on the short side.

  ‘Thank you, Red,’ Marguerite said, her voice warmer than it had been since this discussion had started. ‘You will not regret it.’

  Oh, yes, he would. Of that he had no doubt.

  The ladies filed out.

  Red poured himself a brandy and swallowed it in one gulp.

  Chapter One

  April 1813

  Carrie Greystoke carefully dusted each shelf, as she had done every morning since the little shop had opened three days before. She replaced what she considered the shop’s pièce de résistance, a sumptuous leghorn bonnet decorated with handmade flowers and cherry-coloured ribbons, in the window and took up her position behind the counter. Hope however, was beginning to fade.

  In the three days since the doors of First Stare Millinery had opened not one customer had entered the little shop. If she didn’t sell something soon, they would likely have to admit defeat. The thought of going to the landlord to admit her error in thinking she and her sisters-in-law could sell the product of the hard work they had put into the bonnets these last few months was humiliating.

  Mr Thrumby, a friend of her dead father’s, had taken a chance in renting her the shop. For her father’s sake. Perhaps if it had been located on Bond Street rather than the less fashionable Cork Street... But then it would have been far too expensive. As it was, they’d had to pool all of their meagre resources to pay the first month’s rent on this narrow little establishment. Shelves lined one wall, displaying bonnets on little stands. The glass-topped counter behind which she stood had been an extravagance, but was an absolute necessity to display the painted fans, lacy gloves and embroidered slippers also made by her sisters-in-law.

  * * *

  After an hour, she slumped on to the stool. Perhaps she should rearrange the window again? What on earth was she to tell Petra and Marguerite? They would be so disappointed when she returned home in two days’ time with nothing to show for their efforts.

  A shadow fell over the window display.

  Carrie straightened and pinned a smile on her lips.

  The shadow passed on. Her heart sank.

  ‘I be back, missus.’

  Jeb, their young ruddy-faced lad of all work at Westram Cottage, had brought her up to town the day before the shop opened. It was he who had built the shelves and carried in the counter she had purchased in a down-at-heel shop in the Seven Dials. He’d also helped her furnish the room she used as lodgings at the back of the shop, since it was too far for her to travel home to Kent each evening.

  Marguerite had not been happy about this last arrangement, but had given in when Carrie agreed to come home to Kent with Jeb as her escort every Saturday night in order to attend church with them in the morning. They planned that she would return on Monday afternoons with new stock for the shop.

  Not that they would be needing any new stock. They still had all the old stock left.

  ‘Did you deliver all of the flyers to the addresses I gave you, Jeb?’

  ‘Yes, mum.’

  The flyers had been another costly idea they could ill afford, but she had to get the word out about their offerings somehow. An advertisement in the newspaper would have reached more people, but was horribly expensive.

  Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing if the flyers had got into the right hands. Perhaps she should go and stand at the entrance to Hyde Park and hand them out herself to passers-by. Not just any passers-by, but ladies of quality with good fashion sense.

  It might work.

  She would go about five this afternoon. Fortunately, she was still largely unknown to society as she had not been introduced to very many people of the ton before her hasty marriage to Jonathan. In addition, their wedding had been a tiny family affair, because her father had been at death’s door. Why Jonathan had even singled her out... She squashed the thought and the accompanying pang.

  Face it, Carrie. He’d chosen her because he’d been looking for a way out of his money troubles. Somehow Father must have learned of this circumstance and, worried about her future once he passed away, had made Jonathan an offer he couldn’t refuse. Carrie had known none of this when she’d arrived in London before the Season began. Jonathan had been pointed out to her by her aunt when she went on her first carriage ride in London. He’d bowed to her and she’d agreed with her aunt that he really was a most handsome gentleman. The next day he’d arrived at her door on a morning call and a few days later had proposed.

  Everyone had said it was love at first sight. She’d been a complete fool to believe such nonsense.

  In hindsight, it was as plain as the nose on her very plain face—he’d only married her to get himself out of debt. If she had known, she would never have agreed. Not even to please her dying father, who had been thrilled to see his daughter become one of the nobs. She certainly hadn’t expected her bridegroom to take to his heels the morning after the ceremony. No doubt he couldn’t stand the thought of living with his pla
in, middle-class, gruff wife. That had hurt dreadfully. Worse yet, he’d not even done her the courtesy of coming to her bed on their wedding night.

  That particular rejection had hurt to the core of her soul. And still did, when she listened to her sisters-in-law giggle about the joys of the marriage bed during the long winter evenings at Westram Cottage when they’d been working on fabricating the hats and bonnets they now hoped to sell. Not that she’d ever told them the truth about her wedding night.

  ‘Put what is left on the counter, Jeb, please. It is time for you to return to the cottage. I am sure the other ladies have all manner of things for you to do.’

  Jeb scratched at his unshaven chin. The poor fellow had been required to bed down with the horse in a stables some distance from the shop, since there was no place for him to rest his head here.

  ‘Are you sure, mum? I don’t like leaving you here alone. A bed of iniquity Lunnon is. Me ma said so.’

  ‘I will be perfectly fine. The locks you have added to the doors and the bars on the windows will keep me quite safe. And Mr Thrumby’s man is more than a match for any intruder.’ Mr Thrumby’s man guarded the back entrance at night.

  Jeb’s expression remained doubtful, but she kept hers firm and unyielding.

  ‘As you wish, Mrs Greystoke.’ His formal use of her married name was his way of administering an admonition. But it was worse than that. It was a lie. She never really had been Mrs Greystoke. Not properly. Little did anyone know the use of her married name made her resentment of her husband burn like acid.

  She forced her mind back to more mundane topics. ‘I will see you back here on Saturday afternoon.’

  He touched his forelock and left.

  Now she really was on her own.

  She slid open the top drawer of the counter, removed three of the lacy embroidered handkerchiefs and put them in the front window. Handkerchiefs were not as expensive as bonnets. A cheaper purchase might lure someone in. She shifted the bonnet to present a more intriguing angle and returned to her stool.

 
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